Vamp-San

3 4/24/2014 "If you start swapping disciplines, Jim is already close to having the Holy Quartet: Potence, Celerity, Fortitude, Protean. When their powers combine, you are Captain ****ing Planet." -Jason *** I wake up the next night at Paul's apartment. All the rooms in the place have giant ****ing windows so I ended up crashing in the deepest closet I could find. Yeah. Irony. I come out to the living room to another clear view of the fresh dark across the city, the lingering blue-green twilight highlighting Twin Peaks to the west. Aquilifer is still on the couch in the same place she was when I left, even though I propped a window for her before going to bed. She blinks at me sleepily, then yawns and stretches her wings. "Hey 'Quill," I say, looking around the room for Marcus. No sign of him yet. Can't tell if that's good or bad. Last night's conversation is still heavy on my mind. I walk to the window and look out at the city. Whatever is out there, this night—and likely the one after that, and the one after that—will just bring more ambiguously-evil bullshit. Part of me wants to say **** it all and go back to what I was doing before: spending the nights holed up in my apartment, buried in old records and and new movies in a desperate attempt to ignore what my life has become and forget everything it's left behind. Aquilifer keens a short noise. I look at her. She circles her head, peering at me, then flutters her wings in a begging motion. My tension eases. I smile softly and go to find our boss. Walking down the hallway, I hear some odd noises from behind the bathroom door. I stop in front of it and knock cautiously. Marcus opens it. He looks...better? His major holes seem to have sealed, at least, but he still looks obviously roughed up, and is of course missing an arm. "Evening," I say, hiding a wince. "You're...looking better." He sighs and rubs his head. "I seriously doubt that." "Well, considering...." "Yes, what is the term you use? 'You should see the other guy'?" Ha. Speaking of the other guy: "Did...you want me to set up the sit down with Bell today?" He shakes his head. "Not today. There is an art to these things. A great deal is said without being said. I don't want to walk in facing Bell looking like this. He might decide to try and take his shot." I look down at my clothes, intact but also looking worse for wear. "Yeah, I don't like looking like crap in front of him either" "He's not going to try and kill you." I rub my neck. "Yeah that's not what I'm worried about," I mumble. Marcus rolls his eyes and walks past me to the living room. "Let Bell know that when I have a spare moment I will meet with him. Tell him it's nothing personal, things got a little heated down south." Aquilifer looks up as we enter the room and makes a chirruping noise at Marcus. He walks to the window, stroking her as he passes. "So...I expect you're going to be needing a couple of days to recover from the events of last night." I shrug. "Actually I'm feeling pretty good. I'm more concerned with getting my girl back." I hesitate. "Though I have no idea how so it will take me some time to figure that out." He nods, still facing the glass. "Well, the werewolves and I are not on wonderful terms, as you know, but if you're serious about going after this werewolf, you will most likely have to put a grave dent in the operations of the Tremere, and what Sabbat Priscus wouldn't salivate at that prospect." He smirks at me over his shoulder. I smile back. Frankly I doubt you could find a Camarilla Brujah—hell any Brujah—who would object to that either. He turns back to the window. "Moreover, Accio is still out there, offshore somewhere, though I'm not sure where. He could have left, could be in Baja by now, but I doubt that. He's here for some reason." He looks at me. "You do, of course, realize that assaulting the Farallones is going to be a very tricky, very bloody prospect." I roll my eyes. "It's not like the rest of my weeks lately have been very PG." "Not like this. I haven't the first clue what you might run into out there. Alcatraz was an open facility, the Tremere moved there with the behest of the rest of the Camarilla. This gave a certain degree of security against outside penetration. No one could attack it without going through the city which, until recently, was a bit of a prospect." He jerks his chin to the west. "The Farallones, they're not supposed to have. Not even the rest of the Camarilla will be aware of what's going on out there, which means they're wholly and completely responsible for their own security. And the Tremere take these things very seriously. Gargoyles may be the least of your worries out there. On top of that, the Farallones have a reputation for...other things. If the Tremere are operating out there openly, they've managed to form an alliance with those things, or suppress them. Neither of which should be particularly comforting. What those things are I don't know, but I've heard rumors. Were-creatures of various unsavory sorts." Marcus shakes his head. "If your prospect is to attack the Farallones you're going to need to be fairly subtle about it." I snort. He glares at me. I sober up. "Yeah, well...I'm working on a plan." Or, rather, I have a plan to work on a plan. We'll see how that goes.... Marcus rattles off more advice about being careful (duh) and recommends taking Paul, Georgia, and Anstis with me (shocking). While he talks, I wander into the kitchen for another vase of blood, then dump out two of Paul's SmartWater bottles from the fridge and fill those up too. Aquilifer wings into the kitchen and lands on the island with a thump, observing my blood pouring owlishly. When I'm done, I check the fridge again, hoping there's some meat tucked in somewhere that I missed. An extra cabbage has somehow appeared during the night, but it was apparently not accompanied by a steak. I close the fridge and shrug at her. She keens sadly. "I have some matters to attend to," Marcus says. "There's an old associate of mine not far to the east. I'm going to go shake him down for what he knows. We didn't part on the most comfortable of terms the last time. That will help." "Sounds like fun," I mumble, trying to figure out the best way to carry bottles of blood in skintight leather pants. "It should be. Incidentally, do you have the first idea what that thing was that attacked us in San Jose?" "The Hellbeast?" I say, looking up. "They're called vozdt. Tzimitscian hellbeasts. They're not supposed to be that large, and they're not supposed to be here at all. What Andre was doing with three of them I can't possibly imagine. Unless he felt the need to arm himself with the equivalent of an armored regiment." I frown. There was something interesting I noticed last night after the Monomancy, which the following vozdt attack drove to the back of my mind until now. "Boss, when you left the arena, did you take out the flame-thrower guys at the entrance?" "No I bypassed them. Why?" "Because they were torn apart when we left...." Marcus waves a hand dismissively. "Vozdt are not vampires. Fire doesn't hurt them like it hurts us. It does, however, make them rather angry." I nod slowly, chasing my thought. "So...who's to say that they were inside the arena to begin with. What if they came in, from outside?" Marcus goes still, his face turning thoughtful. "It's possible...but it's a disturbing possibility. It would mean there would be another potent Tzmitsce with an interest in throwing vozdt around. Vozdt are rare these nights, especially ones that size. You don't deploy them at random." "Well perhaps this wasn't a random strike." Marcus frowns. "Who could they have been targeting?" I shrug. "Everybody was there." "That's true," he mutters, staring into the distance. Silence for a few moments. I obviously know less than nothing about Sabbat intrigues—though as long as they don't effect us I could care less about them—but something from last night's conversation bubbles back to the top of my mind. "Do you...know of any other powerful Tzmitsce in the area?" I ask slowly. He nods once, still staring at nothing. "One. Quite a ways south. Further than San Jose." "God, I hope it's not Gilroy, I don't do well with garlic." He shakes his head. "South of Big Sur. The castle." He sees my perplexed expression. "Hearst Castle." My face falls. Great. Because powerful old Tzmitsce + castle = WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!? Marcus folds his arms and starts pacing the kitchen. "It's his summer home, he's not always there. He's...an interesting fellow. Another Vovoid, but of a different stripe. Old clan Tzmitsce. They're extremely archaic. Ironic, I know, me saying that, but still. They reject the modern world and many of its senses. They reject the modern Tzmitsce too. They're...a very strange lot. Quite isolationist usually." He pauses, staring into space again. "Can't imagine why he would want to send vozdt. Can't imagine why he would even have any." He shrugs. "But he is powerful enough, if he wanted one." I nod slowly. Someone powerful enough to create such monsters obviously has a deep understanding of Vicissitude and the feats it is capable of. Feats great...and very, very small. Marcus shakes himself out of his reverie and looks down at himself. "I...am not in any condition to go down there, unfortunately. He's not of my power level, but he's close enough that in this state I wouldn't want to take chances. However, he is another former Sabbat Priscus. He may know something." He looks up. "I can give you a letter of introduction. If he lets you into his house, you will not suffer any harm at his hands. If he lets you in. But if he doesn't, he'll let you know and give you a short time to leave his property." I sigh. "I hope he doesn't have mutated Tzmitsce zebras all over the place...." "He'll have mutated Tzmitsce something. He's Old Clan. They believe in their Animalism down there." Marcus shrugs. "Even if he didn't sent the vozdt he might know something about them. They are their thing, after all." I take a breath. "And...I assume he will know more about...what you said last night.... About Vicissitude?" Marcus's gaze levels with mine. "He might. Vicissitude is, I must admit, not a subject I am particularly—" (Kara: "Jason! Paul fixed my phone!" Jason: "—Uh, no he didn't. Your phone was smashed." Chris: "Sure I did! I wiped it off on my shirt and handed it back!" Jason: "Okay, it's smashed but is now cleaner." Kara: "No! It works fine now!" Chris: "CEO's prerogative! He can do this!" Jason: "...Paul's phone is now smashed." Chris: "Okay, well speaking of, Tom you received a text about getting together to talk about Sophia stuff." Me: "Okay, I'll text back in a minute." Chris: "Well, apparently I don't have a phone anymore so take your time.") "—Anyway. Unfortunately Vicissitude is a subject I know very little about." Marcus hesitates. "...Actually, I'm not sure that's unfortunate, really. It's a strange Dacian work. The Tzmitsce are quite expert with it. You will find all manner of its employments down there. Try not to look too shocked. He enjoys shocking neonates." I fight a smirk. Please, son, the number of times I've been to Dore Alley. "Yeah, well I've seen some shocking things in my time," I say, walking past him back into the living room. He frowns after me. "Hmm. Walk into the lair of an Old Clan Tzmitsce and you may not think so anymore." It's now full dark in the city so it's time to get moving. I start gathering up my gear from where I dumped it last night, checking each of the guns and reloading them. Marcus watches me quietly for a few moments, Aquilifer peering over his shoulder. "Tom, I appreciate you feel indebted to this werewolf in some regard. But you'll find, especially as you grow older, that the werewolves and us are simply...different. At their best, they're not immortal. Very few of them even live long enough to test that." I belt the bandoliers to my chest and slot the guns in the holsters. With the sword and the whip, I'm ready to roll. I walk toward the front door. "The werewolves exist on a plane different than ours and they do not care to share it with us," Marcus continues. "Not even the most comprehensive or pragmatic of them. So while you may feel you have to do this, there are bigger issues at stake, so...be careful. And don't be a hero." I pause, hand on the handle, then turn back to him. "Didn't you know, Boss?" I say with a wry smile. "There are no heroes. There's just a bunch of ********." And with that I walk out to face the night. # Everyone else has gotten their nights underway. Anstis finished ghouling the grey tomcat that he's been calling around, Paul talked with Gates about cleanup and insurance options on the Portola house, and Georgia was unable to find anyone to fix her phone. Paul and Anstis also chatted briefly about discipline trading, because yup, we've reached that point in the game. Anstis also calls me to discuss the same thing but I have some errands to run so I say I'll meet with him later. So the night is off to a rather low-key start when something very odd happens. Georgia's broken phone rings. # Georgia is in the car going with Paul to Portola Valley when the phone goes off. The screen is dark but it's definitely buzzing. She pulls it out and answers. Georiga: "Hello?" Caller: "Ms. Johnson? Zis is Dr. vonNatsi!" Georiga: "Oh, Doctor!" vonNatsi: *voice strained* "I, ah, have some need of your assistance, ja." Georgia: "At the moment?" vonNatsi: "Errrm, sooner would be better than later." Georgia: "Do you have another werewolf problem?" vonNatsi: "NEIN, nein, zere are no verewolves in the city, ja, zis is not the problem. I have...a different problem. It is a more difficult problem, a more intractable problem, ja." Georgia: "Oh...of what sort?" vonNatsi: *long pause, then, in a low voice* "I...have a colleague in town. Und I require some assistance vith ze Science." Georgia: "Okay, well...I will be there as soon as I can." vonNatsi: *relieved sigh* "Zank you, zank you very—PUT THAT DOWN!!! ZAT IS DELICATE EQUIPMENT!!" Georgia: "—Yes I will absolutely be there as soon as I can! Keep the salad spinner away from him!" vonNatsi: "DO NOT TOUCH THAT YOU VILL POLLUTE IT!!" Georgia: "Tell him not to go near the Primium Infusing Ray! I will be there soon!" vonNatsi: "Ja, zank you very—OF COURSE IT WORKS DO YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SCIENCE!!!!" There's more half-German shouting to the unidentified person in the background, then the call hangs up. Georgia sighs and asks to be dropped off at the tower instead. # I arrive at my Tenderloin apartment. The street still looks like a scorched warzone but at least they are letting people back into the building. As I approach the front door, though, something catches my eye. A pink Vespa, parked on the sidewalk next to the doorway. The paint is scratched in many places and there are a couple long grooves gouged into the metal, way deeper than any key could create. There's also an envelope taped to the seat. I peel it off and open it. It's another invoice addressed to me, this one for towing fees. I stare at the paper a moment, then crumple it into my pocket and storm inside. I let myself into my apartment—wonderfully Lasombra free at the moment—and immediately unzip Slayer from the bags. I pull him out—still staked, and still wearing the school-girl outfit I put him in months ago—and prop his torso up against the wall, slotting the legs at his hips so they can knit back together. I keep the arms separate, though, for now. I carefully pour most of one of the blood bottles into him, then bite my wrist and add in a few drops of my own. Which makes this a third-night blood bonding. Booyah. Considering how much I've been putting the fear of God into him, I probably could have gotten away with just a one or two level bond, but frankly I still don't trust him. Making him my bitch is risky, so I'd like to reduce my risk as much as possible. On the other hand, by the Code of Marcus, this means I now need to start looking out for him and shit. I stare at him a moment, sigh, then lean over and unstake him. He wakes up slowly, flesh filling out to look a lot better than he did the first time I unstaked him. He blinks, staring around groggily... ...And sees me, smiling, slowly tapping one of his arms against my leg. "Agh!!" He jerks back, eyes wide. My grin grows larger. "Heeeeeeey, Slayer. How you doing?" "I'm good," he whispers, eyes darting the room. "Where are we?" I look around at the bare walls. "Oh, we're at my place." "It's...nice! It's really nice!" I snort. "Thanks. Actually we need to talk about that in a little bit. But first, here's the thing." I flip the arm up to my shoulder and pace in front of him. "So I've been thinking, and I realized that you owe me a lot of shit—" "I'll pay you man! I'll pay you!" Slayer struggles against the wall, legs starting to twitch as they reattach. I point his arm at him. "Yeah, you will. So I got some things I need done and—" "I can do them!!" "I know! You know why?" I lean down. "You're my boy now. You understand what I mean?" He nods, eyes wider. "Yeah, yeah I get it! I get it!" "No, now, listen...listen...." I lean closer, locking with his gaze, voice serious. "I don't want you to misunderstand what I'm saying. When I say you're my boy..." I drop to a whisper, "I mean it...in the gayest way possible." His eyes go so wide I think they're going to pop out. He stares at me, jaw trembling. "....Okay," he squeaks finally. I smile and stand up. "Good!" I toss the arm into his lap. "Now, pull yourself together." Not surprisingly, he struggles with that a bit so I relent and help him, giving him the rest of the blood bottles in the process. Once he's got things underway, I stand up and fold my arms imposingly. "So. Now that we're square here, let's be direct. I know that you're still probably going to be tempted to maybe try and get revenge, try to get away with something—- "No, no!" He shakes his head and waves his one attached arm, which is currently holding the detached other. I hold up a finger. "No, I know what you're thinking! But I want you to keep in mind that if you try and **** around with me, the first thing I'll do is give your name to Helgi, and he'll be very interested to hear about you." Slayer gasps and sputters. "No, man, I'll do whatever you want!" I spread my arms and smile. "I know, I know, we just need to be clear here." "You can't give my name to Helgi, man, he's ****ing crazy!" "I know, but see, even if I don't give your name to Helgi, Marcus already knows your name!" Slayer goes still. "Oh ****...." "Yeah." "No...nonono—" I smirk. "Yeah, so remember, if you **** with me, you'd better pray that Helgi finds you first. Cause you know what's gonna happen if Marcus finds you first." A flicker of confusion eclipses the terror on his face. My grin grows larger. "Oh, you don't know?" I ask. "I-I can guess..." This time I lean down inches from his face. "Can you?" I whisper. "Cause he'll throw you into his private hell dimension, from which not even souls can escape." His jaw quivers a moment and a breathless squeak escapes his throat. "I'll...I'll do whatever you want, man! I'll...**************!" He breaks down in dry sobs. I roll my eyes and stand up. That's probably enough Brujah for now. "No, we don't have time for that...." Time to get down to business. I start pacing the room. "Here's the thing. So you know how scary Marcus is? Well his sire was here two nights ago, and he's worse." He stops crying. "Oh...shit..." "Yeah. So we gotta move. The first thing I need you to do is set up a network of flophouses for me around town. I also want at least two on the Peninsula, maybe one in San Jose, and a couple in the East Bay." Slayer nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, I can hook you up man. I can do that." "Great. Next thing." I grab Clarence's last invoice from the top of the minifridge and hand it over. "So one of the douche-ass Ventrues in town grabbed a bunch of my shit and stuffed it in storage." He unfolds the paper and stares at it. "Yeah, yeah I think I can get this out." "Good." I've been thinking about this next step since my conversation with Marcus last night. I take a breath. "I need you to fence it. All of it. There's a lot of expensive vinyl you can get good money for, we'll need the cash. Get rid of the rest where you can, except..." I stop and hold out a finger, "for one thing." He looks up. "What thing?" Another breath. "A painting. A watercolor. Of a sunrise." He lifts an eyebrow at that but he nods. "Yeah. Alright." "Good." Of all the baggage from my human life, Isabella's painting is probably the heaviest, but...I'm not quite ready to give it up yet. But for now...on to the fun things. I clap my hands. "Alright, next. I need you to get me some dragonsbreath. Now, wait..." I hold up a hand against his protests, "Don't you complain! If you can hook Accio up with Helgi's Semtex, I know you can get me some ****ing dragonsbreath." Slayer throws his arms—now both attached—out. "Dude, Helgi had the Semtex, man! I just put 'em together!" I glare. "Yeah, well dragonsbreath is legal in Nevada, son, so I know you can figure out a way to bring it over!" He droops and rubs his shoulders nervously. "Alright, I'll make some calls, man." "Good. Next thing: there's this Shadowlord walking around by the name of Stormwalker—" He frowns. "The ****'s a Shadowlord?" "Big guy, hairy, eleven feet tall. Sword the size of Godzilla's dick." His jaw drops. "WEREWOLVES?!" "Yeah—" "—FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" He whimpers and curls up against the wall. I smirk. That was pretty much the response I expected. "Yeah, so if you run into this Stormwalker...." I lean forward. "...Can you get his phone number? Cause I forgot to ask him the last time I talked to him." He twitches. "DUDE, I ain't gonna be ALIVE, I run into that mother****er!" I shrug. "I'm just saying, he ran away too fast last time I talked to him, so if you can get—" "THE **** you doing talking to a werewolf!?" I throw out my best bro-arms. "I don't know!! What the **** am I doing fighting three vozdt last night in San Jose!? This is my life now! This is what I do!" (Jim: "The only thing more terrifying than that sentence is the fact that Tom is uninjured right now.") Slayer uncurls slightly, enough for me to see his face—apoplectic with shock. I smile and shoot him pistol-hands. "You're my boy now!" I say reassuringly. Something suddenly occurs to me. I walk to the window and peel back the curtains to glance outside. "Slayer...can you ride a bike?" He uncurls more, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah, man." "Great. If you need to get around, your ride's out front." He hesitates, then nods again. "Cool. Ok. What...?" I drop the curtain and smile my silkiest smile yet. "Oh, you'll know it when you see it." I walk back to him. This has been fun but time's running short. I stare at him, face serious, until he meets my gaze. "You know that guy I was talking about? Marcus's sire?" He nods. "His name is Perpenna. Remember that name." He frowns. "Wait, I've heard that name...." He mutters for a few seconds. Surprised, I watch patiently, giving him time to think. He snaps a hand. "Oh yeah! He was this creepy guy, on the phone with Accio. I remember the name cause he said it all weird." I frown. "Weird how?" "I don't know, but Accio said the name like he was afraid he was gonna jump out of the phone." I roll my eyes. Bad as Perpenna is, I doubt he's ****ing Beetlejuice. "Right, well this guy is possibly the reason there's no more werewolves in town—" "There's no more werewolves in town?" I shrug. "Well except for this guy Stormwalker, possibly." Slayer leans back against the wall. "Shit man, if he's the guy behind that I'll shake his hand." He sees my expression and holds out his hands. "Unless you don't want me to!!" I hold out a finger. Slayer stares at me and goes still. "Perpenna comes around," I say slowly. "You run. You drop whatever you're doing and you run. Because you know Marcus's hell dimension? This guy's got even worse." Slayer nods, head thumping the stained drywall. "Alright man, no problem." I nod. "Good. We're bouncing from this place and we're not coming back. Let me know as soon as you get something else set up and you've fenced all my gear." He nods, scrambles to his feet, and, clutching the storage invoice to his chest, scurries out. I go to follow, but something makes me hang back. Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling nostalgic for this place or anything. I haven't been here that long, after all, which is beside the fact it's a shitty apartment with a shitty fridge and shitty curtains that took me ****ing nights to get ahold of. On the best of nights it felt more like a holding cell than a living situation. But, then again...I don't need a "living" situation, do I? I stare at the room a moment, then turn off the light and close the door behind me. # Georgia hesitates before stepping off the elevator into Dr. vonNatsi's lab. Everything seems normal, as chaotic as ever, but as soon as the doors close behind her she notices a new device leaning on the wall next to the elevator. It's a giant backpack-like contraption, made of hammered metal, and splattered with mud. She taps it experimentally, examining it from all sides, then stands up. "Doctor?" she calls into the lab. A crash echoes from across the room. It's followed by footsteps, heavy ones, coming toward her. Moments later vonNatsi turns a corner and storms up to her. "Doctor!" she cries happily, holding her arms out in welcome. "Ms. Johnson! At last, ve have sanity in zis place!!" His requisite pair of goggles are strapped to his reddened face, magnifying his furious eyes to comedic proportions. "Zis it outrageous!" Georgia's arms droop. "What's going on?" He stiffens and clenches his fists. "I have been...intruded upon!!!" Georgia glances at the backpack. "Show me." VonNatsi storms back across the lab, Georgia close behind. He leads her to an open area in a portion of the lab, with a table in the middle of it. Unusual for the lab, this table is clear of all equipment. Also unusual for the lab, there is a woman sitting at it. Her clothing is odd, even by Dr. vonNatsi's standards. The overall theme seems to be a cross between British Exploratory Expedition and Mad Max. Everything is made of leather, straps, and khaki, and perched on her head are an enormous pair of brass goggles as complex as vonNatsi's but somehow much more elegant. All the look needs is a fine coating of alkali dust and she'd look like she was fresh off the Playa. At the moment, though, she looks fresh off the country estate, perched on a stool with the perfect posture of a Victorian painting, calmly sipping tea from a fine porcelain cup painted in a blue and white motif of gears. The woman looks up as Georgia appears. She puts down the cup then stands up and bows. "Ahh, you must be Georgia Johnson." She extends a leather gloved hand. "Victoria Lovelace. Daughter of Ether. Dr. vonNatsi has told me so many things about you. Do forgive me, you are...what do you they call your sort of...Tremere, was it?" "Yes, yes I am." Georgia beams and curtsies. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance." "Ah yes. Never made the acquaintance of a Tremere. Blood wizards of some nature, yes?" "Umm...something of the sort, I guess you could say." "And how is it that you know Dr. vonNatsi," Lovelace asks, turning to the doctor. He's standing to the side, arms folded, glaring from behind his goggles. "Oh, we've...collaborated...on one or two small projects," Georgia says, glancing uncertainly between them. "JA!" vonNatsi barks, "VE have collaborated ON SCIENCE!!! Etheric science!! TRUE science!" "Dr. vonNatsi is very accomplished," Georgia says proudly. Lovelace sighs. "Yes, I'm sure he is." She picks up a nearby teapot patterned in the same gear motif and pours herself more tea. "Are you a collaborator?" Georgia asks, settling down on one of the other stools. "In a manner of speaking. Dr. vonNatsi and I have rather...unresolved questions concerning the proper direction of etheric studies." "Oh, then...you must want to do science!" Lovelace smiles. "Well it is my calling of course." VonNatsi scoffs. "It is not science, it is vitchcraft!! She practices QUANTUM MECHANICS!!" "Oh..." Georgia's face falls. "I'm afraid I don't even know what that is." Lovelace sighs and puts her tea back down. She folds her hands in front of her. "Dr. vonNatsi is a purist in many ways. He regrets the introduction of quantum mechanics, ignoring of course who it was who introduced it." "And...who was that?" Lovelace smirks and stands a little straighter. "Why the Brotherhood of Ether, of course. Who else could have accomplished such a thing. It certainly wasn't the Technocrats." VonNatsi starts spitting curses in German. He storms to a nearby table and buries himself in some task there, though from afar it looks like he is just smashing things together. Georgia turns back to Lovelace. "So...you both study the ether?" "Of course. I however prefer to use any methods necessary to study the ether, as opposed to some..." she glances at vonNatsi's back, "...Neanderthalic restriction derived from a generation long lost." VonNatsi pauses in his banging. He places both gloved hands on the table and hunches his shoulders. "Zere is nothing Neanderthalic about ze practice of PURE SCIENCE! Neutonian mechanics vas good enough for the original Sons of Ether und it is good enough for me!!" Georgia nods. "I have to heartily agree, I have seen Dr. vonNatsi perform some very impressive feats of science." Lovelace brushes her hand over the teacup sitting on the table. It wobbles a moment then slowly levitates into the air. "I'm sure you have," she says with a smile. Georgia stares at the cup. "...Intriguing...that is a pretty cool trick, isn't it...." "Ja," vonNatsi spits, still not turning around. "It is a parlor trick, you can find the same vith a child's birthday magician. Ve are not trick magicians, ve are scientists!!" (Me: "ILLUSIONS, DAD!") Lovelace plucks the teacup from the air and sips from it. "The doctor and I go back quite a ways. He mentioned that he was practicing his science with a colleague and I wished to inquire who that was. We don't see a great many Non-Awakened, you know." Georgia blinks at the term but doesn't question it. "Oh, no, um, I'm certain you don't, but Dr. vonNatsi and I have an excellent working relationship." "I'm sure you do, but if I might ask, and do forgive the intrusion, but...what have you been working on?" Georgia beams. "Well there's been some lovely experiments. The very first one we did was on teleportation." "Ah yes...." Lovelace glances across the lab. "He showed me the teleporter. It has a certain...crude beauty to it, I will grant. But I was hoping you could enlighten me somewhat more on this larger scale project of Dr. vonNatsi's." Georgia tilts her head. "The...one in which he turned all of the silver inside a living being's body into not-silver? Because that was pretty impressive." VonNatsi stiffens. Lovelace frowns and glances at him. "He said nothing of the sort," she mutters. VonNatsi turns around, glowering. "It vas done in the service of experimental science—" "—And it was incredibly impressive," Georgia chimes in, "you should have seen—" Lovelace holds up a hand. "I would like to inquire as to precisely whose body it was whom you transmitted silver out of." "Oh, a friend's," Georgia says. "...Or, well not my friend...." "You'll forgive me, but it is my understand that silver is not a mechanism employed tremendously often, except against a certain particular form." "Oh that's true, but as I said, it wasn't one of my friends, so I don't feel at liberty to disclose the details of the event, but the science involved was incredibly impressive. I'm sure Dr. vonNatsi would be happy to explain to you exactly how he went about calibrating the machine." Lovelace regards Georgia quietly for a moment, then turns to Dr. vonNatsi with a raised eyebrow. VonNatsi sighs and deliberately places the tool in his hand—which looks suspiciously like a garlic press—back on the table. "All of it vas done vith ze utmost academic rigor. As practiced by Ethernauts since ze dawn of time." "Of course, of course." Lovelace turns back to Georgia. "Might I offer you some tea?" She opens a satchel strapped to her hip and removes another teacup identical to her own. She lifts the teapot and fills the cup. The liquid is red, and steaming. She hands it to Georgia with a smile. Georgia looks into the cup. "Wow, um...where did this come from?" "A creation of my own," Lovelace says. She turns to refill her own cup from the same pot. Once again it comes out as tea. "It's an experiment of mine. Artificial blood. It's not quite as good as the real thing, I'm told, but...." Georgia still hesitates. "Is it safe to drink?" "Oh it should be quite safe. It comes out hot but I imagine it will have cooled sufficiently by now." Lovelace settles herself back on her stool. "I'm afraid, though, that the subject I wish to discuss is not quite so simple. Dr. vonNatsi has been working on a project to produce...what was it you called it, Doctor...the golem project?" He looks away, scowling. She turns to Georgia instead. "Have you and he had much in the way of interaction in regards to that project?" "I don't think he's mentioned it...maybe once...." Georgia says absently, sipping the blood. It tastes a little flat, but seems otherwise alright. She turns the cup in her hands and realizes that the gears painted on the side are slowly turning. Lovelace sips her tea. "Ah I see. Well I was rather hoping to get a look at the golem and its progress but Dr. vonNatsi is rather...unwilling." She sighs and softens her voice. "There are some concerns in the Society itself as to precisely what it is Dr. vonNatsi appears to be up to at the moment. Do forgive us, but we don't quite understand how the interests of science is served by certain of his more...outlandish purposes." Lovelace and Georgia both turn to look at vonNatsi, who is currently engrossed with trying to shove a tennis ball through the garlic press. "I'm...not quite sure I understand what you mean...." Georgia says with no trace of irony. Lovelace searches the ceiling. "How shall I put this, I don't want to be rude.... The city has become rather...unstable as of late, you may have noticed, and the board at Paradigm at the very least has taken notice of this fact and we think it might be best for our purposes of all if unstable elements were removed from the proximity of the city. And...well...Dr. vonNatsi has a...history of being something of an unstable element." Georgia sits up straighter. "Oh goodness, but the lab is warded." "Well, yes, and yet there have been how many werewolf intrusions in the last week?" "Certainly that's been because of the werewolves intruding and not the instability of the science being done here! And at any rate, the werewolves, I am told, are no longer in the city!" "Yes, but we are somewhat concerned by that fact as well, you see," Lovelace says sadly. "Well it was certainly not Dr. vonNatsi's instability that created the lack of werewolves!" Lovelace puts her cup down. "I do understand. As a colleague, you must defend your compatriot and it is to your credit that you should do so. The difficulty is we're simply unwilling to take the risk of having another Three Mile Island incident." She notices Georgia's confused expression. "You've heard of the nuclear reactor? At Three Mile Island?" "What's a nuclear reactor?" Lovelace sighs. "Oh dear. Suffice to say, there was an incident in 1978 in Pennsylvania that Dr. vonNatsi may or may not have had anything to do with—" Dr. vonNatsi whirls around, brandishing the garlic press at Lovelace. "Zose vere SPURIOUS RUMORS! Nothing vas ever proven!!" "The good doctor," Lovelace continues calmly, "wished to perform a degree of experimentation on the reactor core and might have transmuted several of the control rods into something he should not have." Georgia, blessed with ignorance, shrugs this off. "Well I can personally attest that I have seen Dr. vonNatsi perform multiple transmutations in the last week and he has done every one of them exactly as predicted. "Exceptionally glad to hear that, but nonetheless there is a concern that this form of science might prove to be a destabilizing element." She holds up a hand against Georgia's protests. "We're not trying to say that he shouldn't perform it. Far be it from us to impede the flow of science, after all. We'd just prefer it if he were to undertake his experiments in a somewhat more controlled environment. Horizon, perhaps, or a shard realm." "...Where are those?" "Ah...Extradimensional spaces." Georgia's face goes dark. "So you wish to kill him." "What? No! Of course not! Etherites do not do such things, what are we? Barbarians?" Georgia still frowns suspiciously. "Dr. vonNatsi," she says, turning, "What do you say to this?" vonNatsi is leaning against his table, arms folded, glaring at Lovelace. "I say zat zis is an officious busybody attempting to suppress zose who do not subscribe to her orthodoxy!!" He throws up his arms and paces, intoning in a mocking voice. "Quantum mechanics is the new science! Ve cannot understand ze particles! It is unknowable!!!" Georgia puts down her teacup and folds her arms at Lovelace. "Well, I do not know what to say. And I am not entirely certain why it is I've been summoned." "Well, I merely wish to inquire whether you had beheld any experiments that might be concerning." Georgia draws herself up. "I've beheld many experiments that have given me great pause to consider what I have been doing with my research. And I think that Dr. vonNatsi has a great deal to teach me." At these words, Dr. vonNatsi behind her draws himself up too, scoffing at Lovelace. "Quite," Lovelace says, regarding them both. "Quite...." She stands up. "Well, I don't mean to take any more of your valuable time. I do understand, your kind has your own agendas in the city and I don't wish to interfere. But, doctor.... I do understand your antipathy towards certain core tenants of etheric science. But we are concerned that your methodologies may be somewhat suspect and that they may lead to destabilization of the immediate environs. After all...the reports from your former assistant were rather alarming." vonNatsi facepalms. "I informed Gunter that all the damage could be repaired...." He mutters. "It does sound like he was an exceptionally poor lab assistant," Georgia adds. Lovelace raises an eyebrow. "Yes, well, it is rather hard to assist in a laboratory when one is having one's limbs amputated." She picks up the cups and the teapot and stows them away in satchels that look too small to contain them, yet somehow everything fits. She also removes a card. "In any event, Ms. Johnson, will you do me the great compliment of taking my contact information? Should something else come up, please contact me." Georgia sighs and takes the card. "That sounds delightful. And, should you wish to participate in any experiments here or watch any demonstrations so that you might feel better about Dr vonNatsi I would be happy to assist with those. "Yes, I would love to, but I'm afraid that today I would be hard pressed to do so." She takes a slim pocketwatch from a pocket and clicks it open. "Yes, I'm afraid that I'm required in less than an hour on Venus." Georgia stares. "I see...and where is that?" Lovelace stares back. "Roughly sixty million miles in that direction." She points straight up. Georgia looks at her askance. "Do you mean north?" Lovelace smirks. "Not quite." She bows to Georgia, bows slightly less so to vonNatsi, then walks back toward the elevator and out of sight. Georgia and vonNatsi are left alone in the lab. (Kara: "Oh myyy! With no supervision?" Me: "Kara! What would Doc say?" Chris: "Hey, Dr. vonNatsi still probably has a sex drive." Me: "He doesn't have a sex drive, he's a scientist, come on." Chris: "Wow, aren't you a scientist?" Kara: "Aren't I a scientist?" Jim: "I'm sorry for your loss.") vonNatsi storms over to a cabinet, grumbling, and pulls out a bottle of schnapps. He pours himself a glass. Georgia watches him sadly. "Well, I will say she was lovely company, although her plans to...murder you were a little disconcerting. " vonNatsi pounds his glass back and slams it on the table. "She doesn't vant to murder me, she vants to murder vat I stand for! Pure! Etheric! Science! She's ze royalty among ze Etherites. She does does vat she vants, she has the research grant! She writes for Paradigma!" He waves his arms and starts pacing. "Ooooh, look at me, I do ze quantum mechanics! Everything is vat I say it is! Black is vhite, up is down, zere is no functioning of ze universe, zere is only quantum mechanics! Vere is ze particle? I DON'T KNOW! Nobody can tell!!!" (Chris: *stage whisper* "It's really disturbing how good Jason is at this.") VonNatsi slumps onto a stool and pours himself another glass of Schnapps. Georgia sips her blood. (UPDATE: As one of our favorite exchanges in this entire game, we now have an audio clip of the original discussion to share.) "You vin one contest, one...PostIt contest, practically, and suddenly you're the one everyone wants to talk to, you're the one being invited to give lectures..." he mutters. Georgia reaches out and pats his arm gently. "Perhaps it was because of her catchy outfit. Maybe...maybe if we gave you a makeover?" He looks up. "Makeover? Vat is zat?" "You know, like...update your look." He stands up and spreads his arms. "Vat is wrong vith my look!?" Georgia looks over his stained labcoat, the giant green lab gloves, the bandoliers of deathrays, and the goggles—which, now that she's looking carefully, she can see are made from colored glass Christmas ornaments that have been cut in half. "Nothing is wrong with it, it's just...perhaps we can get you a nice set of embroidered lab coats, um..." (Me: "We need to glue more gears to all your shit.") VonNatsi scowls and gropes his labcoat. "Vat is the use of an embroidered labcoat? Vat am I, a Hermetic? Am I Merlin, standing around vith the pointy hat and shouting for lightning!?!" Georgia holds up her hands. "All I'm suggesting is that her dress was quite catchy...." "Ohh, yeaaah..." He starts pacing again. "She has the Ethernaut gear. She is a member of ze Ethernautical Society. Ze Royal Ethernautical Society." "Hmm. Royalty, huh? I thought they'd done away with that..." VonNatsi laughs mockingly. "Nein, Fraulein, ze did avay vith ze old ones, but zey have ze new ones now. Oh, she is the great-granddaughter of Lovelace, so ja, ve give her everything she vants." Georgia blinks. "Granddaughter of whom?" VonNatsi stops. "Of no one...." he says, glowering into space. "Of no one at all...." (Jim: "I love how your ignorance is Dr. vonNatsi's favorite trait about you!") # Anstis has set up a meeting this evening with Bell, of all people. He begins their appointment by swaggering into Bell's office and wandering nonchalantly to a window. Bell glares at him and closes his laptop. "Now that is the appearance of a man who is about to ask me for a favor." Anstis is quiet a moment, staring at the fog pouring in low over the bay, before responding. "Back in my day I was an opportunist. One could consider me an anarch. Did me own thing." Bell leans back in his chair and swivels to face him. "The Anarchs are members of the Camarilla same as everyone else. They may not think that they are, but they are." Anstis inclines his head but continues to face the window. "I'm aware that it brought me ruin in the end." "As it often does." "A lack of respect for the powers that be, shall we say." "The world is what it is, not what we wish it to be." Anstis nods and is silent a moment. "In my time, there was a certain concept. A...letter of mark" Bell raises an eyebrow. "Yes...commissioned privateers." "Aye." "Did you take on any letters of mark in your career?" "I did not." Bell clasps his fingers. "And are you looking to see if such things are available now?" Anstis turns and folds his arms. "I might be interested in helping put your city back together, if I be granted a certain amount of...autonomy at sea." "At sea?" Bell frowns. "What are you planning on doing at sea, Captain? I can't have you raiding cargo ships from Korea." Anstis shrugs. "Well if there be a certain direction ye be pointing me in...." He trails off. Bell regards him a moment. "The further south you go, the less apt I am to care what you do there, if that makes the matter clearer." "Aye, it does." "There's no shortage of pirates in the waters these days, perhaps not the same ones you are used to dealing with but they're around, and most of them have backers of some sort. I have heard interesting rumors going on off our own waters, of course. Ships of the Damned and islands of fear." Bell leans forward. "If someone were to show themselves worthy of a letter of mark, someone were to show themselves a trustworthy pair of hands in which which to put it—cause afterall, a bearer of such a letter would be operating, in a sense, for the Camarilla itself—that someone would be given very broad license indeed to do what he wished in certain waters. Say even...Caribbean ones." Anstis smiles. "I like the sound of this. The sea is where I consider home. Bell nods and swivels to the window. "Well one must always go home, if one can. But I would need some reason to entrust you with such a thing. That would be a very wide commission, Captain. If you were able to show me that you have the capacity to handle certain nautical matters—the rumors that I'm hearing onshore, this...Perpenna matter—then I'd be in a position to help you." "I believe we have an understanding." "Good." Bell turns back to his desk and opens his laptop again. "Then unless there was anything else, Captain, I will bid you good evening." Anstis sweeps off his hat and bows with an exaggerated flourish, and leaves the office. # Paul arrives in Portola Valley at the ragged battlefield that was his house. (Chris: "Is there a front door?" Jason: "No." Chris: "Then I walk in through the gaping maw.") He surveys the scorched rubble and glass of the entryway with a sigh then heads to the kitchen. It is similarly trashed, but the large cabinet-veneer fridge is still intact. He pries open the door and digs out his Alcatraz tote bag containing Sebastian's head from amongst the cabbages. Next he visits his office and grabs a couple new phones from his stash, one for himself and a few others in case of emergency. He goes to get cleaned up and changed, in the process of which surveying the ragged battlefield that was his body. He wisely decides to contact his solar-project engineers via phone instead of in person. He calls the lead engineer—Bill Can-His-Last-Name-Be-Tungsten-No-It-Cant-****-You-Chris—and raves about what a success their "test" at the Shark Tank was the previous night. Then, after a pause, he asks if Bill has any ideas to make the technology mobile. # I am out and about, trying to get my mind wrapped around things, when I get a call from Paul. He wants to talk about plans for rescuing Sophia and tells me to meet up with him at a neutral, public location. Being both Paul AND a Toreador, he chooses some sort of hippie meditation drumming and chanting thing being held at Cellspace in the Mission later that night. I agree and start making my way there. # Georgia is still with Dr. vonNatsi, both of them nursing their drinks in silence, when she suddenly remembers something that Lovelace said in passing. "Doctor...this is the second time I've heard about your golem project...." She says slowly. VonNatsi nods. "Ja. It is a...personal project. Are you familiar with the legend of the golem?" Georgia shakes her head. "It is an old mythological legend from Medieval Kabbalic studies. It regards a man who creates a creature, a living creature, out of clay, vith vitch to destroy his enemies." He wobbles his head back and forth. "He inscribes it vith mystical sigils und it comes to life und it ultimately destroys him." He pauses. "Obviously I vish to do away vith the third part there." Georgia shudders. "Oh dear. Clearly." VonNatsi takes a sip of his schnapps. "I vish to practice ze art of golem making on a scale that has never before been produced. You see, anyone can create a golem. Ze Hermetics can create a golem, it is easy, but I vish to engage in a much more ambitious project. A different sort of golem." "And...what is that?" "A golem produced not through the typical animating structures, you see." He turns to Georgia and lifts his goggles to his forehead. "Typically ven one produces the golem, one employs a channeling devicing to draw Quintessencal energy from the etheric plane und infuse material of ze creature zat it might be animated." "How dramatic!" Georgia says breathlessly, eyes wide. "It is dramatic. BUT!" He holds a finger aloft. "It is limited. Ze etheric plane cannot produce energy of sufficient quantity to animate ze golem und produce ze effects necessary. Zis is why ze golem is alvays ze big hulking man who valks around like the movies from ze 30's, ja. Zey are not elegant, zey do not employ...science." He grins. "I vish to do something entirely different." "And what is that?" VonNatsi leans forward. "I vill access a different energy source. The latent etheric energy trapped vithin ze material of ze golem itself. Ze golem vill be, in a sense, self-powering. It vill not be reliant upon exterior sources of etheric energy. Und zis vill allow a golem of unlimited complexity." He takes a dramatic swig of his drink then sits up straight. "HOWEVER! Ze strictures to produce such a thing are very precise. Zey require the most delicate testing, und proper configuration, so as to produce the intended effect. Ze alternative could vell distintigrate ze golem...." He hesitates. "...Und possibly the golem maker. For obvious reasons, zis is a matter zat requires great care." He hesitates again and looks at Georgia askance, tapping his fingers on the table. "Und it would be helpful if I could acquire a few items zat...might...come in handy?" Georgia nods enthusiastically. "Yes you have mentioned before you have a list of things you need help with but I don't recall ever receiving the list." "Ooh, yes, my apologies, Fraulein, zere were...complications." His face darkens. "Involving verewolves." "Oh, yes, of course. It happens to the best of it." "Ja. Vell I do need a certain number of basic things. A 57-gigawatt Flux capacitor, a perpetual motion machine, a pocket-sized nuclear reactor, a cold-fusion reactor...." He waves his hand vaguely. "You know, the simple items. But zis is not vat I need assistance vith." Georgia frowns in puzzlement as he lists the items but doesn't ask for clarification. "So...I shouldn't write these down?" "Vell, if you have a perpetual motion machine that vould be useful." "Oh no. Not on me. Um...what would you like me to get for you?" He sips his drink, thinking. "Vell, zere is an item that a vampire might be able to assist me vith. Zere is a certain alchemical element. It is called [fourteen-syllable-German-word-Fahrfagnugen-Autobahn-Ich-bin-ein-Berliner]." Georgia stares. "Um...is there a shorter name for that?" VonNatsi thinks for a second. "Vell...I have also heard it called Compound E. It is an alchemical product produced by blood sorcerers. And it is unfortunately one zat I am not certain of the proper mechanisms for producing. Othervise I vould do so. Zere are, however, certain thaumaturgists who might be able to produce it, in quantity, und so I turn to ze blood mage." He puts down his drink and turns to face Georgia intently. "It is an extremely unstable element. If you heat it past a certain point, it immediately reverts to a more stable compound, one not useful to me. Nitro-glycerin. But kept at it's proper optimal temperature it is as safe as rainwater." He hesitates. "Ze...proper temperature being 3 degrees Kelvin." Georgia nods, wide-eyed. "That doesn't sound too hard. I...could get a cooler." VonNatsi winces. "You...might need something a bit more potent zan zat." Georgia frowns, then shrugs. "Well, perhaps we will cross that bridge when we come to it. First I will track down the compound." VonNatsi beams. "Excellent! If you assist me vith zis it vill greatly progress human understanding of Science!!" He hesitates, his smile turning brittle. "...Also I might have a golem that kills people...." Georgia is a bit nonplussed by this but not as plussed as she probably should be. "Is that...better than a death ray?" "Oh, Fraulein," vonNatsi sighs, "Zis vill make a deathray look like a microwave antenna." His eyes go distant, and a pleased smile spreads across his face. "If I can create this golem, it vill make my finest deathray look like a product of quantum mechanics...." He trails off, obviously thinking scientific thoughts. Georgia sips her blood. "Doctor," she says suddenly, "There was one more thing I wanted to mention. Remember that...problem you asked me to help you with? You said you were going to outfit one of the deathrays for me...." VonNatsi blinks himself out of his reverie. "Ooooh, ja, ze deathray...." He looks over his shoulder across the lab. "I do have ze deathray for you. But...zere is a problem vith it...." He gets up and disappears behind a nearby lab bench for awhile, coming back cradling a bulky ray-gun looking contraption in his hands. He sighs. "I tried, und I tried, but...ze eye surgery setting simply does not verk." He hesitates. "Or, well, it does verk if you vish to boil the eyeball." He hands it to her. Georgia blinks at stares at it. "Oh...well that might be useful. And the other settings?" He his hand dismissively. "Oh, zey vill verk. Death, disintegration, microwave cooking. Um, do not press the green button, however." Georgia pauses with her finger millimeters above said button. "Why?" "It causes the deathray to violently explode." "Oh, good to know. And this button?" He peers at it. "Oh, zat is the MP3 player. Ze music player. You push it und it plays ze music." Georgia beams. "Oh, how nice!" "Ja. Though unfortunately it only playz polka music at ze moment. I vas trying to add ze other ones, and, vell...let us say zat ze Country und ze Western music and ze Science do not connect." His face darkens again. "Zey do not connect at all." (Me: "Hey! Hey.... I grew up on country music." Jason: *glares and leans in toward me* "Zey do not connect at all!") # Anstis leaves the Pyramid, transforms into Parrot-Anstis, and takes off into the night. He circles up over the city, spots his intended destination, and soars down to it. Grace Cathedral. He finds an open window high in the belfry, squeezes through, then glides through the rafters, long tail ruddering him through the columns like rainforest tree trunks. Few clergypeople are around at this late hour, so he's able to flutter up to the baptismal font unnoticed. He transforms back into human form, glancing around surreptitiously, then takes a handful of stones out of his pocket. One by one, he starts dipping them in the water. Once they have all been consecrated, he pockets them and flies back up into the belfry. There, he hides in the shadows and, using one of his own molted feathers, inscribes a series of names on the rocks in his own blood. (Names which the rest of us weren't allowed to know so the vague things he saw when he used said rocks for his necromantic scrying spell are without context so imma just skip that and we can catch up with Anstis later.) # I arrive at Cellspace before Paul. As I approach I hear the muted reverberation of music. I make my way through the smokers lingering outside the door and duck inside. The entry-atrium of the space doubles as a white-walled art gallery, currently showing some sort of photography exhibit. A few people are scattered around the room, but none of them seem to be looking at the photos. They are all standing, staring vacantly around the space, obviously entranced by something else. The music. If it can be called that, actually. It's a repetitive, droning sound, like an electric sitar—(Me: "Oh wow, those are really rare!")—and bordering on atonal. I hesitate, gaze softening, the sound starting to unravel the edges of my mind like pulled sweater strings. Then the moment passes and I'm able to shake myself out of the fog. I frown and enter the main performance area. Cellspace is a warehouse-like space, half art venue and half circus-school, hung with velvet curtains and lighting equipment and littered with props and decorations from all manner of events. Right now everything is pushed to the sides and the floor is filled with folding chairs, all ranged in a semi-circle around a circular dais acting as a stage. People are scattered throughout the room—some in the chairs, some standing near the walls, some gathered around the bar set up in the corner—but wherever they are standing, every single person in the room is oriented toward that dais stage and the man currently standing on it. The man is tall, dressed in an outfit like a reject from a Falco music video but topped with hair that even David Bowie would aspire to. He's curled in a rockstar-slump over a baroque long-necked instrument that is almost, but not entirely, unlike a sitar, teasing out long chords of the strange music. Though everyone in the room is focused on him, he seems to be oblivious to anything else outside the sphere of music surrounding the dais. I stare at him, then at the vacant faces around the room. This can't be good. I notice an analog clock hanging on one of the walls. I stare at it a moment, trying to figure out why it grabbed my attention, and then I realize: the second hand is ticking over very. very. slowly. Someone brushes past me, walking slowly into the room. I glance over. It's Paul, face rhapsodic but eyes vacant. He steps down the aisle, entranced, as close to the stage as he can, and drops down into the nearest available seat. I frown. Son of a bitch.... No one, not even the musician, glances at me as I stride up next to Paul and start shaking his shoulder. "Hey, heeey...." I hiss. Paul rocks with the movement but doesn't respond. I look around the room. No one looks quite as gone as Paul is, but no one looks...quite...right. I turn to the musician. Though I am standing just a couple feet from him, face almost at eye-level, he is focused on the music and doesn't acknowledge me at all. I glance around the room again, concern deepening. There's obviously some magical shit going on right now and it looks like I am the only one around able to deal with it. The musician doesn't even flinch as I step onto the dais and walk up behind him. "Hey, brah." Still no response. I reach out and tap his shoulder. The music doesn't falter, but he turns to glance at me out of the corner of his eye. He stares a moment, then plays one loud chord that drives through the music without managing to break it. An electric shock blasts my hand off his shoulder. I stumble back, cradling it, but I'm more surprised than hurt. He scoffs at me then turns back to his instrument. I glare at him then storm back into the seats. "Paul!" I bark, shaking him more vigorously this time. "...Huh? Yeah?" He looks up, then around the room. "Tom...?" I glance at the musician. "Paul, we need to GO." He stares at me blearily. "But...this music is fantastic, Tom, I—" I lift at his upper arm. "Paul something weird is going on, let's talk about this outside, ok?" Paul starts to drift again. "But...I want to listen...to the music...." I pull harder, lifting him half out of the chair. "Paul...lets go outside...." He sighs. "Fine...." Just as Paul stands up, the music hits a high, long note. It resonates through the space, filling up the empty ait between the adoring eyes of the crowd, then, slowly, languidly, dies out. There's a moment of silence, then an audible, collective breath from everyone else in the room. The musician doesn't say anything, doesn't even acknowledge the crowd. He leans over, unplugs his instrument, and steps off the dais. He walks down the aisle, passing Paul and I without a glance, the rest of the crowd stirring in his wake. He walks up to the bar and leans against it, staring around the room haughtily. Low conversation starts to spread through the room as people get up and move around. No one seems in any immediate danger, or any worse for wear, but I still stare at him suspiciously. I decide to go try and talk to him again. Paul follows. He flicks his eyes at us as we approach but otherwise doesn't react. Paul bustles forward to speak first. "Hey, man, that music was amazing, I mean...wow. Can I buy you a drink?" The musician regards Paul lazily. "Oh, zank you, jaaa. I play for the people who understand the muuusic." "When are you playing next?"

"Oh, ven I feel like it. The schedules, they are boring." His gaze drifts to me. "And who are you?" My eyes narrow slightly. "...Tom," I say, voice clipped. With his Eurotrash accent and overall demeanor, I'm starting to think I liked him better when he wasn't talking. "Tom. Jaaa, zis is a boring name, you bore me." He turns back to the bar and picks up a drink. Paul leans forward eagerly. "Where did you learn to play like that?" The man slouches against the bar. "Oh, you know, you play and you play and you look for the perfect muusic and you praaactice it. And ven the music takes you zen you attain the true bliss." The bartender wanders over, finally drawing Paul's attention away from the man. "What will you have?" Paul asks him. The man purses his lips and stares across the room. "I vill have...transcendence." (Me: "Oh my god I hate this guy so much.") The man's gaze drifts over bar. "Und...ze Jaegermeister." (Me: "Oh my god I hate him even more.") I roll my eyes and lean against the bar a few feet down, frowning. Paul orders the drink and goes back to fawning over him. "Would you...play another?" The man thinks for a long moment, then nods. "Jaaaa, I could play another von, what would you like to hear?" "Know any ACDC?" I ask before Paul can suggest some sort of douchey hipster alt-rock band like the kind he's always inviting to the Tesseract company beer bashes. The man looks at me, face still condescendingly dreamy. "Jaaa, ja zey vere real, zey played the real music, before zey sold out. Before zey became boooring." He unslings his instrument from behind his back. He reaches into a pocket of his crushed velvet coat and pulls out an amp cord. He plugs the cord into the instrument but doesn't pull the rest of the cord out to plug it in anywhere else. He plucks a few notes, then begins to play— (Jason: "Someone do me a favor and suggest an ACDC song only hipsters would like.") —Begins to play "Let There Be Rock." The music explodes into the space, the full accompaniment of music, more than one should be able to play with just a single instrument, and note-perfect to the original song. Just as before, he curls over the instrument, eyes closed in concentration. Unlike before, though, the room responds with jubilation. People start bouncing and rocking out wherever they are standing, and a few start pulling back chairs to make an impromptu mosh pit. Paul, of course, is totally swept away, grinning and bobbing his head. And this time—caught unaware by the power of rock perfection—I unfortunately am too. # Georgia collects herself to leave the tower. Dr. vonNatsi offers to call her a car and asks if she would prefer a cab or another service. She waves her hand dissmissively. "Oh, whatever. It's going to be the same driver anyway." VonNatsi frowns. "You do not find this worrisome?" (Me: "Well, there's only five cabs in the city, so...statistically....") Georgia says that Adam is weird but doesn't seem to be dangerous. VonNatsi scowls and warns her that there are stranger forces at work in the city than even she has met yet. Still, he calls her a car anyway. When it arrives, he bids Georgia goodbye and she leaves the lab to meet it at the gate. (Jason: "The car arrives. Do you get in?" Kara: "Yes I do. Who's the driver?" Jason: *scoffs* "Oh you know who the driver is....") "Where to?" Adam says with his now-trademark sunglasses grin. Georgia gives him an address in Russian Hill, a few blocks away from the Chantry. On the ride they have a predictably long chat that gives no real information. This time the major themes are the current lull in the drama of the city, though literally no one believes that will last for long. He drops her off not where she requested, but once again in front of the old Victorian house a few blocks away, the same one he took her to the first night they met. The one that reeked of mystery and blood. "Is there a reason you've dropped me off here?" Georgia says, staring up at the darkened windows. "This is where you asked to go." "This is not where I asked to go," she says, turning to him and frowning. He lifts an eyebrow in an "Oh, really?" grin. "Are you sure? I think you should think about that again." She looks between him and the house, perplexed. "Is...there anyone else who might be interested in this house?" "Well it is a nice property." "Yes, I'm sure it looks great in the morning sunlight," she says flatly. Adam chuckles. "Only one way to find that out." Georgia glares at him and exits the cab. He nods at her and drives off. Georgia spends a couple minutes staring up at the building, damp foggy air swirling through the heavy trees and unkempt landscaping out front. Reaching no conclusions about a sensible course of action, she decides to Pull a Georgia: She walks up to the door and knocks. There's no response, but she can hear slight movement inside, like someone trying to move around without letting anyone know that they're there. She knocks a few more times with still more response, so she takes a chance and tries the door. It's unlocked. She opens it with a creak, peers into the darkened foyer, then steps inside. (Me: "OMG! It's Haunting at House on the Hill!" Chris: "Whatever you do, don't go into the basement. Nothing good ever happens in the basement." Me: "Yeah I think she learned that at the Monomancy.") # The ACDC song finishes, perfect to the last echoing cord. The musician hovers for a moment over the last whispers, then slings the instrument back to his back and stands up. "Ja, zat vas the ACDC. Zey were good once, before they became boring." I slowly shake myself out of my trance. Paul, who barely left his trance to begin with, nods enthusiastically. "What's your name?" he asks. The man takes a sip of his Jaegermeister. "My name is Siegfried von Austerlitz. Jaa. I come from Munich, you understand, were ve play the real music. I have come here to see if zere is music to be found." "What sort of music are you looking for?" He smiles. "The puure music, the music zat hasn't been contaminated by the mediocrity and the consumers. The truuue music, jaaa, you understand." Austerlitz nods to himself, staring across the room, then slouches back against the bar. "And I have found the music here, and some of it is good, and some of it is boooring. It is American pop, it is the charts, zey play the Justin Beiber." Paul grips his forearm, eyes intent. "There is a great chanting class coming up here." Austerlitz nods, still staring into space. "Jaaaa, the chanting can be good, the chanting can be pure, but now zere is the hipsters, they read about it in the magazine, and zey think zey want to free Tibet and zey chant. Urgh. Zey are boooring." He shrugs. "I will try ze class, ja, perhaps it is good, but probably it is boring." Speaking of boring.... I look around the room, watching the now rather disheveled crowd start to put the chairs back together. Once again, weird shit has happened, but no one seems to be in any danger and I'm getting tired of this. "Right, sooo.... Paul, what were you going to talk to me about?" He continues to stare at Austerlitz, but seems to shake himself back into focus. "Oh....yeah, we should...talk...." I grab his arm gently. "Do you want to step outside? You gonna be ok? There's a lot of art in here." He nods, staring around the room. "Yeah...It's just...so pure...." I roll my eyes and drag Paul out of the room, leaving Austerlitz to condescendingly sip his Jaegermeister at the bar. I check my phone as we step out of the place, then stop so suddenly on the sidewalk that Paul crashes into me. Though Austerlitz only played the one song, somehow time has jumped ahead three hours. "Son of a bitch!!!" I snarl at the doorway behind me. "Paul, do you see this!?" I hold up my phone. He stares at it, face still dreamy. "Huh...that's...fascinating...." (Me: "Urg, can I slap him?") Paul pulls his shit together. We discuss the Farallones and the fact that Sophia is probably there. We know we need to get out there soon but are stumped as to how. Paul: "I was thinking some sort of nature outing—" Me: "There aren't many nature outings that leave at night, Paul." Paul: "—on an attack helicopter?" Me: "....That...sounds like fun, but—" (Jason: "Not a lot of nature outings leave on attack helicopters either." Chris: "Oh, well, not if you're not filthy rich.") We contact Anstis and agree to get together to discuss these plans. Paul and I head to the Tesla to wait. # No sign of anyone inside the house, or movement, even as Georgia tentatively calls out into the gloom. She steps across the threshold. The door slams shut behind her, making her jump. Dim yellow light from the street filters through the curtains on the windows, but it's largely absorbed by the heavy rugs and dark brocade wallpaper. She carefully feels her way down the hallway. Something rustles behind her. She turns, peering into the darkness. "Hello....?" she calls, conjuring a ball of fire to see better. Suddenly, a figure rushes out of the gloom, her firelight glinting off the long blade of a sword in it's hand. The firelight also illuminates the figure's face. It's Dr. Everton. "Doctor Everton!!" she cries, stumbling back and holding up her hands. He stops, blade inches from her neck. Georgia gasps in relief, but it's short-lived. Something is wrong, very wrong. Everton is ragged, covered in wounds, dirt, and dried Vitae, and absolutely haggard. He is pale and gaunt in a way that Georgia has never seen before, not even in a vampire. "Doctor Everton....?" she asks cautiously. He stares at her, sword still held at her neck. "...I know you," he whispers. "Yes! It's Georgia! From the Chantry...?" He frowns. "Tremere... You were the Tremere.... Who came to Berkeley...." "Yes! Are you alright?" He stares at her, then drops the sword on the floor and grabs her robes. "You must...understand," he hisses, "I am not alright, nothing is alright!" He peers into the darkness around them. "I have seen them all. They are coming." Georgia follows his gaze. "Who are?" He leans in. "There are no names for them, but I've seen them, and I know, I know what they mean to do...." Georgia stares blankly at his wan, darkened face. "What...what do they want? Tell me so I can stop them." He chuckles cruelly. "You can't stop them.... You can't get away." He stares at her another moment, sanity slowly returning to his eyes. "You...there were others. Others with you...The Brujah, and...the Toreador...." Georgia nods encouragingly. "Yes, Mr. Lytton, and Mr. Stewart." "And...the Ventrue! There was Ventrue—" Her face drops. "Ah, Clarence. Clarence is no longer with us." Everton frowns. He drops her robes and steps back, muttering. "But...I saw him...." "He's...changed employers..." "I saw him...in a very dark place...." He stares into the gloom and trails off. "Yes.... Have...you seen his new employer?" Georgia asks carefully. Everton's mouth works soundlessly for a few moments. "The...Man of Wind...." he finally whispers. "Yes...that's the one.... Have you seen him?" Everton turns his gaze back to her, eyes wide. He shakes his head slowly. "The Man of Wind is not his employer." "Umm..." Georgia shifts uncomfortably. "Interesting...who is, then?" "There are no names. None that can be spoken, not even in the light. There are no names for what employs him." He regards her a moment. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?" "Uhhh...." Georgia glances at the door. "An acquaintance dropped me off. A...very tight-lipped cab driver." Everton strides to a window and peers through the dusty curtains. "Well, if you can find me here then so can the rest. We must go. Immediately." "Alright, well the Chantry's not far. Not...really secure, mind you, but..." Everton glances up and down the street. "No where is.... The Chantry will do. ...Wait," he turns around. "How did you know about the Man of Wind?" "Oh, well the attacked the Chantry." His face drops. "We can't go there," he growls, turning back to the window. "You don't understand, the Man of Wind.... I saw the things he works with." "I...saw some things too—" "No, not like this. You would be different if you had seen these things...Unless...." he turns around slowly. "...my God, are you working with him too?" Georgia scoffs. "Oh good lord no." Everton drops the curtain and stalks toward her. "Are you...working for him? You cannot lie to me...." She takes a step back. "What, no, I'm—" "You're lying....you're lying!!" He reaches down to pick up his sword, still staring intently at her. "I'm not ly—" "YOU ARE LYING!!!" He levels the sword. Georgia throws her hands up. "Look at my aura!!" He squints at her, then slowly relaxes his sword. "Why did you come here? Who sent you!?" he says, still glowering. "I don't understand—" "You will understand soon, you and all of your kind." He continues to glare at her but drops the point of the sword to the floor. Georgia relaxes. "So...are you staying here alone, or...." He smiles unsettlingly. "I am never alone, my dear. None of us are ever alone." "Okay, well...would you like some blood? You're not looking too good...." He scowls. "What trickery is this?" "It's...a peace offering. I mean you no harm, I'm here to help. You have my word." He laughs. "Your word is that of a Tremere. Both of our words are that of vampires. We have no words, there is merely that which we can and cannot do. And you are a Tremere, so who knows what you can do. What do you want with me, Johnson?" She shrugs. "Well you seem to know a lot about the occult goings-on of the city—" "I have seen a lot of events which I did not expect to have," he spits. "—Indeed, and as events become more complicated, you are becoming an invaluable resource." "You'll forgive me if that doesn't fill me with confidence, I know what the Tremere mean by 'resource.' " "In this case I mean that having you on my side is incredibly valuable. And at the moment I am interested in helping you. You look, frankly, terrible, and that concerns me. Especially since you say you've seen the Man of Wind. He...scares the night out of me." "He scares the night out of most who cross his path. There's a reason for that. I've seen more than just him, I've seen from whence he draws his strength," Everton says darkly. Georgia throws her hands up excitedly. "And thats the thing we can use to fight back against him!" Everton scoffs. "Fight back? Against that? You have a deep overestimation of your capabilities." "Not mine, certainly—" "Then whose?" Everton snaps. "I know there are elders in this town. They are not equal to this task." "Well then we will do something you advise," Georgia says, exasperated. "But I do think that something needs to be done, or else the entire city may burn." Everton stares at her a long moment, a dark shape eclipsing the filtered yellow glow of the windows. "If you are telling the truth...call for the others. Your Toreador, your Brujah." "Umm...." Georgia pulls her smashed phone out of a pocket and holds it up. "Then employ mine," Everton sneers, grabbing his and holding it out. # Paul and I are chilling in the Tesla when his phone rings. It's an unknown number but he answers it anyway. "Ms. Johnson!" Paul announces, then starts chatting with her. The volume is down and I don't have Auspex so I can't hear her side of the conversation. I stare out the window, only half listening to what he's saying. "Uh-huh...yes...Dr. Everton? That's great! Where did you find him?.... The Man of Wind?" I snap my head around. Paul doesn't notice. "Who is—...Perkins? Is he with you?...I think Tom saw him the other night.... Alright, where are you?...Great, we'll be there in twenty minutes." Paul hangs up. I stare at him in concern. "We're meeting up with Georgia," he says, starting the car and blasting the stereo before I can say anything. We head north. My mind is reeling, thinking about Sophia and Perpenna and everything else. I'm barely able to focus over Paul's new age hippy music and stream of consciousness lecture about how awesome Austerlitz was. The streets are clear so we're halfway across the city before we hit a red light and have to stop. The moment we do, something large and feathery lands on the windshield. Paul jumps and accidentally hits the wipers. The thing is whapped back and forth a couple times before I can make out the blue and yellow tones to its feathers. "Oh, shit, I forgot about him." I roll down the window, grab Anstis, and pull him inside, tossing him in the backseat. He pops back to human form and glares at Paul, rubbing his head. Paul pivots around. "We just heard...the most amazing music anyone has ever heard!! It was perfect! It was so pure, it was—" Anstis stares. "What happened to you two tonight?" "I don't know," I mutter through my hands. A car horn blasts behind us. I look up. While Paul has been gushing, the light turned green. A giant Hummer roars around us, still honking, some 'roided-out douche leaning out the window yelling and flipping us off. The license plate of the car says "WINNING." Paul trails off. "Wait...I think I know that guy...." I roll my eyes and turn to Anstis. "I took care of some chores, set Slayer off on some stuff, ditched the Tenderloin apartment because ****ing Perpenna knows where it is!" Anstis's eyes narrow. "Ye should not be speaking his name. There be power in names." I start to laugh, but Anstis's expression makes me hesitate. "...Wait, really?" He inclines his head. "Wait...he is literally He Who Must Not Be Named?!" Anstis obviously doesn't get the reference but doesn't acknowledge it. "There be ways of telling." The car pulls ahead, continuing the drive to Russian Hill. I stare at Anstis another moment before turning back in my seat. I am silent for the rest of the drive as dread starts to spread through me. # Georgia and Everton are sitting in quiet tension in the parlor when they hear a knock on the door. Everton watches her carefully as she gets up to answer it. It's us, of course. We greet each other and file into the house. Once it's clear it's us, Everton hauls himself to his feet and comes over. "Dr. Everton," Paul says slowly, "You look like you've had a worse week than we have." I look him over as well, concerned. "Are we going to get that Carthage talk now, cause I really...wanted to go...." Everton peers suspiciously out the door as Georgia closes it. "No, we don't have time for that now.... Not unless you want the city to share its fate." "Doctor, what happened to you?" Paul says. "A tremendous number of things that I am not particularly inclined to discuss at this moment." He stumbles back into the parlor and collapses on the chair again. "What do you need right now?" Paul continues, following him. "The intercession of a benevolent god would be of use." Paul spreads his arms. "I'm here now." Everton snorts. "You are not a god, Mr. Stewart, nor are you particularly benevolent. No, I've been to places, places that even our kind were not intended to go." Paul sinks to a chair across from him. "We looked for you in Berkeley." "No, no I went to a place far worse than Berkeley." (Chris: "...Richmond.") Anstis swaggers in. "What did you see there?" Everton looks up at him. "Terrible things. Terrible things. I saw...creatures beyond description, beyond compare, and beyond number. A vile force of blackness vomited up from some lesser Hell." Anstis considers this. "Well, at least it wasn't the greater Hell." Everton grumbles and leans back in his chair. "How did you get there?" Anstis asks. "It's...something of a complex matter. I employed...potent magics. Highly potent ones." Anstis leans forward, face serious. "And what magics do you know?" "Myself? None. It's not about what you know, it's about who you know. Or so they continue to tell me. I employed the potent magics of another and I went to a place I had to go, and perhaps I did, but I found things there that I was not prepared to see. Horrors beyond reckoning. (Kara: "...Tentacle porn?") "My dear, this is not Japan," Everton says, glaring through the 4th wall. While they talk I've been pacing through the open foyer and nearby rooms of the ground floor, keeping everyone in earshot. "What is this place?" I call. "Is this your house? Is this a secure location?" I wander back into the parlor. Everton shakes his head. "My house? No. This is a house of a man whose been dead for some time." "Fraulein Johnson!" Van Brugge's voice suddenly appears in Georgia's head. "You have been calling me, ja? What is going on?" Georgia's eyes go wide. "Sir!" she blurts out. "We found Dr. Everton!" "...Wirklich?" Meanwhile, of course, now we all are staring at her. "Who are you talking to...." Dr. Everton says slowly. "Oh, my superior." His eyes narrow. "Another Tremere? The Tremere you spoke of?" "What have you been saying about me?" Georgia hesitates, suddenly caught between the impending wrath of two elders. "I...merely said that you existed, that you were one of two Tremere left in the city." Everton turns to the rest of us. "To what extent to you rely on this Tremere? I have grave suspicions about her...." Anstis shrugs. "I've gotten no sense of betrayal, but she is Tremere." Paul rests a hand on her shoulder. "She's been very valuable to us. Come through in a number of pinches. Gone above and beyond what I'd expect any sane person to do to help." Everyone in the room turns to me. I shrug. "Yeah, she's alright." "Well then...." Everton mutters. He looks us each in the eye. "I know why the Man of Wind is here." We glance at each other. "Oh...well by all means, tell us!" Georgia says. Everton chuckles darkly and shifts on the couch. "It's the simplest thing really. He's here to end the world." Silence in the room. I can hear the distant ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the house. "Well...why did he come here to do it?" Georgia asks first. "Because an item he requires is to be found here." "Is it the statue you had?" she continues. "No. The statue was merely an...adjunct. A representation of something. An old werewolves' legend." Everton takes a slow breath. "He needs...a werewolf. A very particular werewolf. I don't know the exactitudes, but one that has been a matter of some importance to their community for some time. One they've been looking for. One they've been looking forward to, if you might believe it." "...The Perfect Metis," I say slowly. Everyone turns to me. Everton raises an eyebrow. "Oh you've heard the term." "Yes...." I frown. "From...a friend...." "What be this? And why would he wish to end the world?" Anstis grumbles. "To rule its ashes, I would imagine. Or something less. I hope it is to rule its ashes. Cause the alternative is he has no reason but to do it." He waves his hand. "The Perfect Metis is the standard savior legend. A Jesus figure. Someone to lead them to the end days. A Ragnarokian figure." I nod slowly. "And it's...supposed to destroy the Wyrm? Which is us? In their eyes, at least...." "Yes, it is. But there are other legends." Everton leans forward. "The potential for this creature to do something other than what it was intended to. For the Wyrm to repurpose it. In the aid of Apocalypse." "Is that...Perkins' angle?" Paul asks. "Could be, I don't know. I do know that I saw him, and I saw evidence that he was in search of such a thing. Or perhaps already had it." Everton shakes his head. "But its not enough because he is a vampire. Whatever he is now, he is not enough. He needs to...restore himself in some regard." We glance at each other. "Restore himself...like...become human again?" Paul asks. "He can't become human again, after all he's done. But I think he may be attempting the next best thing." He stares at us, gaze piercing the gloom. "There are...potent rituals that can ape the processes of mortality in a perverse and twisted manner. If he were to perform such a ritual, he might be able to do whatever it is he wishes done. But to do that he would need a number of matters. I don't know these rituals very well, but most of them demand that the kindred in question be cleansed ritually. Generally through the removal of organs. Egyptian, you understand." I tense, my conversation last night with Marcus suddenly springing back to mind.... "And then they are made whole through the reclamation of their heart's blood," Everton continues. "Reclamation of all the Vitae which has been expended out into others." "So...his childer," Georgia says slowly. "To put it mildly, yes. He must devour all of his childer, and his grandchilder, and on and on throughout the ages. The entire line." My jaw goes slack. Oh, fuuuuuuuUUUUUU— I step back slightly from the group and pull out my phone. It's possible Marcus already knows this, or at least suspects it, but I need to tell him anyway. I shoot him a quick text saying that we've found Everton and that creepy shit is afoot. "So...." Van Brugge says to Georgia. "First of all, this is what happens when people get partisan with respect to the fundamental forces of the universe. Second of all, finding out what this particular ritual does, what he intends to do to destroy the world, and why a perfect metis is required seems to be the priori—" Van Brugge suddenly cuts off. Georgia blinks. "Van Brugge? ...Van Brugge?" A sensation of cold cuts through Georgia, not painful but enough to make her stumble. A moment later she senses the telepathic connection start up again. But the voice that slides into her head like the cold draft that preceded it isn't van Brugge. It's Perpenna. He laughs—a deep, mocking laugh—and as he speaks the cold clutches fingers around her heart. "Run away, little girl, run away. Your Chantry can't save you and neither can your flame...." "Guys!! I have a problem!" She looks at us, eyes wide. "Van Brugge is no longer talking to me but the Man of Wind is!" "Clever little Tremere...." Perpenna chuckles in her head. "How tasty." END OF NIGHT 4 5/1/2014 "I need a few supplies. A gun with no bullets, some bullets, and three of my MacGyver writers." -Chris *** Georgia starts to panic as she realizes Perpenna is in her head, but at first the rest of us don't notice. "Dr. Everton," Paul asks slowly, "What exactly did you see in...wherever you went?" Everton shifts on the dusty armchair and glances around the darkened parlor. "Horrific things," he scowls, "Nightmares. I'm not entirely certain what it was. Countless hideous shapes, deformed and...undulating. Like the shadows of a Lasombra writ in flesh." Paul and I—both with more Lasombra shadow experience than others—shudder. "Why aren't they here now?" Paul asks. Everton shakes his head. "They're...in the Umbra, I believe. I can't be more specific than that." "The...Umbra is different than the Abyss?" I ask, glancing at Paul. I don't remember the time that Marcus stashed us there, but supposedly Paul was awake for a lot of it. He avoids my gaze, staring stoically ahead. "In a sense, yes. The Umbra is the entirety of the spirit realm, the Abyss is a section of it." Everton pauses. "A particular and rather...inaccessible section." Georgia, meanwhile, is desperately whispering for van Brugge under her breath, but there's no response. Or, rather, there is a response, but not the one she wants. "What's the matter...Georgia?" Perpenna's voice whispers in her ear. Georgia shudders, but her polite sensibilities override her fear. "Well I was in the middle of a conversation and you've interrupted it!" she says to the air, hands on her hips. We turn to her. "Um...what do you mean? You were quiet there a moment ago...." Paul says slowly. "No, I mean I was talking to van Brugge and then Perpenna interrupted," Georgia says matter-of-factly. We stare at her. After a few moments, Everton rises slowly to his feet. "Where is...Gnaeus Perpenna?" "Um...I don't know." Her eyes go unfocused. "Where are you?" "...Everywhere," he whispers. "I mean physically, at the moment." "...Knock knock." She looks back to us, eyes wide. "He's here, guys!" Many things happen at once. Everton draws his sword and moves swiftly through the house. I draw my own and follow. Anstis jogs to the back of the house, opens a window overlooking the multistory drop on the edge of Russian Hill, and launches himself through it in bird-form. None of us can follow because of the drop, so Everton yells to make our escape in any way possible. But over his shouts, Paul and I hear something else. "Woooosh...Woooosh...." Mr. Tails whispers in our heads. Paul looks at me. "Any guesses what that means Tom?" "'Man of Wind,' he's said it before," I respond flatly. "Oh." It's soon clear that there's no immediate means of escape that don't lead back to the street. I run upstairs to get a better view/vantage point of the front of the house. Georgia tries to peer through the windows flanking the door, but between the curtains and the grime she can't see much. Paul, though, decides to take the direct approach and opens the front door. The house is at the apex of a cul-de-sac, so Paul has a clear view down the street. All of the streetlights have mysteriously gone out, as have the lights in the few neighboring houses. The only illumination comes from the dim ambient city light diffusing through the fog. Through the gloom, Paul can see shadows moving at the end of the street. Dozens of them. As he stares harder, they start to resolve. They are humanoid figures, and they're moving closer. Paul...closes the door. Upstairs, I run to a window facing the front of the house, tearing off the heavy curtains and peering through. I too see the figures approaching from down the block, arranged in lines, in such numbers that they disappear back into the gloom. They come steadily closer, and about halfway down the block I recognize them. They are Clarence. They are all Clarence. # Anstis soars out of window over the cliff, circles the house a couple of times, then comes to a landing on a flat rooftop nearby where he can observe the house and the street. He sees the Clarences approaching and eyes them owlishly. There's still some time before they reach the house, so he pulls out one of his rocks—a blank one—and carefully writes a new name on it. Perpenna's. # Paul, Georgia, and Everton peer through the ground floor windows and soon recognize Clarence as well. "Your friends...." Mr. Tails wheedles at Paul. "They're here to plaaaaaay...." "Don't they need to get home? Isn't their mother going to worry about them?" Paul asks grimly. "No, they want to have marshmallows!" Paul frowns and weighs his options. There's so many of them that they're now almost completely filling the street. It's obvious we won't be able to escape easily, and there's no way we'll be able to fight them. The best bet is to hunker down and call for help, and the faster it can get here the better. Which is why, rather than using his phone, Paul decides to Summon Theo Bell. (Me: "Oooooooo, he gonna be maaaaaaad.") # I load up a shotgun with my acid rounds and kick out the window. There's way too many for me to take them all out, but bereft of options I figure there's no reason not to try shooting at them. Before I can, though, the front door opens beneath me. Paul steps out and walks to the sidewalk in front of the house. Before I can yell at him for being an idiot, he spreads his arms and casts something else. Majesty. "Friends!" he cries into the night. "There is a greater darkness than the one we fight! The darkness of the soul that has lost its way! The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair! Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams...." Paul trails off. The Clarences haven't slowed, haven't been affected at all. If anything, they seem to be marching faster. Now that they're closer, he can see that they are armed, with the same sword they used against us in the Chantry. Paul hesitates a moment, then runs back inside and slams the door. I roll my eyes, level the shotgun, and fire at the front of the mob. # Anstis finishes inscribing his rock, but before casting his scrying spell he also decides to call in reinforcements, through more prosaic means. He pulls out his phone and also dials Bell. Bell: "What is it?" Anstis: "There is a high likelihood that Perpenna is here—" Bell: "Yes I know. I'm on my way. Tell that Toreador if he's still alive that this is not the way to call for backup!" Bell hangs up. Anstis puts phone away and thumbs the rock, watching the Clarences advance below. # Paul and Georgia convene in the foyer to discuss a plan. Luckily, the events of last night give them an idea. They need water. And lots of it. Paul runs to the bathroom and turns on all the faucets, plugging the drains so water pools in the basins. Everton stands in the doorway, watching. "What do you need the water for?" "If we can get enough of it, I can barricade us!" Georgia calls from the front. Everton nods. "Thaumaturgy then. Very well." He draws his sword, steps into the room, and severs one of the exposed pipes leading to the shower. Water gushes out, soaking everything and pooling on the floor. Satisfied, Paul and Everton move to the kitchen. # My first shot blasts a Clarence at the front of the crowd, hitting him full in the chest. Puckered cankers bloom across his clothes and skin as the acid spreads and a nauseating stench rolls off of him. He stumbles but continues to move forward with the same determination as the others around him. After a few steps he stumbles, collapsing onto his hands and knees, but he continues to crawl slowly toward the house. The other Clarences just keep walking. (Me: "I got 99 problems and Clarence is ALL OF THEM.") I frown and take another shot. # Georgia tears the curtains off one of the windows by the door. The Clarences have reached the sidewalk. She sees the first one I shot crawling in the middle of the mob, then sees a second one stumble as my next shot clips him across the shoulder. He staggers but keeps moving forward. "If you guys have any better ideas, now's the time to use them!" I shout from upstairs. Georgia nods to herself and takes a step back from the window. She raises her hand and casts fire into the darkness. The flame gouts through the window glass and crashes into one of the Clarences in front. He staggers, breaking the line, but remains on his feet. Georgia watches helplessly as he and his brothers march in a wave across the landscaping and start pounding at the door. # I stare at the sea of douchery below me. I don't have direct line-of-sight to the Clarences pounding on the door from this angle and shooting the other ones is pointless. In desperation, I grab a sideboard table and chuck it out the window. It crashes into the crowd but doesn't seem to have much effect. Moments later, I hear more splintering wood as they break down the front door. # On the nearby rooftop, Anstis decides to cast the scrying spell on his Perpenna rock. Unlike before, where the spell showed him a series of images and sensations relating to its target, this time nothing happens. But then a voice slides into his head. "I...seeeeee...you...." it whispers mockingly. "Looking for meeee, are we? Little...Gangrel...thing...." Anstis immediately shuts the spell down. He pockets the rock and turns back to the house just in time to see the first of the Clarences march in, swords held high. # Georgia and Everton scramble back down the hallway and up the stairs. Water has now pooled enough in the upstairs bathroom, overflowing the tub and spilling onto the floor. Georgia falls to her knees and plunges her hand in. The water swells out of the tub and spills onto the floor, moving in an undulating ribbon down the hall. It pours down the stairs and piles up into a translucent wall bricking up the bottom of the stairwell. Everton and Georgia stagger to the stairs and see the dark shadows of the Clarences flickering through the wall. "As impressive as that is, I don't think it will hold them for long," Everton says darkly. "Well, they'll have to cut around it, the wall will hold till morning." "No...I don't think it will...." Everton points. As they watch, one of the Clarence's swords pierces the wall, followed by an outstretched arm. (Kara: "THAT'S NOT—" Jason: "I know what the book says!") Georgia gapes. "That's...that's impossib—" "There are powers in this world greater than thaumaturgy," Everton says as the Clarence steps through the wall and glares up the stairs with flat, dead eyes. He is soon joined by another. # Anstis is considering what to do when he hears footsteps on the roof gravel behind him. He whirls around. A man is standing there, someone he's never seen before. Tall, very thin, with a heavy black frock coat and hat. White-gloved hands clutch an elegantly carved walking stick. He stares down his hooked nose at Anstis, eyes blinking unusually often. After a moment of silence, he smiles unsettlingly. Anstis frowns. He's not Perpenna, at least. "Yes?" Anstis asks. "Evening," the man says softly. "And you are...?" He takes a breath. "Taking the night air." Anstis hesitates. There is obviously something occult about this guy—as if the fact that he suddenly appeared on a three-story rooftop wasn't indication enough—but Anstis can't tell what it is. He eyes the man cautiously then smiles. The man smiles back and leans on his stick, blinking. "Is this your property?" Anstis growls finally. "In a sense," the man says, not breaking his gaze. "In which sense?" "Everything is mine," he says amiably. "I just haven't taken it all yet." Anstis smiles to himself and nods. "Aye." He glances over at the siege. "Do you work for anyone?" "In a sense. A large, old concern." Cracking wood echoes across the cul-de-sac. The crowd of Clarences are tearing at the doorframe, enlarging it so more can squeeze through. Anstis looks back at the man, who still hasn't moved or broken his sickly-sweet smile. "Are ye waiting for something?" The man tilts his head with a jerk and smiles broader. "To see if you fly away. Like the other parrots." Anstis frowns. "Do you have a habit of scaring parrots?" The man considers this a moment, cocking his head. "Yes," he says sweetly, smiling and blinking. He still hasn't moved, yet somehow he is becoming gradually more and more menacing. Anstis eyes him. "Well, if this be your city, then I should at least make introductions, don't you think?" "I know who you are. I know many things." Anstis frowns. "Then what should I call you?" The man cocks his head the other way. "Gus. You can call me Gus." "And what do you want with me?" He shrugs, still smiling. "Nothing. Just here to take the night air." Gus doesn't elaborate further. Anstis watches him in silence, then glances down at the siege. "Lot of people down there," Gus says. "They don't look very happy. Did you make them angry?" "I certainly didn't," Anstis grumbles, still staring at the douche-crowd. "Oh, I don't know if I believe you. I think you might have done something." He jerks his chin to the street in a quick movement. "Those men look very angry. I think they're gonna eat 'em all. The ones still in the house, that is." "And which ones are those?" Gus grins. "Blood-suckers. Leeches." Anstis looks at Gus suspiciously. "And what do you think of the 'blood-suckers'?" Gus winces through his smile. "I'm not a great fan." "Which ones do you like?" His head cocks the other way. "Haven't met one yet." His eyes flutter over his wide grin. # Paul and I hear Everton's yells and Georgia's cries for help. I head toward the stairs, grabbing my gun. Paul...grabs a mattress. He hauls it to the stairs and shoves it down, but ends up tripping over himself and collapses down the stairs after it. He rolls and slides all the way to the bottom, to the feet of the Clarences already through the wall. Fortunately, though, Paul has wound up underneath the mattress. Stuffing flies as the Clarences stab their swords through the mattress trying to get at him. With Paul relatively protected under the mattress, I level my gun and take a shot down the stairwell. The gun coughs but nothing else happens. Dead shell. I curse and reload. Georgia has the same idea, blasting fire down the stairs. It pours around the first Clarence and lights his hair on fire. The Clarence doesn't react, though, nor does the other one. They continue stabbing the mattress with the same mindless determination. Moments later, a third one steps through the wall and joins them. "And me without my tools...." Everton grumbles next to us. "Damnation." He pulls out his sword and runs down the stairs, chopping one of the Clarence's heads off in one stroke. Georgia follows and tries to grab Paul but slips and collapses on top of the mattress. (Jason: "This is becoming a Marx Brothers skit.") # Anstis gestures at the siege. "I do believe that the one that brought on these angry men might argue with your claim of supremacy in the city." "They all argue. For awhile." "What would you like to do about that particular individual?" Gus looks away a moment, staring off into the drifting fog. "Well, I don't know yet. I'm not much for doing things. I just like to watch." He looks back, grinning again. "What are you going to do?" "Well that's the big question isn't it?" Gus shifts his weight on his cane. "Well you gonna sit here and talk all day, or you going to do something? I thought leeches liked to do things?" Anstis glares. "Well then I'll show you a magic trick." Gus brightens. "I like magic." (Me: "ILLUSIONS, DAD!!!!") Anstis hesitates a moment, then shifts down into parrot-form and launches into the air. He circles the building once, eyeing Gus. The man is still leaning on his cane, motionless, watching Anstis with a grin on his face. Anstis peels off and soars away. # Paul, under the mattress, starts trying to climb up the stairs, dragging both the weight of the mattress and Georgia on top of it. (Jim: "I think we all knew their characters would end up in bed together. Mr Tails: "Awww yeaaaah. Bow chicka wow-wow!") The Clarences continue chopping at the Paul-Georgia-Mattress-Turtle, until Everton chops off both their heads. There's a brief moment of calm...and then two more Clarences step through the wall. "I will not be able to maintain this for long!" Everton yells, taking a swipe at the newcomers. I holster the gun and draw my sword instead, running down the stairs to join Everton in the fray. I lunge at the closest one, cutting him in half instantly. Another steps through the wall next to me. I whirl around and— (Jason: "Oh! Hey! I just saw a shooting star!" Me: "Ooo! Make a wish!" Jason: *deep voice* "I wish for you all to die." Chris: "Make a nice wish!" Jason: "I wish for you all to die with slightly less pain than the previous wish entailed." Chris: "...I guess that counts.") —slice through him. He falls, revealing another one right behind him. I slice at him too, but he simply staggers back and keeps moving forward. (Me: "Oh my god, they're adapting." Jason: "You will be assimilated." Me: "...YEAH, actually! We WILL!") Paul and Georgia disentangle themselves from the mattress and try to scramble up the stairs. A Clarence steps over the mattress and lunges at Georgia. With no time to cast—and few resources left to do so anyway—Georgia grabs the first weapon at hand: the enchanted Primium dagger, which has been in one of her robe pockets since she stole it from Max's office. She swipes at the Clarence, who jumps back just in time. The knife whooshes harmlessly through the air. It's followed by another whoosh: rushing water as the wall suddenly collapses. Clarences pour into the stairwell. We scramble to our feet and retreat up the stairs. # Anstis soars across the street and circles the house we're in. Shots and yells echo from within, and the front of the house is almost completely plastered with Clarences chopping at the door and windows. Anstis considers the situation and decides there is only one reasonable course of action: Go have a snack. Useless ****ing pirate. We'll catch up with him later. # Georgia, Paul, and Everton clear the stairs and run down the hallway. I hang back, taking another shot down the stairwell. It hits the lead Clarence in the chest. He stumbles to a halt, hesitates.... ....Then waves a chastising finger at me. I stagger back, fumbling to reload. He steps forward, lifts his sword, and stabs me through the shoulder, driving me back and pinning me against the wall. I yell and try to pull my gun up but he bats it away. "Call to Paul," he says, voice flat. I glare at him. "Seriously? You don't seem the movie-reference ty—Argh!" He twists the sword in my shoulder. "Call to Paul. Now." It's Clarence's normal voice, but there's a subtle edge to it that grates against my mind like sand on the surface of reality. More Clarences come up the stairs and level their swords at me, inches from my throat, like an inverse porcupine. I sigh and lower my gun. "Paul," I mutter. Clarence twists the sword again. "Louder." I wince. "Hey Paul," I call down the hall, keeping my eye on the Clarence who stabbed me. # Paul, Everton, and Georgia have holed up in the bathroom down the hall, Georgia trying to collect more water and Paul and Everton rifling through the cabinets looking for weapons. They stop, both clutching aerosol cans, as my voice drifts down the hall. "Tom?" Paul calls back. "Why do you sound sad?" "I think we have an idea," Everton whispers. "Do we have a lighter?" Paul whispers back. They both look at Georgia. "Delay them," Everton whispers. "I've done this longer than you have." Paul nods and steps out of the bathroom. He sees me down the hall, pinned by one Clarence and surrounded by a cluster of others three-men deep. They turn as he enters the hallway. "Hey Clarence!" Paul calls. "You're a bad businessman! Your investments are Grade F! You've trailed the market 32 quarters in a row—" (Jason: "—Ok we're done.") The Clarences stare at him, then, as one, all of the ones who currently aren't trained on me lift their swords at him. (Chris: "I need a few supplies. A gun with no bullets, some bullets, and three of my MacGyver writers.") Paul considers his options, then turns and runs the other way down the hall. I watch him retreat, resignedly. "Paul there's art over here," I call weakly. He continues to run, toward the open window at the front of the house, a cluster of Clarences following. The Clarence who stabbed me is still staring at me flatly. I look into his eyes and glare back. "Clarence?" His face remains unchanged. I hesitate. "...Perpenna?" All the Clarences around me turn, and the one in front breaks out in a smile. I smile back grimly and lean forward. "Can you tell Clarence I say thanks for the scooter? I'm gonna get it tricked out with some bling. It's gonna look like it was ****ing vajazzled." Clarence smiles wider, then lunges forward and bites me. # Georgia and Everton are lurking in the doorway of the bathroom, dagger and aerosols at the ready. They duck out of the way as Paul runs past, followed by Clarences, and stick their heads back out just in time to see one of the Clarence's bite me. Paul reaches the end of the hall and starts kicking at the window, trying to enlarge the hole so he can crawl out. His pursuers catch up quickly and raise their swords. Georgia instinctively rushes out to help. With no time for magic, she lunges at the rearmost Clarence with the dagger. The strike goes wide, only catching a shallow gash on his arm. The Clarence turns to her, expression ominously flat, and raises his sword. Georgia gasps and backs away. A second later, every Clarence in the building explodes. Foul black ichor fountains into the hallway in a torrent, washing me down the stairs and shoving Paul and Georgia through the front window and out of the house. Paul and Georgia hit the ground and cower under the cascade, which flows for almost a minute before finally trickling out. Georgia scrambles back to her feet first. She raises her fist and shouts triumphantly at the house. "THAT...is what the TREMERE do!!" # Anstis has been leisurely snacking on homeless people in the nearby neighborhoods and finally decides to make his way back to rejoin us. He does wisely decide that it would probably behoove him to bring along some extra firepower as well. He calls upon his animalism to Summon Dogs. He waits, expecting a pack of strays to descend upon him at any moment, but moments pass with no sign of anything. Finally, he hears a low growling and shuffling in some nearby foliage. It's obviously just one dog, but it will do. He extends a hand toward the noise. "Come with me. Protect me," he commands. The growling stops. A shadow parts the leaves as the dog steps out into the streetlight. It's a shitzu. (Jim: *laughing* "Son of a bitch!" Me: "What did you expect? It's Russian Hill!" Jim: *laughing harder* "You're totally right!!!") Anstis stares at the dog. The dog stares obediently back. After a few moments, Anstis sighs and heads back toward the house, the dog trotting along at his heels. # Once they've overcome their daze and are confident all the Clarences are gone, Paul carefully reenters the house to find me and Dr. Everton. He finds me first, crumpled at the foot of the stairs, the sword still jabbed through my shoulder, beaten and sticky with ichor. Paul helps me to my feet and out of the house. (Kara: "Can I have a willpower back for doing successfully awesome magic?" Jason: "Yes." Chris: "Can I have a willpower back for architecting the hole in the wall?" Jason: "No." Me: "Can I have a willpower for—oh wait I didn't spend any willpower...." Jason: *exasperated glare* Chris: "Can I have some of Tom's willpower?" Jason: "No." Me: "Can I have more blood?" Jason: "No.") I stumble outside and lean against the low fence lining the front walk. Now that I'm stationary, Paul reaches up and pulls the sword out of my shoulder. I hiss and jerk away. Paul turns the sword over in his hand but there doesn't seem to be anything notable about it. "Tom, want another sword?" he says, offering it. I glower and take it. "I stabbed them!" Georgia yells, slogging through the muddy ichor of the yard to join us. "I stabbed the Clarences!" She waves the primium dagger—aka, the Time Out dagger—over her head. I stare at the dagger, frowning. "You stabbed him with the dagger...and they all exploded...." I say slowly. She nods excitedly. "I don't know if this is the dagger that has...whats-his-name's...bone in it or not. If it is the one that has his bone in it, maybe that explains something." The only way to confirm if this is the enchanted bone-dagger is to check if the bone is inside the hilt, but despite us all trying, the hilt does not come off. "Well this is a new development...." says Everton's voice from behind us. We turn to see him descending the front steps from the house, staring around, covered in ichor himself. "What in the world did you do?" Georgia draws herself up proudly. "I blew them up." "Well yes I rather gathered that. What did you do?" "I stabbed them with a primium dagger." Georgia holds it out. Everton frowns. "Primium wouldn't do this...." He takes the dagger and examines it. "What did you do to this?" Georgia hesitates. "It...was specifically crafted by a...mage. It is imbued with Science." "Science?" Everton says, eyes narrowing. "You've been speaking with that Etherite...." He looks around at the ichor all over approximately everything. "He has weapons that will do this?" Georgia hesitates again. "...Yes." Everton raises an eyebrow and hands the dagger back. "Well then I suggest we pay him a visit." (Me: "Yay, he loooves that!") "Well whatever we do, we need to bounce," I growl, staring down the street. I don't know where the **** Anstis got to but we can't wait around for him.... "Leaving so soon?" comes a new voice from behind us. We turn, swords and daggers at the ready. A tall, well-dressed, skinny man is standing in the doorway of the house smiling at us. As we watch he descends the front steps, cane clicking on the stone. We glance at each other. "Who are you?" Georgia asks. "My name is Gus," he says, stopping a few feet away from us, smiling and looking between us. "Ah. I...don't think we've met before....?" He cocks his head with a quick movement. "I don't meet many leeches." We trade another glance. "Iiiinteresting...." Georgia continues. "Are...you not a vampire?" Gus scoffs and chuckles. "No, no.... I am something else." I stare at him, frowning. Something about him is rubbing me the wrong way. He's blinking a lot, for starters, which is weird, but what really grabs my attention is his head movements. They're quick and jerky and seem to be focusing his attention on me and Paul. He only looks at Georgia to answer her questions, and he doesn't look at Everton at all. "Gus, well, nice to meet you!" Paul declares, strolling up to him and slapping him amiably on the shoulder. "Well, we're leaving now. I hope this wasn't your house...um...have a delightful evening." Gus stares at him, face squelched into an unreadable expression, somewhere between horror and amusement. "Leaving...so soon?" "Yes, yes we are. It's getting late. Or early, depending on how you look at it." Paul beams at him, copying his rapid blinking for a moment, then turns and walks to the car, followed by Everton. I hang back. "Do you know anything about what happened here?" Gus turns to me, head cocked again, grinning. "I know a lot of things." "Anything...you're willing to share?" Gus shrugs, bony shoulders rolling awkwardly under his heavy coat. "Well, not for free...." We never get the chance to ask him what his price might be, though, because at that moment Georgia sneaks up from behind and stabs him in the back. Gus arches his back, shrieking a cry that is more like a squawk. He spasms and falls onto the ground. I jump back. "Georgia!! What the ****!?" She shrugs, dagger still in hand. "What? He looked sketchy! Let's get out of here!" That's true, but I've learned my lesson about unwarranted attacks on creepy people. I glance down at his body, then freeze. He's gone. Milliseconds ago he was at my feet and now he's gone. Georgia stares at the ground where he was. "...Wow.... See? That's bad...." I rub my face. "Yeah, well I guess you weren't there, but Paul and I learned a lesson about shooting strangers in the face—" I stop as I notice something on the ground, half buried in the mud and ichor where he fell. I pick it up. It's a piece of wire, a simple uninsulated copper wire, but it's been twisted and sculpted. Into the shape of a cockroach. I frown, suspicion dawning. Paul and Everton, meanwhile, have rejoined us. "...I have an exceedingly bad feeling about what is about to happen," Everton mutters, staring around the darkened street. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees suddenly picks up, growing steadily louder. A few moments go past, though, before I realize that there is no wind. I look up. Dark shapes are descending upon us from all directions, peeling out of the fog as if they were made of it. I tense, expecting another Clarence attack, but as the shapes come closer I realize

2 4/17/14 "It's not a Vampire game until I punish someone for being heroic." —Jason *** "Must go faster," Anstis squawks. "No argument here." I kick the scooter back up anyd race toward the exit of the parking lot, watching the thing in the mirrors. For the moment, it seems focused on the bus, roaring and swiping at it with twisted, spiked arms. The bus careens through the parking lot, swerving around light poles with squeals of its tires. And maybe I'm imagining it, but over the sounds of monster and machine, I think I can hear the faint sound of Georgia screaming. Goddammit.... I wheel the scooter around and stop while I think of a plan. The best course of action would be to bring in bigger guns, but, as previously discussed, my idea of "rolling heavy" barely hits the low bar for my clan. Which means I probably should call the person who set the bar. Bell: "...Mr. Lytton." Me: "Heeeeeeeeeeeey!" *Garbled roaring in the background* "How are you?" Bell: "...What was that?" Me: "Um.... Some sort of...giantTzimitscianhellbeast—" *Loud crash* "—And that was the car it just plowed through." Bell: *Several seconds of silence* "A Tzimitscian—Where are you, Tom?" Me: "I'm at the Shark Tank, at the Monomancy! Things went well." *Another crash* Bell: "What? Where is the Tzimitscian hellbeast?!" Me: "About...fifty yards in front of me." Bell: "Are you on a bike?" Me: *Looks down* "No I most certainly am not." Bell: "Are you outside? The thing is outside!?" Me: "Um...yeah." Bell: "Oh...****.... You're at the Shark Tank?" Me: "Well, rapidly leaving but yes!" Bell: "Okay. Tom...I know how this sounds: Keep it busy." Me: *Many moments of silence* "...With WHAT, a handjob!?" Bell: "Tom, keep it busy and keep it out of downtown San Jose. This is very serious, if it gets out I will have to sterilize every Kindred in the South Bay. Do you understand!?" Me: *facepalm* "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—" Bell: "I don't know the area. Lead it somewhere out of the way, somewhere open and empty. I'll have people scrambled." *pause* "Paul's on the other line, is he about to tell me the same thing?" Me: "Probably. He's with Norton, though, so I don't know what they're up to." Bell: "Alright, well, do what you can." He hangs up. I put away my phone and gun the scooter to pace along the path of the monster at a good distance. # Paul has been having similar thoughts. He first calls his Myrmidon guys, but the moment they hear "30-foot Tzmitscian hellbeast" they immediately advise he try someone with more power, perhaps military-level access. Which is why Paul calls Bell next. Bell assures Paul that he has, quote, some "heavy movers" inbound but they will take a while and we need to keep the thing occupied and in an isolated place until then. # So, Georgia's busride of terror is going well. "Van Brugge!! Van Brugge!!!!" she yells over and over, with no response. (Jason: "I have arbitrarily decided that when Ben's not available, van Brugge is not available. He's busy doing other things." Me: "Yeah he said he's on his way back from lab, he had to collect some equipment." Jason: "There, you see, van Brugge is on his way back from lab.") Georgia screams and wrenches the bus into a turn, avoiding a fence at the edge of the lot. The howls of the vozhd blast through the torn rear end and reverberate inside the bus. She weaves around the scattered cars and shit in the lot, trying to put obstacles between her and the monstrosity on her tail. # Paul is still in the car with Norton and the driver, the latter of whom is looking paler than the rest of us combined. He's staring out the window at the monster, obviously shocked senseless by what he's seeing. Paul decides to get some epic leadership on. He blasts Awe: "Driver, we need to keep that thing distracted." "We need to what!?!" The driver snaps his head around, eyes wide. "We're not going to get too close, but we need to keep that thing in the parking lot, running around in a circle." The driver sputters. Even Norton raises an eyebrow. Paul leans toward the driver. "I know it sounds scary, but, one: if we survive this, I will pay you $200,000 dollars. And two: I have faith in you." The driver hesitates, staring between Paul and the rampaging monster outside the window. "*******it!" he finally yells, putting the car in gear and turning back into the lot. # I follow the path of the bus and the vozhd at an oblique angle. Paul's car soon joins me, honking to try and get the beast's attention, but it's so intent on the bus it doesn't even notice us. I glance around, looking for inspiration for a plan. I finally notice something: silhouettes of trees on the far side of the arena, rising from an area devoid of streetlights. I remember that there is a large park over there, with the Los Gatos creek running through the middle. The whole area is slightly recessed below the land surrounding it. It's not the perfect trap for a 30 foot monster, but right now it's a lot better than any other options we got. I call Paul and let him know my plan. # Paul agrees and instructs his driver to continue trying to get the thing's attention. The driver gulps and honks harder. But Norton has a better idea. Somehow, he finds the button to retract the sunroof, and before Paul can react, he stands up through it, waving his broadsword overhead. Norton roars a challenge to the beast, but Paul can't hear what he says over the bellows of the vozhd. (Jason: "Yes, amazingly enough, the vozhd is actually louder.") # Georgia is rapidly running out of parking lot. She tries to whip the bus around in a turn, using a line of cars for cover. At the last moment, though, the vozhd lashes out with one skeletal appendage and tears out the rear axle in a single strike. The bus skitters and groans, then, slowly, like a dying elephant, collapses onto its side. Its momentum carries it forward, plowing through more parked cars. Georgia is thrown against her seatbelt in a hail of glass. She crumples helplessly against the belt as the bus slowly shudders to a stop. The sparks and shrieks of grinding metal cease, but the shrieks of the monster grow louder. # Paul's driver, following closely and intent on his mission, wasn't expecting the bus to crash, and certainly wasn't expecting the creature to stop so suddenly and throw itself upon it. Which is why the car is the next to crash. # I watch the bus collapse and the vozhd descend on it, howling and tearing at the undercarriage. Moments later, Paul's car careens into it. Shit shit shit shit. I scowl grimly. Looks like someone's gonna need to be the ****ing hero. No good can come of this.... I stop the Vespa and unstrap Aquilifer from me. She's still obviously dazed and unable to fly on her own. I leave her wrapped in the remains of my leather jacket, hoping it will provide some protection if she needs it. "Anstis! Take Aquilifer, I gotta move!" Anstis flutters off the handlebars and grips it by the husk grabs onto the jacket. He labors up to a clear altitude and carries her toward the shelter of some trees. Once they're clear, I unstrap one of my shotguns and race toward the monster. # The vozhd is momentarily stunned by the impact from the car, knocked onto its side. Shrieking, it hoists itself back upright and looks for its assailant, beady eyes peering out through rolls of flesh. Which is when I roar up and shoot it with my shotgun loaded with acid-rounds. A nauseating smell roils off the skin from the impact site. It arches and shrieks with a sound loud enough to shatter windows across the parking lot. It turns its head—or, rather, heads— —and sees me. Spidery limbs grab the concrete and the edge of the bus, hauling its massive weight around to face me. It opens all its mouths then leans down and roars with a sound so loud it physically pushes my scooter back a few inches. # Georgia, dazed, slowly comes to in the wreckage of the bus. She's hanging by her seatbelt and instinctively reaches up to release it. CRASH, she falls to the wall of the bus, which is now the floor. She stands up slowly, but the roars of the vozhd bring her back to her senses. Her first thought: Marcus wasn't belted in. She scrambles through the seats and finds him in the third row, collapsed against the shattered remains of the window. She climbs down carefully. He's unconscious again, a new array of cuts and bruises adding to his damage from before. Also one of his arms is missing, apparently shredded off where it was trapped between him and the parking lot beneath him as the bus skidded to a stop. Vitae is smeared all over the exposed asphalt below him and the rest of his black armor is shattered. Moments have passed since the bus crashed, but—despite the roaring—the've been fairly calm. She can see the undulating wall of flesh of the vozhd through the back of the bus, but for the moment it seems to be facing the other direction. Georgia gathers Marcus up and climbs stealthily out the shattered front windows. # Paul is also recovering from his crash, peering around the car. There's no sign of Norton, and Paul assumes he was thrown from the sunroof by the sudden stop. The driver's airbags deployed, dazing him, but he seems to be coming to. Paul reaches forward and grips the driver's shoulder. "How you doing? You still with us?" The man groans but nods. "Think this car still works?" The driver turns the key. The engine chokes a few times, smoke pours out from the smashed hood, but it sputters back to life. The noise of the car pulls the vozhd's attention from me. The vozhd twists its upper body around and sees Georgia climbing out of the bus. Long threads of saliva drip from its mouths as it bares its teeth and growls. The car wheels around backward, pulling up next to Georgia. Paul wrenches the door open and pulls her and Marcus inside. # Anstis is approaching the relative safety of the trees. Aquilifer, though, is rapidly regaining consciousness and has just one thing on her mind: Get to Marcus. She thrashes against the confines of the jacket, screeching and throwing off Anstis's stability. Anstis—obviously not Aquilifer's #1 fan even at the best of times—thinks the pirate-y equivalent of, "**** this shit," and drops her. Aquilifer plummets down for a few breathless seconds, then explodes out of the jacket, leveling off and flying back toward the fray, leaving a hail of shredded black leather to drift toward the parking lot below. # I see the vozhd turns from me to growl at the front of the bus. Beyond it, I can just make out Georgia climbing out the front, carrying a small figure. (Kara: "I can't believe I botched the stealth roll. What are the chances of that!?" Jason: "Around here, about 8 in 10.") Undeterred, I calmly load another shell and shoot the monster again. The shot thuds into its skin but this time it doesn't react; it's too focused on Georgia. The car roars back and I see Georgia dive into it. Then, milliseconds later, the vozhd tries to dive in after her. The car is shoved to the side and flips, bouncing off the vozhd's slavering face. It spins through the air and lands with a sickening crunch on its roof. The vozhd roars and crawls closer. I shoot it again. This time it turns to me, glaring at me in uncharacteristic silence. A near-subsonic rumble vibrates from its chest as it hauls itself around. Two of its limbs, shaped like two-pronged pinchers of solid bone, unfold, spines clicking against each other. Then it leaps at me. My ridiculously-tiny tires on my ridiculously-pink scooter squeal as I race away across the lot, the vozhd close behind. # Paul and Georgia—badly battered but still conscious—notice that the vozhd is running away and use the opportunity to climb the hell out of the car. Paul is barely mobile and pulls himself out through force of will alone. He sees the driver, unconscious and still belted in upside down. "Georgia," he groans weakly. "Get the driver, he's still alive." (Kara: "Ok, I fetch the driver." Jason: "Fetch how? He's hanging upside-down from his seatbelt whilst unconscious and broken." Kara: "Click.") The driver slumps to the ground, lying amidst the wreckage of the roof of the car. (Jason: "His neck is at a very bad angle." Kara: "I correct it.") Pleased with her rescue, Georgia drags the driver's body over to Paul then goes back in to find Marcus. Marcus is also unconscious, and his neck is also at a bad angle, but for him that matters less. Paul takes Marcus from Georgia, Georgia grabs the coat of the driver to drag him, and they slowly limp their way across the parking lot to the only other method of vehicular escape left available, Paul's Tesla. About halfway across the lot, Georgia checks on the driver. Yeah, he's dead. Well, waste not want not. Georgia drinks him as they walk. # I exit the lot and race along the surface streets paralleling it, heading toward the park, the vozhd close behind and getting closer. Anstis, meanwhile, has been circling high above, watching the proceedings. Though I am but a pink streak in the darkness, he sees the monster gaining on me and decides to make an attempt to slow it down. (Jason: "My god, Jim is contributing!") He folds his wings and dives, shifting back to human-form midair and extending his claws. He aims at the vozhd, gaining velocity and spreading his talons for a rending full-weight strike— —Which does nothing. Anstis's claws plunge into the flesh, tearing foot-wide gouges, but the thing doesn't even break stride. One meaty limb reaches up, grabs Anstis, and pile-drives him down into the pavement. (Jason: "Give me a stamina check, please." Jim: "Umm...five successes!" Jason: "Five successes, that's very impressive, very impressive indeed—" Jim: "THIS is why you pump blood into stamina! And have Fortitude!" Jason: "It is, it is, and this is the reason you only take four levels of lethal! I want you to think about that for a minute!" Jim: "...****...." Jason: "This is a vozhd! This is not some ****ing *******!") Anstis is left smashed into an Anstis-shaped divot in the asphalt while the vozhd continues charging after me. # They're almost to the Tesla when Marcus finally begins to stir, twisting out of Paul's grip and crumpling to the ground. Paul leans over. "Marcus? Marcus Sertorius?" Marcus lifts one head and mumbles but doesn't seem able to focus on anything. Georgia wanders up, fangs buried in the wrist of the limp driver, and stares at Marcus. Paul stares at her. She looks up, stares back at Paul, then wordlessly offers him the other wrist. "That's alright," he grumbles, turning back to Marcus, but then a sound draws his attention up. Aquilifer is circling overhead, and dropping fast. Paul steps back. Aquilifer backwings and drops to the ground next to Marcus. She walks to him, keening softly, then looks up at Paul. She keens again. "I can't understand you," Paul says. She looks at him, then leans down to bob her head at Marcus and cries again. Georgia looks around. "If we don't get to the car soon, none of us are going to be in a position to understand anything." Paul bends down to pick up Marcus again. Aquilifer watches him like...well, like a hawk, but doesn't seem to protest. They continue making their way to the car. # I am approaching the north-west corner of the park. In front of me I see a dark line of trees and shrubs, but no clear way through. I pull a hard right and race along the road dividing the park from the arena grounds. Grinding crunches echo behind me as the vozhd pulling itself around the same turn. I glance in the mirror. Its menagerie of limbs, thirty in all, scrabble at the road, gouging deep rents through the asphalt. (Me: "Wait, I thought it had twenty limbs?" Jason: "It did." Me: "...Crap.") It's close enough now that I can feel its stinking breath on the back of my neck. I urge the scooter faster. There's a path up ahead, leading into the park, if I cut left onto that maybe I can dodge around the trees and— BAM! The thing swipes me with one outreached limb, scooping me off the bike and flinging me into the park. I tumble through the air for a few endless seconds then crash down in the —thankfully—full waters of the creek. # Paul, Georgia, and company finally get to the Tesla. (Jason: "Ahh, and the damn windows are cracked!" Chris: "Goddamit." Jason: "And someone keyed it!" Chris: "****ers! I bet it was Ellison!") Paul grumbles and unlocks the car. He puts Marcus in the back—with a SEATBELT this time—and everyone else piles in, including Aquilifer. The car starts up just fine, but most importantly starts up silently. Paul drives out of the lot and finds a semi-protected alley nearby. Here he drops off Georgia, Marcus, and Aquilifer, then returns to find me. Georgia checks on Marcus, Aquilifer standing forlornly nearby. He's still unconscious, and probably is missing more mass than he has left. She donates some more blood to him and impassively watches as some of his organs regrow and his chest partly seals. A moment later his eyes flutter open. "Wh-Where are we?" he croaks through a crushed trachea. She gives him more blood. He heals more, clears his throat, then tries again. "What happened?" "We were chased by a vozhd!" she says, inexplicably bright and cheery. He sits up slowly, examining his injuries. "I gathered that," he says, glaring at his missing arm. "Where are we?" "Just outside the Shark Tank parking lot." He looks around. "Where is the vozhd?" "Uh, chasing Tom?" "...What!?" "He was, ah, luring it away." Marcus groans. "Luring it to where?" "I...actually have no idea, but it was not in this direction. Paul dropped us off here and went back to...help?" Marcus stares flatly in the direction of the arena. "Idiots...." he mumbles. (Jim: "Lol, Marcus has to help Tom and Paul or else he loses a path rating!" Jason: "Unfortunately you're right. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.") "Where are they?" he asks, climbing unsteadily to his feet. Georgia points in the general direction she saw Paul's car go. Marcus tries to walk that way but wobbles noticeably. Georgia reaches out a hand instinctively. "Marcus I really don't think you should be going after them...." Marcus glares at her with a look significantly steadier than his posture. "I...am not...a child," he hisses. He lifts his good arm. "Give me your hand." Georgia takes his hand tentatively, and is instantly plunged into absolute darkness. # Paul, still in his car, creeps along the edge of the area. He finds the vozhd tearing its way through the park, clambering down into the creek. But there's no sign of me or the scooter. He does, however, find Anstis, climbing out of a hole in the asphalt and, dazed, transforming back into a parrot. Paul drives over and picks him up, then sets out to look for me. # I sputter back to my feet in the middle of the creek. There's no sign of the scooter, but the vozhd is descending the embankment toward me, roaring and tearing up the landscaping as it goes. I take a brief moment to review my plan so far: Step 1: Distract the vozhd from Paul and Georgia Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit Really need to work on that Step 2, I think to myself as I wade to the other side of the creek as fast as I can. It plunges into the water just as I get to the other bank. Even with the mud and the water, it's clear it's moving faster than I am on dry land. I start running up the embankment, hoping to come out into more park, but I hear a new noise over the roaring of the monster that stops me. It's the roar of a freeway. The park ends about thirty yards ahead in a line of fencing cordoning it off from the Guadalupe Parkway. From down here I can just make out the top halves of vehicles as they race past. I decide to pick a new direction. I pop Celerity and run upstream, staying close to the water. # Georgia pops back into existence in the middle of a park, Marcus next to her and the vozhd wallowing around in a creek some dozen yards ahead. She can see me on the far side, rapidly scrambling away through the trash and the reeds. But, she estimates based on the speed of the monster, not rapidly enough. She stands helplessly, staring at the vozhd's impending attack in shock. Moments later, the incorporeal figure of van Brugge (gets back from lab and) appears next to her as well. (Jason: "Ben, let me paint the scene for you. You were doing something important and busy that I am not going to speculate upon right now, but now you have time to devote yourself to the fact that the only other Tremere in the city has been frantically calling you for the last half hour, desperate for your assistance in some damn matter that she has gotten herself wrapped up in, yet again. You are annoyed by this. You resent the fact that your time is being wasted once more. "When you finally look in on what her situation is, you see her standing there, beat to shit, and she is holding up Marcus who is in the the worst condition you have ever seen Marcus in. He looks like he's been simultaneously skinned and had half his limbs ripped off." Kara: "He's only missing one arm!" Jason: "Yes, one arm has been ground down, as if by a mortar and pestle. His organs have been ripped out and he's missing an eye. "But that, amazingly enough, is not the focus of your attention right now! The focus of your attention is a small creek across the way, wherein, in the middle of that creek, is a vozhd. A biiiiiiig vozhd, one of the biggest you've ever seen, and you fought the Omen War. The vozhd is chasing Tom down the waterway, who obviously using Celerity to try and keep away from it. "Basically, all this needs is the Benny Hill theme.") Van Brugge stares, jaw and glasses slack on his face. "Well...at least I wasn't summoned over nothing...." "Van Brugge!" Georgia throws her arms up. His image shakes himself out of his shock. "Well. Okay. I see you've found a vozhd...." "Haha, haaa...." Georgia laughs brittlely and stares at it. Marcus looks up at her. "Who the hell are you talking to?" "My boss!" she says, gesturing at van Brugge's apparition, which apparently this time is only visible to her. "He's here? Can he hear me?" He glares up in van Brugge's general vicinity. "Adrianus!" he barks. Van Brugge raises an unseen eyebrow and looks down at him. "I take it you need help with a vozhd?" Georgia passes the message along. "NO I NEED LOTTO NUMBERS!! WHAT DO YOU THINK!?" Marcus roars. Georgia looks at the vozhd nervously, but it's too intent on me to notice them. Van Brugge smirks and straightens his glasses. (Jason: "Normally I like to keep the big guns off-screen because it's the party's game, but you guys are dancing around with a vozhd, so...." Ben: "Yeah, um...in this case, I think I'm going to have to break out the death.") Now twenty yards away, the vozhd flounders in the creek, reaching toward me with every available appendage.... ....Then suddenly erupts into flame, as if a thermite bomb had just gone off. A pillar of fire roars skyward, blasting heat across the park. The vegetation nearest the vozhd withers and curls, and the creek boils beneath it. Georgia staggers back, simultaneously shocked and exhilarated. Then, as suddenly as it started, the fire cuts out, cutting the light and heat instantly. A breeze swirls the park as cooler air returns. Georgia peers into the creek, looking for the remains of the vozhd. But she sees the complete vozhd. As in, still standing, still very much alive, and now even angrier. It's flailing around, trying to decide between chasing me and coming after the new targets that have just been brought to its attention. "Well...shit," van Brugge says. # Paul pulls up at the edge of the park just in time to see flames erupt from the creek. He gets out to stare at it. Anstis gets out too, waddling through the open door and launching into the air. Paul doesn't notice, focused as he is, and when the fires go out a few seconds later he continues staring into the gloom. Moments later he hears the roars of the vozhd yet again. He frowns and remains with the car. # "Marcus," Georgia turns to him, "What do you want us to do? Should we let the vozhd chase Tom, or should we lure it somewhere else....?" Marcus's expression is caught somewhere between serious and weary. He wobbles slightly as he looks around the park. "Keep it...off the highway," he says as forcefully as he can. "If it reaches there, there'll be no stopping it. Keep it here, in the river." Georgia nods, and that's when it hits her. The river.... Without even pausing to tell them what she's doing, she scrambles down the bank and plunges her hand into the water. The water in the creek heaves once, then explodes, twisting out of its bed and rising up into a solid wall of flowing liquid twenty feet high. A wall that bends itself to fall between the vozhd and the freeway. The vozhd crashes into the it. The liquid wobbles like a rubber sheet but holds. I—thankfully on the other side—stumble and turn around, gaping at the sight before me. The creature howls and tears at the force separating us, but can't even make a dent. (Kara: "Is my delight at my own ability enough to gain me a willpower back?" Jason: "No! You cannot gain willpower from your own magic!" Kara: "Why not!?" Jason: "Because you use willpower to produce the magic!" Kara: "Argh!! BUT LOOK HOW COOL I AM!!!" Jason: "Fine, you know what, you can get a point back for one reason and one reason only:") Georgia watches the scene gleefully, then happens to glance down at Marcus. He's staring at the wall, obviously unaware of Georgia looking at him, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, something passes across his face. Amazement. (Jason: "Neptune's Might is not a common thaumaturgical path." Kara: "Yaaaaaay I impressed Marcus!" Me: "Yaaaaaay! That's better than surviving! It's harder to do!") The wall isn't that long, but luckily the thing is so dumb it remains in place trying to rip through to get at me. I collapse to a seat and wave at it. Van Brugge steps forward, not bothering to hide the impressed look on his face. Now that the monster is stationary, he decides to try a different attack. He raises his arms. Clouds appear out of nowhere, gathering above the park. They circle, the vortex centered right above the vozhd. A deep rumble shakes the air. And then lightning starts raining down from the sky. The creature shrieks as bolts lance into it in rapid succession. It flails and arches back, but the lightning doesn't do more than scorch the skin. It ignores the storm and throws itself at the wall with renewed vigor. It gets worse. Not only is the lightning not very effective, but—as an AOE spell—it's not very discriminatory. As a result, I barely have time to comprehend what's going on before a bolt strikes my skull and everything goes black. # Anstis has been circling above the fight, hesitant to join, partly because of his last failed strike against the vozhd, but also because he is running really low on blood and is getting hungry. So when he sees me get knocked unconscious behind the wall, out of sight of everyone else, he is reaaaaaally interested. (Me: "AWWW HEEEEEELL NO!!") He spirals down. (Me: "REALLY!? After I BOUGHT YOU A PARROT!?" Jason: "He doesn't have to take all of it!" Me: "I only have three points!!" Jason: "Yes but he doesn't know that, does he?" Jim: "Look at the ****ing glee on Jason's face!") Anstis shifts into human form, and then, after a long night of metaphorically stealing all my blood from me, proceeds to LITERALLY steal all my blood from me!!!! AND THEN IT GETS WORSE!!!!!!1!!! (Jason: "Do you wish to diablerize the Brujah?" Me: "Remember I'm useful to you!" Jim: "That's true...." Jason: "So is power." Jim: "That's true too!" We leave Jim racked with temptation and indecision as I glare at him across the kitchen and do dishes angrily.) # A terrible smell of ozone and burnt hair drifts across the park, even after the storm dissipates. The vozhd shrieks, driven to the brink of complete insanity by frustration and pain. Georgia pulls at Marcus's arm. "Marcus, we should go...." Tired and unsteady as he is, her tug barely jostles him. "Not yet," he says grimly, staring intently at the monster. Georgia looks around and sees Paul by the car at the edge of the park. She leaves Marcus—and van Brugge's apparition—and jogs over to climb into the relative safety of the car. # Anstis has made his decision. He bends over toward me once again.... ...And hoists me over his shoulder, carrying me up the embankment, away from the creek and the flailing vozhd. He's about halfway up the hillside when a new sound starts echoing through the park, growing steadily louder. Anstis looks up, confused, not sure what it is. Everyone else—who is conscious—knows what it is, though. It's the sound of airplane engines. # The vozhd, exhausted, finally pulls away from the wall and looks around for another target. The first thing it settles on is Paul, standing next to his car on the other side of the park. The thing may be dumb, but it definitely realizes one thing: There's no wall between it and that side of the park. It turns around. Paul dives back into the car, reversing it to head back toward the arena. (Kara: "Oh my god...this is the third vehicle the vozhd is going to destroy with me in it....") From inside the car, they see the thing screech and leap forward, launching itself up the embankment— —Then, suddenly, stop, collapsing to the ground, out of sight. The park echoes with a new crescendo of howls, loud enough to drown out the engine of the car, if the car had an engine that made noise. Paul pivots the car around to make a quick getaway if needed, but stops and peers out the windows. "Marcus is still back there!" Georgia says. Paul nods, then blinks. "Wait, how did you guys get here? I left you back in the alley!" Georgia shrugs. "Marcus...wanted to help." A piercing shriek sends new cracks spidering across the glass. It's followed by the sound of splintering wood. Paul frowns and turns back to the window. "That's...nice of him." Paul backs the car up to a spot where they can see through the foliage. Below them, the vozhd is down on its side, writhing against massive cables of pure darkness wrapped around it like a Burmese python around an Everglades alligator. No matter how much it flails, tearing and flinging mud and grass in every direction, the darkness keeps the monster bound to the earth. And then, apparently, the earth decides to get in on the fight too. Multiple trees nearby uproot themselves and march over to start pummeling the vozhd. (Kara: "Jesus, how many thaumaturgial paths does van Brugge have?" Ben: "Um...a lot of them." Jason: "I think he has full mastery of something like eight." Ben: "Yeah." *A few moments of silence as we let that sink in* Jason: "This is why I keep these guys off-screen most of the time.") They stare at the weird Lord of the Rings LARP that has just broken out before them, then something draws their attention skyward. A plane is approaching from the north, moving slowly at a relatively low altitude. It's a prop plane with four engines and wide wings. They stare at it, then realize that it's not so much that it's moving slowly, is that it is very large, getting larger as it gets closer. Paul's phone rings. He answers it, still staring bemused at the plane. # My phone rings at the same time. Anstis digs it out of my pocket and answers it. # Bell: "Stewart. Lytton." Paul: "Yes?" Anstis: "Lytton be unconscious at the moment." Bell: "Anstis then. Get away from the vozhd." Anstis: "Presently doing just that." Bell: "Get away from it rapidly." Georgia: *yells in the background* "Marcus is still down there!" Bell: "That's his problem." Anstis starts running up the slope toward the highway, while Paul uses some of the last of his reserves to Summon Marcus away. # The plane roars overhead and banks over the park. Most of the people on the ground in the game identify it simply as a Big ****ing Plane. But many of us out of game know exactly what it is. (Jason: "The AC-130, otherwise known as the Specter, is a four-engine C-130 Hercules transport plane. It's basically a bomber, but here's the thing. Instead of bombs, the AC-130 carries a 75mm Howitzer in its side—" Jim: "Isn't it 90?" Jason: "Hmm. I don't think so...I'm pretty sure it's a 75 Howitzer...." Kara: "And...a Howitzer is a gun....?" Jason: "A Howitzer is a cannon. It carries a Howitzer, it carries a 40mm autocannon, and it carries a 20mm Vulcan machine-cannon." Kara: "Those sound like guns!" Jason: "They are enormously powerful guns used to hunt tanks." Me: "...Did you say HUNT. TANKS??" Jason: "They are designed to hunt and destroy tanks. What the Specter likes to do is bank slightly and circle around its target raining fire upon it. And, because it's a prop plane, it can stay up there all. ****ing. day." Jim: "...Ooo! We were both wrong! It's 105mm!" Jason: "Even better!!") The Specter banks hard to the left and starts raining artillery fire—4-inch wide shells, launched every two seconds—down upon the vozhd, pinned below. Moments later the Vulcan kicks in as well, firing so fast it sounds like one solid block of noise ripping through the night air, drowning out the howls of the monster. The entire creek bed boils into a cauldron of fire and wrath. The plane continues to circle above the park, raining destruction down in a ceaseless torrent. (Jason: "It probably won't stop for another hour. ...It's a vozhd, would you?") Everyone stares in awe from their respective locations. After a few minutes, Bell's voice echoes from the phones that Paul and Anstis are still holding. "Thank you. I think that will do. I'll see you all back at the Pyramid." He hangs up. # Things start to wind up rapidly after that. Anstis carries me onto the freeway and tries to commandeer a car, but only succeeds in causing more panic and confusion. (Which, incidentally, continues Jim's grand tradition of Ridiculous Chains of Events That Spiral Out of Control, which, to date, has included: 1) The time when Isaac was trying to kidnap an unconscious Paul and was hauling him from house to house in Bayshore, dodging cops and crack dealers, and ended up having to jump out of a moving ambulance to escape. 2) The time it was 30 seconds from sunrise and Elizabeth panicked, broke into a house in the Marina, and murdered a family of three (a choice that Marcus eventually executed her for, incidentally). 3) The time that werewolves attacked the Douchehaus, crashed Clarence's helicopter, and then Clarence spent an hour avoiding them by running around the roof and then falling off of it.) While Anstis is distracted, Aquilifer drops in, grabs me, and carries me back to Paul's car, leaving Anstis to say **** it and fly back to Paul's car himself. Marcus also shows up at the car, having shadow-stepped himself into the trunk. He's looking a little steadier, but still missing most of his body. He does concede, though, that this is only the second worst Monomancy he's ever participated in. Paul is exhausted and at the end of his willpower reserves, which is a problem since he is the only one who can reasonably drive the car. Marcus actually gives it a shot, but he, predictably, is too short. Georgia finally steps and says that she will do her best (though she'll probably be like inches off the wheel and driving granny speeds the whole way home). Thus, beaten and exhausted, and with a car full of birds and beat-up vampires, everyone heads back to the city. Before they leave, though, Paul has enough energy to text both Bell and Liedesdorff the following: "If I may suggest, perhaps Larry Ellison wanted a plane demonstration this evening." # (Now, this evening, we actually have a new addition to the regularly-scheduled writeup. Jim decided to try playing around with writing up a summary of key events from Anstis's perspective, which I asked to include here. It's wonderfully pirate-y, thus I am pleased to share with you:) THE CAPTAIN'S LOG: The tale of the events of the 4th of March, having seen things of a Most Questionable nature, Being of sound mind in an Unsound time, wherein battle, thundyr, flash, and fury were unleash'd 'pon foe, and the subsequent fleeing from greater foes, Abridged. I circled overhead, safely out of reach of the beastie. Fighting it be suicide, I reckoned, but me only connections to this world be condemned 'pon the ground, directly in the wake of Hell itself. I could just let them die. I could escape. Escape again; it be what I'm good at. But then where would I be? Another dead crew, another lost ship. Starting over yet again. The wake of corpses ever growing at me feet. Friend, foe, the pall of death grows ever harder for me to bear. The beast roared, the sound itself hitting me like storm and wave, rocking me to and fro, and Lytton ran. He wouldn't make it. Not this time. So I mustered me strength and dove. Wings tucked back, plummeting to the earth, I fell towards the beast. At the last moment, my body morphed back to the shape of the man I once was, but with 8 inch razor claws, and with all me might I hurled meself at the beast's spine. I struck true, but strong as I be, I was but an insect upon its ravening mass. It hurled me to the ground, shattering me body, but I had bought Tom time, and time be a precious commodity. Stitching me wounds, I took back to the air. I'd been testing me reserves with a great alacrity, and found meself fast hungry. The Tremere hit the beast with a Hellish firestorm, enough to lay waste to the lot of us, but it forged on. The battle raged on, and the Tremere finally slowed it by harnessing the power of the seas, then called storm and thunder 'pon it. The lightning struck Lytton as well as the beast, and he fell unconscious, safe on the far side of the wall of water the Tremere had gathered. Cut off from the rest. Alone. Hunger. Me own beast voiced his 'pinions, and I must say, for a moment, I considered it. The power. But for better or worse, Lytton be part of me crew now. I know the bitter taste of betrayal, better than most, and no man shall ever rightly 'ccuse me of it. Still, if I wished to survive this, I'd be needing blood, and it just so happens Lytton had no use for his at the moment... Unfortunately, Lytton had little in reserve, so I picked him up and carried him away from the battle. The others seemed to have the beastie occupied, so there was precious time. I found one of the grand roads of this new age, complete with dozens of these wheeled contrivances they call "cars". It happens however, that at this moment, furious cannon was unleashed from the very Heavens upon the beastie. Night became day in flashes and fury, and screams from the monster voiced its malcontent. The cars stopped, crashing to and fro, the mortals amazed as I to see the fire of God himself unleashed on our foe. I took advantage of the distraction, rushing up to one and diving inside. The man at the wheel aimed pistol 'pon my head, so I drank from him 'til he was no more. I left the car, to share my bounty with Lytton, but in those seconds he vanished, and could not be found. Likely the child Marcus's work—or that of his infernal bird, no doubt—so I took flight. It took but a brief time to locate them, and finding Lytton inside the conveyance with the rest, I swooped down to join them. Battered, wounded, missing limbs, the tattered tale of a night of Hell the likes of which I have never seen before, despite my unquiet life centuries before. But we had survived. I split that blood which I'd gathered from the cross man who had attempted me murder, 'that Lytton not succumb to the anger of the beast 'pon his 'wakening. Now back in the city, this chapter over, 'tis time to handle me personal affairs. I'll be needing a ship. I'll be needing more crew. It's time to find those responsible for me time under the seas, and show them the price of betrayal, beyond the grave or nay. Me time is yet beginning. Ahoy! # I don't regain consciousness until we arrive back in the city. Paul, Georgia, and Anstis are heading to the Pyramid, as Bell requested, but they decide to drop Marcus off at Paul's SOMA penthouse on the way. I—muddy, bloody, and beaten six ways from Tuesday—also decide to bow out of the Bell meeting; partially to keep an eye on Marcus, but partially cause I hate it when Bell sees me looking like shit. Everyone else continues to the Pyramid. (Jim: "Now that there's space, I'll return to human form." Jason: "You sure you don't want to do octopus?" Chris: "DO NOT octopus my car!") # They walk into the prince's Bell's office—or, rather, Georgia and Anstis walk, wheeling Paul in a wheelchair—to find it filled with a near army's worth of people, setting up piles of equipment on tables and stations around the room, turning it from a lavish office to some sort of NASA-like control room.. Bell is in the middle of the room, surveying the constrained chaos, and turns as they enter. He tenses, then gestures for the workers to stop. He folds his arms and looks the three up and down. "That bad?" Anstis: "A fine evening!" Paul: "Actually it went better than anyone else could have expected." Georgia: "You should see the other guy!" Bell smirks. "Bring it in," he calls over his shoulder. One of the workers walks out and comes back with a tray loaded with a pitcher and four glasses. She sets it down and fills the glasses with, obviously, blood. Bell gestures to the glasses. "Donated blood, from SF General. Slightly chilled, I'm afraid, but we live in fallen times." He walks to the desk, still at the head of the room, and sinks into the chair. "Drink up, there's more where that came from." Bell watches as everyone dives on the glasses. "Where's Lytton?" he asks, frowning. "He wanted to stay with the little one," Anstis says. "He's also barely conscious," Georgia adds. Bell raises an eyebrow. "But he made it out?" "Barely," Anstis says. Bell leans back in the chair. "Then I'd say you all have a clean sweep. If circumstances were different you'd all be appointed to high positions in the Camarilla. You destroyed a Sabbat archbishop, unseated his princedom, we could march in tomorrow and take the entire city." Bell clasps his hands in front of him and watches them a moment. "But I expect you're here to convince me why we shouldn't do that." Paul glances around the room, at the various people watching silently, and clears his throat. "Well, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about that, and I suspect any sort of action like that would invite retaliation from the Sabbat." "Yes, I've thought that as well," Bell says. "Also...." Paul hesitates. "I have an arrangement with...well.... Have you heard of the Archbishop of Palo Alto?" "I've heard of the bishop of Palo Alto, who I assume is no longer being called such." "No, ah...he and I seem to be on agreeable terms for the moment." Bell frowns. "Ah. Is he the one who...arranged all this?" "He is." "Hmm. Well, then maybe we can come to an arrangement as well. In any event," Bell looks at the equipment around the room, "We have greater things to worry about right now than what the Bishop of Palo Alto wants to call himself. He could declare himself Cardinal of the West Coast for all I care." (Me: "That's Marcus's job!") They give Bell a summary of the fight, but Bell is mostly interested in the vozhd and what has happened to it and/or them. They say that Marcus mentioned there were three and that he supposedly took care of two of them, so with the gunship they should be clear. Bell is...understandably impressed that Marcus took out two on his own and mutters that he feels a lot better about having lost his last fight with him. They also mention that Norton and Doc were there. Georgia gasps and tries to call Doc to let him know she's ok, but her phone is still smashed. She asks if anyone else has his number. Bell grumbles and says that Doc has been ignoring all of his requests for an audience since he arrived in the city. Bell asks if there was anything else of note. Georgia and Paul shrug, saying besides the vozhd, not really. "There was the light burning flesh," Anstis blurts out. Paul's face grows dark. Bell leans forward in his chair. "The what?" Paul twists around in the wheelchair to glare at Anstis. "You will take that to your grave," he hisses. "Oh, will I?" Anstis asks, face flat. Bell stands up and holds out a hand to them. "Gentleman, a moment. Everyone, out!" he barks. All of the various workers in the room leave, clearing the room in moments. Bell stares at Anstis until the door closes. "No, captain. There was no light burning flesh. Nothing of the sort happened. Paul Stewart was dragged before a Sabbat ritual of some sort, in which horrible, bestial things were being done." He starts slowly pacing around the desk. "And like the good Camarilla warrior he is, Paul managed to overcome the depraved, debased Sabbat lords who were in charge of the ritual, slay them with the help of his," he nods at Georgia and Anstis, "stalwart allies, and restore civilization to the good people of the southern Bay Area." Anstis listens quietly, face still expressionless, and when Bell finishes he nods tersely. "Tis a tale as good as any." Bell stops his pacing to face Anstis. "It's better than any tale, it's the truth," he says, looking straight in his eyes. "It's the way I remember it," Paul mutters. Bell glances down at him. "It's the way everyone will remember it or they will lose their capacity to remember. We are not starting an open war with the Sabbat for the west coast because someone decided to get cute with fiber optics. I want to make that clear. I will incinerate this city before I let that happen. Are we clear on this?" Bell takes their sullen silence as agreement and nods. "Good." He walks back to his chair. They spend the rest of the meeting discussing the next items on everyone's to-do lists, which include, in no particular order: 0. Perpenna, **** that guy 0. Accio, probably **** him too 0. Himmler, who is holed on on the Farallones with an army of gargoyles and at least one captured werewolf (though right now I'm the only one who knows Sophia is there) Bell frowns. He says that the Farallones are...tricky. Normally he'd simply call in another firebomb airstrike, but apparently there's high-level political arrangements at work involving the place. Anything dealing with it involves contacting certain parties and that will not be easy. As to who these parties are, well...apparently that's classified. Bell shakes his head and sighs. "The Camarilla can't intervene directly in anything going on on the Farallones, but...who's to say we did? If you do go out there, try to be as discrete as possible, and for god's sake, don't destroy anything that doesn't belong to a Kindred. There are...other factors out there." He glances out the windows, at the reach of bay just visible through the skyscrapers and drifting fog. "And whatever you do, don't go in the water." # Marcus, Aquilifer, and I all stumble up to Paul's penthouse apartment, each of us a different flavor of exhausted. "I've had hangovers that were better than this," I grumble as I close the door behind us. Marcus sighs and shakes his head. "You know, you would think that at my age one would grow out of these sorts of situations." I limp over to the fridge, more out of habit than anything else. I know Paul doesn't keep blood around, and I'm sure I wouldn't have liked his food even when I was able to eat it. Sure enough, theres nothing in it but some tofu, an entire case-worth of SmartWater, and—inexplicably—three heads of cabbage. I stare forlornly at the shelves and sigh. "It's alright, I'll order delivery," Marcus says and pulls out his phone. He dials a number, holds it up to his ear for a minute, then hangs up without a word. "It'll be here in an hour," he says. "Um...do they need a tip? I don't have any cash on me...." "I'll wire it to them." Marcus walks wearily over to a sitting area and collapses on a wide, expensive looking couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the city. Aquilifer watches, then-apparently judging him safe for the moment-wanders off on foot to explore the apartment. "Well. That was singularly unpleasant," Marcus grumbles, staring out the window. I rub my face. "Yeah. I tried to keep a low profile like you asked, but...." "You did fine," he sighs. "You did just fine." My own weariness lifts just a little. "Thanks Boss." I amble over to the window. The flat takes up most of the top floor of the building and the windows look out the north side. It's a perfect panorama of the skyline, from the glittering lights of the Bay Bridge, to the fog pouring in over Twin Peaks to the west, lit by the blinking red lights of Sutro Tower. The two of us are silent for a few minutes, watching patches of fog drift like ghosts across the city. "I need to work on a plan to get my girl back," I finally say. "Sophia?" I hear his voice behind me, though I can't see him in the window reflection. I nod, a little surprised he remembers her name. "Yes, it appears you and Paul both need to do this don't you. I'd assist but I don't think I'd be welcome." His tone darkens. "There's still bad blood there. A lot of it. As with everything...." The weariness starts to descend again. As usual, more Marcus vaugebooking. History and plots and intrigues half-alluded to, but now in my exhausted state I have far less patience for it. I turn around and scowl at him. "Yeah, well, Boss, they're gonna find I'm with you eventually. If I'm going to go through with this I'll need to know the full story in case I need to deal with it!" Marcus doesn't even bat an eye at my tone. "Deal with it how, Tom? You going to make peace?" "I don't know! Right now I seem to be doing ok with winging it as problems come up." He sighs and shakes his head. He stares out the window a few moments before responding. "Look. How long have you been a Kindred? Twenty years? Thirty? I won't say you can't know how the world works at your age, but...there are mistakes that cannot be atoned for by someone's good wishes stepping in hundreds of years after the fact. "You seem for some reason to have gotten in fairly well with a few werewolves too young or stupid to know better than to involve themselves with our kind, and that's fine. If you can somehow maintain that, that's fine. Just bear in mind we are immortal and they are not. Your werewolf friend will die, violently most likely, of old age if not. And where will you be left? With the same damn enmity inherited along with the rest of this wonderful curse we call a bloodline." I bristle. I don't need to be reminded about outliving friends. "The werewolves," Marcus continues, "hate us collectively and one werewolf choosing to see past that wont change anything. Now...me they may hate more than most, but your associations with me wont do you any favors with them. And there's nothing I can do to change that even if I wanted to." He sighs. "Not anymore. It happened seven hundred years ago." My eyes narrow. "Yeah, funny how a short-lived...species...has such long memories." He chuckles. "They say that's what they were created for. Or at least that's the rumor. I've heard thousands." He waves his remaining hand. "Some mystical mumbo-jumbo about earth-spirits. No one knows where any of this comes from. Or anyone who does is insane." He regards me a moment. "Why do you want to know what happened? It can't be to tell the werewolves, they already know what they know, and nothing will convince them otherwise." Why do I want to know? The last time I brought the topic up, he gave me a long story about a vengeance plot against the werewolves that got out of hand, which...makes enough sense, I guess. But something about it has been rubbing me the wrong way. Something tells me there's more to the story, and that same part of me just has to know, especially considering how tangled up my life has gotten with his. I shrug. "I've never been good at keeping out of bad business for long. His eyes narrow. He seems to evaluate me. "Tell me Tom, how many mistakes have you made in your life? Serious ones, in your twenty years of time." Memories flash through my mind. My father yelling at my mother with Isabella hiding in a corner. The last view of my house out the rear window of a car. Fearful rumors on the San Francisco streets. Rob wracked with pneumonia, dying in the bed we shared. The dark face of a stranger in a club, whispering promises of a final escape from all of it.... I quickly turn back to the window. "A few," I mumble. "Imagine what you accumulate over twenty centuries. No one's perfect, after all." I hear him sigh. "What is the name the werewolves have for me? The Devourer?" He chuckles lightly. "Marcus the Devourer. I suppose it has a nice ring to it...." "Yeah, that's not the full name," I mutter to the glass. Another moment of silence. "No," Marcus says flatly, "I suppose it isn't, is it? So what is the full name, if I might ask? It's changed several times." I feel his gaze boring through my back but I continue to stare out the window. "The Devourer of Innocence." This time the silence stretches to almost a minute. "Well I suppose that's fair enough isn't it," Marcus finally mutters. He sighs. "You want to know? You really want to know?" "Well, if you're good at...removing innocence, then perhaps it's only appropriate." My voice is a lot colder than I expected. I turn around. He stares up at me from his spot on the couch. I'm suddenly struck by how small he looks, sprawled broken and exhausted across overstuffed pillows that almost dwarf him. But his face is flat with a seriousness far beyond his apparent age, and when he speaks, his voice is deadly so. "Have you ever heard of an organization by the name of the Seventh Generation?" "No...." "Well you shouldn't, they're more or less extinct now. At least I hope they are. Horrific group. Some...sadistic cult dedicated to the most inhuman of practices imaginable." I raise an eyebrow. Glass houses.... "Vampires?" "Some. Mostly not. A hedonistic cult of some sort. The philosophy was around...abuse, as a method of gaining some form of hidden knowledge about the ways of the world. Generational abuse, you understand. Started off...young. Kidnap children, abuse them until they're adults, and then let them feed back into the system to do it again. Generation after generation, in the hopes of producing some purified form of corruption. Disgusting people. They'd have to be to get the enmity of all the people they wound up with." He lapses into silence again, eyes staring far past the skyline before us. "I...helped found them." The following silence stretches long. Marcus doesn't meet my gaze. For my part, I am suddenly paralyzed, afraid that any movement will send all my emotions crashing out at once. Marcus breaks the silence first. "...Or at least one of their chapters. I don't know how old the cult actually is. I don't think anyone does. But I helped create it. Gave it strength, gave it life, for decades. Now can you imagine what the werewolves might have to say about something like that?" I continue to stare at him. He shakes his head. "The full story is...complicated. But that's essentially what it is." He looks up at me. "Surprised, are we?" he asks sardonically. I turn back to the window. Emotions still roil within me. Confusion, anger, more than a little concern, but...as I stare, trying to get ahold of my mind, I realize that I'm not as surprised as I probably should be. And denial isn't present at all. "Have I shattered your innocence, Tom?" "No," I say after a moment. And that's probably the most frightening part.... "I could give you the reasons why, I could tell you how it was done, I could even tell you who was to blame, but...none of that matters necessarily. I made enemies and some of those enemies...well there were consequences to that. We all live forever. They knew how to come at me. They knew what would work. And this is what they tried. And it's what worked." More silent moments. "No questions? Do I sense...outrage? Boiling and burning within you?" Marcus's voice is calm, but theres a hint of mockery in it. I'm not entirely sure, though, if it's mocking of me or himself. I shrug. "Just...frustration." "Frustration with what?" I turn back to him. "This world. Just when I seem to have a grip on something, it changes. And the general trend seems to be a downward one." "It's the way of things, Tom. No one's what you think they are." He smiles a smile that's more a grimace. "Want the full story then?" I throw my arms out. "I apparently have nothing but time." He laughs darkly. "Do you know of a clan by the name of the Setites?" "I've heard the name around." He nods. "Yes I'm sure. Popular bunch. Ask Helgi about them." Helgi was at war with the Setites when I first met him. I followed him to Africa and back in pursuit of them. They'd done something to piss him off. Killed someone. It's what they're good at. We killed a horde of Setites. Piles of them, burned them out of house and home. Purged the entire city as best we could. And they remembered. For hundreds of years they remembered, and watched. It's what they do. They fancy themselves the puppet masters and the string pullers. They watched from the darkness and waited for the opportunity to come at me in the perfect possible way. How would you do it? "What, attack you?" I snort. "Well considering that a ****ing Tzimitscian hellbeast wasn't enough to take you out, I'm totally out of options." He smirks. "It was close, and there were two of them. But assume for a moment that you can't attack me directly because I can destroy Tzimitscian hellbeasts. What would you do.... What weaknesses would you look for?" Well the Setites, as it turns out, are very good at finding them, and they went in at precisely the right point. They set me a trap. Not a violent one, but...a perfect trap. See, there aren't many vampires my...apparent age. They don't live long. Those who do tend to get wise to various tricks, but I wasn't wise to this one. The Setites sent me...another. One they'd been grooming for centuries. They sent me a helpless little Cainite, embraced at a tender age. Assailed by all the horrible things in the world, desperate for help. And I fell right into it. Because it was what I was ready to believe. I helped her for decades. We survived the wrath of the Inquisition, the Omen War, the chaos that ensued when the Giovanni took over. And around the time of the Black Death she got an idea. She wanted to thank me for how much I'd helped her, for letting her survive. She said oh Marcus, there are so many others being preyed upon in these terrible times, from plague and war and devastation and brigandage (because it was the late 14th century and it was a bad time to be alive). If only someone were to gather them up like the pied piper where they could all be made safe, away from the ravages of the word. Setites can be so...persuasive when they want to be. She wanted me to save the children, orphans and runaways and people left abandoned by the Black Death. (It killed a third of the continent in six weeks, you know, you have no idea the dislocation it left in its wake.) We made a wonderful team. She established a home base in some isolated spot in the Pyrenees and I went out and...collected. I collected hundreds. For fifty years, I criss-crossed the continent. And it never even occurred to me to ask what I was collecting for. Because I knew her, you see. I knew her for a hundred years. Probably would have gone on forever, until she had enough to present me with a fait accompli, till she could turn me to whatever ends she wanted. (I don't know what the Setites actually wanted, I don't think even they do.) But I eventually heard enough rumors from enough trustworthy people that I went back by surprise, once. And I saw what was truly going on. But it didn't matter what I did at that point. What I did was already done. I burned the castle down, killed everyone in it. Staked her through the heart and left her to watch the sunrise. But...you can't burn out things like that. You cant apologize. Who are you going to apologize to? The responsible parties are dead. It's between you and your gods. But as you say, the werewolves have a long memory. They never forgot. I wouldn't, in their place. You see, by the time I went back it was far too late. There'd been three generations by then. Worst of all, she had been directing me toward...Kinfolk. Werewolf Kinfolk. I'd been "rescuing" their children from their own grasp and sending them to the most hellacious pits imaginable. So no, Tom, I'm afraid you're not going to bridge that divide. There was a time before the modern world caught up with us in atrocities when the werewolves considered me one of the worst offenders they had ever seen. I had packs of them hunting me across the continent. To the New World and back. I spilled more werewolf blood than most of the Kindred who have ever lived. But you cant fight your way out of the werewolves, that just encourages them. Your friend may not know who I am directly, but she's heard the stories. They've all heard the stories. And that cult, the one I helped found, ever so often still pops up. Here and there. I heard it was in New York not long ago. The werewolves took care of it there, but it will be back. As long as there are Setites or people like them, it will be back. "So there you have it. Theres the grand secret. Live long enough Tom and you might have something on your record just as bad." I stare at him a moment then turn back to the window, focusing out on the city. I think about those first nights after I was Embraced, when I thought I had been lifted beyond all the cares of the world. I think about all the people—strangers, lovers, friends—I accidentally infected with my other curse before I knew any better. And all the people I've possibly infected even now that I do. "I don't know...." I mutter. "I seem to be tallying up the score fairly early." "How so? If you've been going out and founding child abuse cults, Tom, we need to have another conversation." I snort. "No, but...I came to San Francisco to get away from my family, and I came to vampirdom to get away from my disease, but...." "...But low and behold, you couldn't get away from either." "Yeah...." I say. "Though it took me a long time to realize that." "Well congratulations, I know vampires eight times your age who have never come to that realization. See, we can't just wait for our problems to die. Our problems are as immortal as we are. But, we can kill them. Paul has been demonstrating that fairly effectively recently, hasn't he?" (Chris: *stage-whisper* "Paul is a frickin' psychopath! He killed like fourteen people last night!" Me: "That's true, that was awesome!") I smirk. "Yeah, but you can't just punch a virus in the face." "You can with enough Vicissitude." I tense, then turn around slowly. "...What?" I ask softly. Marcus nods once, face serious. "Enough Vicissitude can accomplish wonders. Yes it has a reputation, but you'll find as you increase in power that every discipline has a myriad of effects that it's good at doing. Take Obtenebration, for instance. I can put the lights out, but I can do far more than that." He looks down at his torn-up chest cavity and grimmaces. "Not always enough, it seems, but a fair amount." My mind reels. When my disease survived the transition to undeath, I had assumed that, like a bad tattoo, it would be with me until I reached my final grave. In twenty years, I never thought there might be some way to effect it after the fact.... Marcus watches the shock and confusion on my face for a moment before continuing. "What are you going to do about these immortal issues of yours, Tom? Find a cure? Find an Assamite?" I wince, but he continues. "Ask yourself a wider question. Say you do find this Assamite of yours, say you find her sire and say you give him what he needs to be given. What then? There's no guarantee she'll even rememeber you, let alone want anything to do with you. The embrace does things to people, Tom, and it doesn't always do them in a uniform fashion. How long has it been, really?" I clasp my arms around me. "She looked like she was in her early 20's in the photo I saw...." But not that much older than I remember. Young with blood on her face— "So it could have been quite some time then. Decades. She may not want you to do anything. Believe me, those whose sires abandoned them tend to be the lucky ones." "I wouldn't count myself as lucky," I grumble. "Consider the alternative. I dare you." I smirk to myself. I guess I'm not the only one around here with metaphorical daddy issues. "Yeah...there's a whole bunch of holes in the Tenderloin to remind me of that." He rolls his eyes. "Thats another story, and a long and ugly one. But as I said, we can't outrun our enemies. Perpenna and I have been doing this dance for 2,000 years. But if I'm being perfectly honest with myself it's been going on for longer than that. He was my father's enemy before I even existed." Clicks echo across the polished bamboo flooring. Aquilifer walks into view, back from her explorations. She leaps up and settles herself on the arm of the couch next to Marcus. He watches her as she shifts her weight a few times then starts preening. "So what's your next move?" I ask.

"So what's your next move?" I ask. "Find him," he says flatly, still watching Aquilifer. "Through Accio if possible. Via other means if not. Accio and I are overdue for a conversation anyway." He turns back to me. "In any event, Tom, you don't need to come up with these answers now. You may not even need to this decade, but eventually they'll come knocking, and if you have nothing to say then things can go very badly." He straightens slightly on the couch. "But at least you have one advantage." "Whats that?" "Well, if you sister does come back, knocking on your door and asking for your assistance, you'll know not to believe her. I didn't, and look where it got me." I close my eyes and look away. "You may not consider that particularly comforting, but the alternative might be getting a werewolf title of your own. Or far worse." I stare at the skyline. "Well, like I said, if everything's going to hell anyway, then I might as well have a cool place to stand." He chuckles. "Well, I'm no prophet, who knows what could happen. And like I said, the cult continues to exist, but it also continues to be destroyed. The world is what it is. Use it to your advantage and it could destroy your enemies for you. We all have the same problems, even those opposed to you. Even Perpenna has his enemies. Even Perpenna has enemies that do not die and do not sleep. As do I, as do you, as does every Kindred who will ever darken your door." I turn back. "And the longer you live the more you collect?" He wobbles his head. "Tends to be the case. But on the flip side, the longer you live, the more you realize which ones can be safely ignored, which ones can be held in enmity for, and which ones will be dealt with by...natural selection. After all," he meets my eyes and raises an eyebrow, "Accio isn't Perpenna's only grandchilde, and not all of them are still with us." I frown, processing this. He smiles and continues. "And besides, there is one thing you should also keep in mind. Your worst nightmares can sometimes, sometimes, be turned around into your greatest strengths. Before I met that wondrous Setite, I was seventh generation." He leans forward slightly, and for a moment I see the shadows in the room flicker in the corners of my eye. "I'm not any longer. And in a strange, wonderful way, I have the Setites to thank for that. And believe me, I have been thanking them, for a long, long time." I turn back to the view. Thoughts and emotions are still battling in me, but everytime I look at the skyline I feel myself relaxing, momentarily swept away by its majesty. What was it Anstis called them? Mountains of light? "You've...seen a lot of cities through the course of time?" I ask suddenly. "Eons of them, yes." "How does ours compare?" He's quiet a moment, probably studying the same view I am. "Oh, it's an interesting little one. I've seen it's like before. Reminds me of Florence, to be honest, and Athens. Classical Athens, that is." I nod, suddenly realizing that, as beautiful as the skyline is, the true heart of the city is hidden from me right now. "What of its people?" I ask slowly. He snorts lightly. "How shall I put this? People doing the same thing they've always done in radically new ways? Isn't uncommon. We haven't had people walking around with magical glasses or electrified vehicles for too long, but what you call 'hipsters' is nothing new." I roll my eyes but smile. "God, don't tell them that." "Oh I think you should tell them that. But yes. Nothing new at all. History changes but time repeats itself. Or was it the other way around. "But it's a nice city, whatever I say. Temperate enough. I rather like its views." He's quiet a moment, and when he continues his tone is harsher. "But it's a city like any other and there will come a time when it will crumble. I fell asleep in Rome when it was the greatest city in the world, bar none. The finest, the largest, the most powerful, the most prosperous. I woke up in a decrepit ruin, abandoned by everyone but the Pope, of all people. Living in the shadow of monuments they could not even recall the purpose of." For a moment, put myself in his place, imagining what it would be like to wake up one night to find that the entire world that I knew and loved had crumbled down around me all at once, that the people and the places and the art and the songs and the mountains of light were gone forever. It makes me feel sick. He sighs. "But...it's still there. It's not the Rome I knew, but it's a Rome of sorts. I find you can never go back, but what can you say. Even my old hometown is still there, under a new name with a new language and a new people, but it's there. So too will this city continue, in its way. Perpenna and I might reduce it to rubble but it will come back. They always come back." I hear him shift on the couch. "In any event, Tom, fascinating as I'm sure this is to you, I've had quite a night. Even by my standards. I think I'm going to go pretend to be as dead as I actually feel for awhile. Find an interior room if I may suggest. I'm going to avail myself of more commodious accommodations to be found...somewhere else. I'll be back in the evening." I turn to see him lift a clenched hand. Shadows erupt from it, enveloping him, and moments later he's gone. Aquilifer stares down at the place he was, smeared with more than a little dirt, blood, and other things. She looks up at me and keens softly. The doorbell chimes. Ah yes, the take out Marcus ordered. They announce they're here with a delivery, but I still scope it out carefully before opening the door. I let them in and watch as they wheel in several forty-gallon drums, auto-chilled and filled with blood. They drop them off in the kitchen and leave without another word. I stare in surprise but my hunger quickly takes over. I dig through the cupboards but find only high-concept glasses that have more design in them than volume. "**** that," I say, and dump a vase of cut flowers into the sink and fill that up with blood instead. I walk back to the couch and flop down near Aquilifer. I stare at the view and sip my blood, thinking, until the earliest fingers of dawn tint the edges of the sky. END OF NIGHT

what they are. Crows. Murders upon murders of them. (Me: "GET TO ZE AUTO!!") We bolt to Paul's Tesla, which—as we recently learned—automatically unlocks as Paul approaches. The flock is approaching rapidly, shrieks and caws joining the noise of their wings in a cacophonous storm. Everyone dives into the car and slams the doors shut moments before the birds reach us, pummelling themselves into the glass and the frame in mindless fury. # Anstis finally returns to our quiet cul-de-sac, having commandeered himself a taxi for a lift. He steps out of the cab to see the black cloud of birds mobbing our car at the end of the street. The shitzu hops out behind him. It too stares at the birds and growls. Anstis frowns and decides to try and Summon the birds off of us. He only succeeds in calling a quarter of them, but a quarter of the massive flock is still hundreds of birds. A huge swath peels off the main flock like smoke and barrels down the street toward Anstis. The cab driver screams and wrenches his car around to GTFO but crashes into a telephone pole across the street. Anstis—and the shitzu—stand their ground. The birds swirl around Anstis in a maelstrom, then rise up to circle him in a torus twenty or thirty feet off the ground. They are still cawing occasionally, but—in this flock at least—the anger seems to have abated. Anstis looks up the street to our car, attention drawn by the sounds of cracking glass. # The glass of the Tesla—originally cracked by the supersonic shrieks of the vozdt the night before—are slowly failing under this new onslaught. Snaps echo through the car as cracks spiderweb across the front and rear windshields. Between the fractured glass and the feathers and the blood we can't see shit, but Paul still boots up the car and tries driving down the street. We're able to get a full dozen feet before Paul crashes into a parked car. (Jason: "It's a Hummer. The license plate says 'WINNING.'" Us: "Of course it does." Jason: "It also has a bumper sticker. I'll let you think of the most obnoxious one possible." Jim: "Too bad it's not a Dodge Ram, cause then it could be one of the ones that say, 'Dodge the father, Ram the daughter.' " *silence in the room for many moments* Me: "....WOOOOOOW." Ben: "Yeah, that's...a little bit rapey...." Kara: "I'm offended you repeated that!" Jason: "Jesus, is that a real bumper sticker?!" Jim: "Yep! Saw it on a truck back in Michigan!" Kara: "...I need to go back in time and leave Michigan faster.") The jolt of the collision cracks the front windshield all the way through. Birds pour in, shrieking and beating around the car, pecking at any exposed flesh. Everton reacts first, leaning over the front seat and igniting the aerosol can he stole from the bathroom. The shrieks increase and the car reeks of burnt feathers, but for the moment they stop coming through. Unfortunately, though, a gout of flame going off right next to his head is too much for Paul. He panics into a full Rotshriek, struggling against his seatbelt, flailing toward the cracked window. Before he can do anything more destructive, Georgia leans over the seat, grabs his head with both hands, and Dominates him. (Kara: "I've never Dominated anyone before!" Me: "Yeah girl!!!") "Calm," she says, staring into his eyes. His face relaxes slightly from its wild panic, but theres still an edge to it. (Jason: "He's still in Rotshreik, she just told the Beast to calm." *rolls* "The Beast starts up the car and drives away.") We race down the street, passing what looks suspiciously like a pirate dragging an unconscious cab driver out of a car while being barked at by a shitzu. I stare out the window as we roll past. "Seriously....?" I mutter. "Anyone want to call Bell and tell him we made a mess?" Georgia calls hesitantly from the back seat. I whirl on her. "WE made a mess?! GIRL—" I can't yell more, though, because at that moment, Paul's Beast—apparently at the limit of its drive skills—drives us straight through the T-intersection at the base of the street and ploughs into a house. Paul's knocked unconscious. The rest of us are brought back to our senses by the sounds of the birds approaching again. "Can someone competent please DRIVE THE DAMNABLE CAR!!!!" Everton roars. I drag the unconscious Paul out of the driver's seat and climb in, but no matter what buttons I press it refuses to start. I turn around and stare at the approaching birds. "Any magic you can do here, girl?" "Nothing that would stop a flock of birds," she frowns. "Can you do that wall trick you did with more than just water?" Everton asks. "Well, yes, but we don't have any other liquid...." Georgia says, looking around outside the car. I, though, freeze as something occurs to me. There's a tank of gasoline in the trunk, leftover from the attack on Sebastian's club last fall. I mash buttons on the dash till I hear the trunk pop, then climb out and race around to the back. I hold the tank aloft, grinning. "That will do," Everton says and climbs out as well. Georgia follows, but looks concerned. "I don't know if this is enough to cast an entire wall...." Georgia says hesitantly, staring at the tank. "It doesn't have to be particularly strong!" "But it has to cover a large area...." That's when it hits Georgia: it doesn't have to be a solid wall, it can just be a net. Georgia throws out a lattice of gasoline, arcing over us in a dome, just in time to cut off the advance front of the birds. They shriek and beat at the barrier, and some are small enough that they start to squeeze through the holes. But moments later, Everton lights the entire thing on fire. A fireball erupts overhead, searing through the fog and rolling skyward. We're blown back, crashing into the rear of the Tesla. The air reeks of smoke and feathers and charred, meaty chunks rain down around us. The rest of the flock that wasn't caught in the explosion circles overhead, screaming, then peels off and disappears into the night. We lever ourselves back to our feet, staring at the carnage around us. The fireball ignited the margins of some of the nearby landscaping, and a few of the birds are still twitching on the ground. "Thaumaturgy...." Everton says slowly, then nods to himself. "...Well. Never let it be said the Tremere weren't useful for something." We look at the Tesla—smashed, cracked, beat to shit. I don't know much about these cars but for the moment it's clear it's totaled. We hear a shout from up the street, though: Anstis, waving at us, saying he has a car up there. (Me: "Does Paul need to be carried?" Jason: "Yes." Me: *sigh* "Hodor.") We stagger back up the street. Anstis is standing proudly in front of the cab—driver passed out on the curb and looking suspiciously pale—and holding a shitzu under his arm. I dump Paul in the backseat, then turn and slap Anstis across the arm, hard. "Thanks for the help, Squid-for-Brains!" I yell. He glares back. "Ye think I didn't help?" He points up. A chunk of the birds are still circling him overhead, and as I watch he dismisses them with a wave. "Were those yours?" Georgia asks, staring upwards. "Not the ones that attacked you, but that flock I gathered. I met a strange man on a roof—" "Did you?" I say flatly, glaring. We compare notes. Yep, same guy. "Did ye learn anything?" Anstis asks. "We were going to, but then our Tremere friend got...cheeky," I say, glaring at Georgia. Just then, the sound of a car engine cuts through the fog. It's a black Lincoln town-car. It turns onto the street and roars up to us, stopping a few feet away. Two identical cars pull up behind it. We watch owlishly as the doors fly open and well-armed men pile out and approach us. At the front of the crowd, conspicuously un-armed, is Bell, and the expression on his face is enough to melt glass. I throw up my arms as he approaches. "For once, none of this was my fault, sir!" "Shut up," he barks, leveling a finger at me. "Where the **** is Stewart? He better be ****ing dead. What the **** happened!?" "We were attacked by...What's-His-Face...." Georgia says slowly. Bell turns to her. "By what?" "Umm...." His finger tracks over to her. "You got ten seconds." "Well, I got to the house and walked in to find Everton. I called Paul and Tom, and they—" Bell holds up a hand. "Everton's here?" "Well yeah he's...." We look around. Nope. Everton has mysteriously disappeared. "Well that's strange," Georgia continues. "Everton was just here. Anyway, he said that What's-His-Face—" "Who the **** is What's-His-Face!?!" I wave my hands to get Bell's attention. "Sir! Marcus's sire was just here, but don't say his name, there's some freaky Beetlejuice shit going on here." Bell stares at me flatly for multiple seconds before turning back to Georgia. "What did Everton want?" "He told us that What's-His-Face had dragged him into the Abyss or something and it had been hella creepy there—"(—"Georgia doesn't say 'hella' but you know what I mean.") "And then there was a great army," Anstis chimes in. "...Of Clarences," I grumble. "Clones of them." "And What's-His-Name was talking to her, through her head," Anstis concludes, pointing at Georgia. Bell stares a few moments then rubs his face. "This is not the place to be having this conversation. Get in the car." He turns to one of the men. "Burn the Tesla, make this look like...drunk driving or something." (*A few moments of silence around the table as we quietly bid goodbye to Paul's Tesla, trusty companion on many advenures so far.* Jason: "If only you could afford another....") I grab Paul and haul him to Bell's car. Georgia and Anstis follow, Anstis still hauling the shitzu (whose collar, incidentally, says "Boopsy."). Bell holds up his hand and stops Anstis from entering. "What's this?" Anstis looks down. "This would be a dog." Bell stares at Anstis for almost a minute, then walks away and gets in the car. # Bell's cars drive us back to the Pyramid. He starts walking through the building without a word to any of us, which we take as instructions to STFU and follow. We follow him up to his office. He strides wordlessly to his desk, sits down, and stares at us across it. "What in the blue **** was that? How did you people ever survive a Monomancy?" he snaps. (Me: "...Better rolls?") "The Monomancy involved planning. This did not," Antsis says. "Yeah, that much is really apparent." Bell points to Paul, slung unconscious over my shoulder. "Wake him the **** up." Georgia scurries over to share some blood while Bell continues to berate us. "Do you people have any idea the calls 911 got? The shitstorm you people started? Some kinda sewer leak followed by the Hitchcock movies!?" Georgia glares. "It was a picnic for us too!" "Oh I'm crying for you, I really am. Who called the birds in?" he barks, looking at Anstis. "I did not call them. Someone else did." "And who would that be? This...What's-His-Name of yours!?" We glance at each other and shrug. Bell leans forward. "You said the house was attacked by...Clarences. Where are they?" "We blew them up," Georgia says. "How?" Georgia hesitates. "With...Tremere magic...." Bell's eyes narrow. He rises slowly to his feet, still leaning on the desk. "I know the Tremere like their secrets, but let me remind you that I am a Justicar. It's best if you assume I know a few of them. With. What?" Georgia shifts uncomfortably. "I...used a particular implement that was given to me by—" "I ain't gonna ask again!" Bell snaps, leaning further forward. Georgia sighs. "I used the dagger," she says, and pulls it out of her pocket. Bell snaps his fingers and holds his hand out. Georgia hesitates a moment then hands it over. He examines it, frowning. "You used this to blow up the Clarences?" "I stabbed one of them and they all exploded. It was...pretty cool." Bell fiddles with the handle, tapping it against the desk and twisting at it, but he's no more able to remove it than we were. "What's in this thing?" "We think it's one of...What's-His-Face's bones." "And the metal?" "Primium." Bell frowns, turning it over in his hands. "I see." "Can you...do your object-read thing on it to get more information?" I ask. Bell flicks his gaze to me. "What do think I did when she handed it to me?" "Well...can you try it on this one?" I step forward and hand over my extra sword, the one that the Clarence stabbed through me (and for some reason didn't disappear when the rest of them did.) Bell takes it and examines it too. After a moment, he lifts the dagger and whacks it against the blade of the sword. Instantly the sword melts into the same ichor that the Clarences did, spilling through his fingers and onto the desk. We stare. "What happened there?" Georgia asks first. "Alchemy." Bell sits back down. "You didn't fight Clarence. You didn't even fight a bunch of clones. You fought a bunch of alchemical homunculi." We're silent for a moment, processing this. "And how does one make these?" Anstis asks. Bell shrugs. "I don't know the exact specifications, your Tremere would know better than I, but in essence you imbue a whole vat of chemicals with your own blood. Give them life. Sort of like a gargoyle process, I imagine, just a little less stable." I tense. "The...sort of thing that would require lots and lots of vats of blood?" I say slowly. "I don't see that it would hurt." Bell twirls the dagger in his hand. "It's interesting, though, that this would destabilize it. I thought he created this?" "Well, it was specifically enchanted to attack Marcus, perhaps that extends to whole blood line?" I ask, looking to the others for verification. "Reasonable theory," Bell says, swiveling back and forth in his chair. "Worth considering. What about this other fellow you're telling me about? The one who showed up after? Do we have any ideas about who this idiot was?" I do, actually, and to illustrate my point I pull out the metal cockroach fetish. "He dropped this, after his body disappeared." I hand it to Bell. Bell tenses the moment he touches it. "This is werewolf," he says slowly, sitting back and examining it. "That's what I thought," I say. "Cockroaches have been associated with...my contact." "Glasswalker?" he asks, flicking his eyes up. He looks at it another moment then tosses it idly onto the desk. "Now why would he have that?" "Perhaps they sent him?" Georgia offers. "Well, if they did, you did a bang-up job of welcoming him." Georgia throws her arms out. "Am I actually being reamed now for not being welcoming to werewolves?" "Was that a werewolf you stabbed? Cause I think if it was you'd be dead." "Well it wasn't Kindred," Georgia says, sulking. "Well then there's an infinite number of possibilities." Bell places the dagger on the desk then gets up and walks to the window. "So assuming whatever it is ran off, and assuming you managed to disable this little army of Perpenna's...." he pauses and looks at us significantly a moment, "...at least for awhile, well...you still hell-bent on going out to the Farallones?" Paul—who is finally starting to come around—and I glance at each other. "As soon as we can get a plan together," I say. "What kinda plan you looking to put together? Cause I told you, I can't get authorization to flatten those islands." "Well it would be useful if we had a boat," I glance at Anstis. "I know we have our pirate but it would be nice if we had a mode of transport that was less...hot." "I was thinking helicopter, but redundancy is a good idea," Paul chimes in. I nod. "How much influence do you have with the Coast Guard, sir?" "It's not the Coast Guard you need to worry about, it's what's in the water." Bell says darkly. "So...can you get us a big boat?" He raises an eyebrow. "Big enough for that? I don't know. There's no battleship in town anymore and the carrier's been mothballed." Paul turns to Georgia. "What about how Himmler escaped, can you use a similar method?" "I...don't know, but van Brugge might. Van Brugge?" Georgia calls to the air, but she gets no response. "He's still not answering," she reports to us, concern on her face. "Is it possible...What's-His-Face was visiting van Brugge when your call was interrupted?" "That...seems possible, yes...." We watch as Georgia's face slowly falls. "Shit, we have to get to the Chantry." She turns to Bell. "I'll get a car," he says. He pulls out his phone, then hesitates mid-dial. "...In fact, I'll get many cars." # Not long later, we roll up in front of the Chantry in practically a ****ing parade of unmarked vehicles. Motorcycles block off both ends of the street and armed personnel pile out of the fleet of town-cars and vans. We get out as well and follow Bell up to the doors of the building. We we walk, I am reminded of the last time I walked willingly into the Chantry. Like last time, I take a moment to glance up. A dark shape is circling overhead, outlined against the ambient glow of the fog. As I watch it dips lower, clearly revealing wide feathers spreading to each wingtip. I smile. Anstis follows my gaze. "That accursed bird," he grumbles. Bell notices our expressions and glances up as well. He looks at me questioningly. "Is there a reason I shouldn't shoot that down?" "Umm, unless you want Boss gunning for you with both barrels." "Oh that bird." Bell glances up again, then at Anstis. "Can you speak bird?" "Aye!" "Tell it to **** off." He pivots on his heel and continues toward the building. We follow. Bell stops on the font step and turns to Georgia. "Lead the way. The wards won't eat you." She steps forward and grabs the handle, then stops. The wards are down. All of them. "Ooooh...shit...." She turns to Bell. "So...the Chantry is no longer the Chantry. The wards are all gone." He blinks at her. "Gone?" She nods. Bell looks up at the doors then gestures with one finger. Two dozen armed guards stream past us into the building. After a moment's hesitation, Georgia hurries after them. She rushes through the halls, the lack of enchantment echoing around her in a deafening magical silence. She heads immediately to Max's office, which—both unwarded and unlocked—opens instantly at her touch. The office looks the same as the last time we visited—tackily decorated in overbearing blood-red decor—but there is one unmistakable addition. In the corner of the room, a large circle has been burned into the carpet, perfectly overlapped with a ritual circle that lay in the stone underneath the carpet (which Georgia discovered on a previous visit). In the middle of the circle is an elaborate wooden staff inlaid with silver runes but it has been snapped in half. Georgia recognizes it immediately as van Brugge's staff. "Bell?" she calls, staring at the staff. He walks in and stops next to her. "That was van Brugge's staff," she says, pointing. Bell strides forward and picks up the pieces. The moment he does, two things roll out from underneath them. Two white things. Fangs. Georgia stares in shock as Bell picks them up. "Bell...were they van Brugge's?" By now the rest of us have joined them in the room and stare perplexed at the scene before us. Bell puts the staff pieces on the desk and rolls the fangs around in his hand thoughtfully. After a few moments, he places them on the desk as well. "These...are Adrianus van Brugge's," he announces. "I believe it is logical to assume...well, I think you know." He turns to us, face stern. "Collect what you want from this building. In ten minutes I am burning it to the ground." Bell starts to stride from the room but Georgia grabs his arm. "The books," she pleads. "We have to save the books!" Bell stares at her, rolls his eyes, then radios instructions to the men to start grabbing books. The rest of us split up, but we all have one goal in mind: Loot the castle. Paul starts grabbing anything that catches his eye—which is many things—but finally finds a set of hand-illuminated books that he becomes engrossed in. Georgia starts rifling through Max's desk, discovering that the other Primium dagger, the supposedly not-enchanted one that Dr. vonNatsi made for her as a demo of his 3D-printing deathray, is missing. She then sits at the desk and uses the phone to call Seattle and report on the situation to the main Chantry there. I go to the mantle and steal the other magically-sharp Tremere sword in the decorative crest, bringing me up to a matched set. Anstis...wanders into another room and does his blood scrying spell on "Adrianus van Brugge," but once again we couldn't hear what was said but supposedly it was cryptic and spooky as shit. After stealing the sword, I go wandering the hallways looking for more things of interest (aka, weapons). Unfortunately, I mostly only find the same sort of shit I saw the last time I was here: library-rooms, study-rooms, lounges, a wooden door, another library, an office— I stop. Wait... I back up to the unmarked door. I can't say for sure, but something tells me that this door wasn't here the last time I was at the Chantry. Also, unlike the current rooms I've seen so far, this door is locked. I kick it down. Behind are stairs leading down—much like the ones leading to the dungeon we found Marcus in, but these ones seem to go deeper. "Hey!" I shout down the hall. "I found a secret stairway!" Paul sticks his head out of a room further down, books clutched to his chest, then comes over to join me. "What are you guys doing??" Georgia shouts from Max's office. "We found secrete Tremere shit! We're going to check it out!" I shout back. A moment of silence. "....Can you not?" she replies. "...Nooo, Sorry!" I say, groping for a lightswitch in the stairwell. Shaded bulbs hanging from the ceiling flicker to life. Paul and I glance at each other, then head down. # "Seriously, guys! I'm on the phone!" Georgia shouts out of the office. Just then a woman's voice comes across the line. "Hello?" the woman says. "Who is this?" Georgia pulls the phone back to her ear. This is obviously a Tremere superior that her case has been escalated to. "Hiii, this is Georgia Johnson, currently in San Francisco." "Yes, I know who you are. What is your situation?" Georgia takes a breath. "Van Brugge is missing and...we found his fangs and his staff." "You found his fangs? Where?" "In the Chantry. The staff was broken in half, the fangs were underneath it." There's a few moments of silence. "Where's the rest of him?" the woman asks, voice clipped. "I have no idea—" "Someone placed van Brugge's fangs underneath his staff? ...Is Theo Bell there?" "Yes," Georgia says, glancing up at Bell, who has conveniently come back into the office at this moment. "Put him on the phone and tell him to be very quiet while I tell him what to do." "Umm...ok...." Georgia looks at him nervously. "My...boss wants to talk to you. She's...angry." He glares at her. "Who the hell is your boss?" Georgia shrugs, eyes wide. "Sir, you should...um...I mean this with the most respect possible, but...please be quiet and listen to what she has to say." Bell strides forward and snatches the handset from Georgia. He glares at her as he shoves it to his ear. "Who is this? Who the **** is—" Suddenly he stops, face dropping from furious to just glowering. "Yes sir...yes sir...." he says tersely, glaring significantly at Georgia. She takes the hint and leaves the office to find Paul and me. # At the bottom of the stairs, Paul and I find a heavy metal sliding door. This one is locked, but we are able to successfully force it open with a wrenching shriek. We step into a square, empty room, with walls of unpainted cinderblock and floor of rough-poured concrete. No decor, no tools, nothing. The only item of interest in the room is the metal grate in the middle of the floor, and the streaks of dried bloodstains seeping toward it. "Because of course there are...." I grumble to myself, staring at the floor. Georgia joins us then, relieved that we haven't stumbled on any dark Tremere secrets, but she notices something about the room that we don't. Something looks...off about a section of the back wall. The shape of it doesn't seem to quite mesh with the other angles in the room. She walks up slowly and touches it. And instantly vanishes. Paul and I jump. "What the...?" Paul rushes forward and touches the wall as well, but nothing happens. For him, it's just a solid wall. # Georgia finds herself in another room, but this one is very different from the one she just left. It is richly furnished, with heavy furniture and thick, blood-red carpet. The walls are also windowless cinderblock, but they are lined with bookshelves and cabinets. The room absolutely reeks of magic, and possibly some darker things as well. Georgia is not alone. Someone is in the middle of the room, leaning over a table with his back to Georgia, carefully studying a spread of papers. "...Hello?" Georgia calls. The figure stands up and turns around. It's Max. Maximillian von-****ing-Strauss. "Ms. Johnson," he sighs, wry smile on his lip. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to get here." He folds his hands in front of him and walks toward her slowly. "We have a thing or two to talk about...." END OF NIGHT. 5 5/8/2014 A monster is walking out of the black waves. Ten feet tall with brawny arms and legs but topped by a hulking shark head with jaws big enough to bite a human in half- (Me: *gasp* "Like a Street Shark!" Jason: "Yes, exactly like a Street Shark!" Chris: "What is a Street Shark?" Me: "...Where were you in the mid-90's?" Cameron: "Jawesome!") *** "I was wondering how long this would take," Max says, approaching Georgia slowly. Georgia looks around the room. She now realizes that the overstuffed, overbearing decor is the same style as Max's original office. She also notices that there don't seem to be any visible entrances or exits. "Not...very long at all," she says, watching Max curiously. "Who did you come with?" Max asks, folding his arms. "Um...everyone." "And who does 'everyone' consist of now? Cause that number seems to be winnowing." Georgia sighs. "It is.... Well, van Brugge is dead, so...good job contributing to that." Max raises an eyebrow. "Is he?" He turns and walks to a cabinet behind the desk. He pulls out a decanter of dark liquid, pours a glass and drinks. Georgia watches him. "Whose is that?" Max takes another leisurely sip before responding. "Not van Brugge's." He takes another sip. Georgia glances around uncomfortably. "So...you've just been hanging out here the whole time...?" Max puts the glass down on the desk with a muffled thump. "You mean ever since the fountain of all evil decided to devour my Chantry? Yes, yes I have. It seemed like a safer bet than going outside." He turns to her. "What are you doing here? It must occur to you, Ms. Johnson, that if van Brugge is dead what chance do you have? What chance do any of us have?" Her eyes narrow. "What would you have me do then? Run away and hide and just wait for everybody else to die? It seems like a pretty great plan for you. Congratulations, I hope you enjoy the next several decades down here." She pivots and walks back to the wall, groping at the stone, but unfortunately whatever magic triggered to bring her here doesn't seem to work going the other way. "You're not going to find the way out that way," Max says as he pours himself another glass. (Jim: "Computer! Arch!") Georgia sighs and turns back to face him. "Where are we?" "A bolthole I prepared a long, long time ago. In case something like this were to descend upon my head. I hadn't anticipated anything quite this extreme, but still." She frowns. "Alright, well...it's been a lovely chat, so if you'll just show me the exit...." He finishes pouring and stoppers the decanter. "I think before I show you the exit you're going to answer a couple questions for me." Georgia rolls her eyes. "Oh I love answering your questions, Max." "And I love listening to you answer them." He raises his glass and smirks at her. "What do the Tremere know about the loss of van Brugge?" "They...know he's dead." "And when you say 'they,' precisely who is they?" "I assume at this point the Council of Seven." Max glowers over his drink. "Wonderful...." "I assume that is not to your liking?" Max sighs. "Do you really have no idea what the Council of Seven is likely to do in a case like this?" Georgia shrugs. "I imagine they will fall upon the entire city." "No, no they have no need. They will sink it." Georgia processes that a moment. "Well...then maybe the Nosferatu will get what they want. And maybe I'll get a new assignment." "Assuming you're not all dead. Assuming they don't dissect you just to find out what happened. You don't think I'm hiding in here just from Perpenna, do you?" He takes a sip, watching her over the glass. "I've been through things like this before with the Tremere. When something this...crazed happens, they tend to be of the opinion that it's better to sacrifice everyone involved than to sully the reputation of the clan even further." "Well...if that happens I'll be sure to let you know. Now...how do I get out?" She gropes at the wall again. Max watches her fumble for a few moments. "What have you learned about Perpenna to date?" Georgia turns around and glares chastisingly. "That...we should really stop using his name." Max raises an eyebrow. "Oh it's like that? Then what have you learned about our mutual friend...Mr. Peabody?" "That...you shouldn't be using his name and that he's pretty scary." Max chuckles. "Pretty scary? We're all pretty scary." "He also has an army of Clarences. The Ventrue that was with us, whom he apparently kidnapped or...ensorcelled or something during the attack." Max sighs and stares beseechingly at the ceiling. "Behold our glorious Ventrue leaders who will lead us into the dawn." Georgia sighs and nods. "Indeed. Aren't we all so grateful that we have them?" "We are." Georgia blinks. "Oh my god, we just agreed on something, Max!" "I know, it scares me too," Max says, rubbing his face. (Chris: "Colleen, are you changing the Georgia shipping pair?" Me: "...Oh, no, Max/Georgia was already a ship!" Jason: "Oh god..." Kara: "Yeah, it was really early on." Chris: "Is this why it takes you so long to do the writeups? Are you writing out ship-fanfiction of our characters?" Me: "...NOOOOOOO!" Jason: *mocking* "Maaaaybe!" Kara: "Oh my god, are you?" Jim: "Are you writing fic about Max and Clarence?" Me: "What? NO! I do not cross the streams!" Chris: "Max and Clarence are crossing streams?" Jason: "Oh myyyy!" Kara: "Wow, Max/Clarence! That's interclan, I don't know if I can ship that." Jason: "Says the person who was talking about Georgia/Doc." Kara: "Whatever, we don't know what clan Doc is." Jason: "True, but he's probably not Tremere." Kara: "You don't know that!" Jason: "...Uh, I do know that, as it happens!") "Do you have any specifics about what Per—what Mr. Peabody is intending to do?" Max continues. "Uh, I think he is planning to do exactly what you said the Council of Seven might do." Max gestures with his glass. "See, here's the problem, I'm not so certain about that. If all he wanted to do was burn the city down, I'd happily stay here and let him do that. The problem is I'm afraid his ambitions stretch farther than that." He glares at her. "Do you know what he intends, do you know what he's been doing? Do you know anything at all, Georgia?" She sighs. "No Max, I don't know anything at all. That would be for my direct superior to figure out. Which was you, until you decided to leave and hide in your underground library. This is what happens when you leave neonates to solve your problems for you." Max sets the glass down slowly. "This is not my problem, this is everyone's problem." "Well, then this is what happens when you leave neonates to solver other people's problems for you," she snaps. Max stares a moment, then takes a few menacing steps forward. "Do you know all of the myriad ways in which my life has been enriched since they sent you to me?" "Well I know that you enjoy our conversations. "Oh I look forward to them," he snarls. He gestures to the wall, which Georgia is still pressing her hand against. "Why do you want to go so quickly? I can take you anywhere else." "Well, there are still a couple people I like back in the Chantry, and I'd like to make sure they don't get eaten." She pauses. "Or, your know, at least, be there when they do. Something sentimental like that." "Who?" Max asks cautiously. "The other neonates. The Brujah, the...Toreador...." Georgia's voice stumbles slightly when she says the latter but Max doesn't seem to notice. He leans a hand on the desk. "You're referring to all these other vampires who are not Tremere...? To whom your first loyalty...is not...." "Yes, because of the Tremere-to whom I could be loyal-there is you-." She looks him up and down. "-Which is an interesting dynamic, I will admit there are some complicated layers there...and then there is van Brugge, who is now dead, and the Council of Seven, whom you have just informed me would like to kill me, so....what would you have me do?" "I would have you tell me something a little more useful for someone who has been running around the city that Perpenna is presently in!" Max barks. The room rings with silence for a moment. "...Mr. Peabody," Georgia chastises. Max glares back. "You truly have no ideas then?" "All I can gather is he pretty much wants to end everything," she shrugs. Max scoffs. "Does he have a method?" "There was mention of some kind of ritual...something about needing to take back all of his Vitae into him, which involves murdering everyone he sired and everyone they sired." Max frowns thoughtfully. "Given his age that could be a long list." He walks back around the desk and rustles some papers. "I don't know of rituals like that but I've heard of ones that require you to have a holistic bloodline. It's not exactly proper Thaumaturgy but they exist." "Well, our options are to kill him before he kills everybody else or to disrupt the ritual after he kills everybody else." "Do you have the means to kill him?" he asks, turning from the desk and running a hand along one of the bookshelves. "Who else is working with you? Besides just a bunch of neonates." "Um...well Bell," she rolls her eyes. "He got here finally. Also, of course, the Methusula." "The child?" Max asks over his shoulder, pausing his browsing. "Yes, the Sabbat Methusula has been helping us, which is really kind of hilarious. We've been getting more help from the Sabbat than the Camarilla." She laughs to herself. "This city runs kinda backwards, I don't know if you've noticed that...." Max snorts. "I have noticed that. This...Mr. Peabody needs all of his childer to perform this ritual?" "Well I think he has to eat them." Max drums his fingers against the shelf. "His childer may be in relatively senior positions at this point. Some of them may be public figures." "And...how does this information help us?" "Well it may help you find, or perhaps warn them." Georgia blinks. "Shouldn't we just report this to New York and let them take care of it?" "Lasombra aren't in the Camarilla, Hardestadt won't care." "Well...isn't there an equivalent structure in the Sabbat that they communicate with—" Max laughs. "Do you really have no idea how the Sabbat functions? They don't have a hierarchy, or at least none to speak of. The Black Hand has a hierarchy, they have a...lord of sorts, for all the power she wields, but no one there has total power the way our Council wields it." Georgia sighs and folds her hands. "So what you're saying is...this is a giant problem that affects everyone but you want the neonates to take care of it?" Max glares. "You're the one who wants to do something about it. I'm not going back to San Francisco. I have been nearly killed enough times by this thing." Georgia looks around. "Wait, are we on the Farallones?" Max blinks. "What? Why would we be there?" "Well because Himmler is out there with the gargoyles." Max rolls his head and collapses into his chair. "Urrrrg, I knew it. What a catastrophe.... Why is Himmler on the Farallones!?" "He's...building a gargoyle army...?" Max sinks into a Picard face-palm. "I ask for a gargoyle expert and this is what they send me...." "Why did you ask for a gargoyle expert?" "Because I wanted to make gargoyles!" Max snaps. "But...that's illegal...." Max glares at her over his hand. "Yes...yes it is. Report me to the Nosferatu. I've already got a death sentence on my head thanks to this thing from the Chantry and I'm sure you will soon." He reaches over and pours himself another drink. "No, we are not on the Farallones, and I don't think I will be telling you exactly where we are. Are you planning to go to the Farallones then?" "Oh god, not tonight." "So that would be a yes." Max rolls his eyes at her. "Himmler is already under interdict. If you kill him no one will object. But you won't, not out there." "Well, not without help, no...." He places the decanter back on the table with a thud. "Himmler knows about your Methusula. He's...prepared against it. There are practical steps that can be taken, not to mention the fact that the Farallones are not easy to get to." Now Georgia rolls her eyes. "Well I'll be sure and let you know before we leave. You've been so helpful on my other quests so far, Max." He glares at her. "You seem to have mistaken me for someone who is here to help you. My understanding of the original arrangement was you were here to help me." "Isn't the entire function of having a structure that we're supposed to help one another?" He stares at her flatly. "And once again you've mistaken the Tremere for the Friar's Club." Georgia throws out her arms. "How can I help you, Max?" "Well for starters you can find out more information about what this ritual actually is." She points at the bookshelves. "You're the one with the Thaumaturgical library!" He glances at the books. "Of sorts, yes. Why, do you need something?" She shrugs. "I don't know, got any Sabbat books? Dark Thaumaturgy?" "That is not something you'd want to get into lightly," he says, sipping his drink. He jerks his chin at the shelves. "But if you see anything you think you need I won't stop you." Max busies himself with his papers while Georgia wanders over to peruse the shelves. She grabs some books on Dark Thaumaturgy, and one called The Hereziarchs. (Jason: "It's written in Latin." Kara: *sadly* "Oh, my other language is Italian...." Jason: "Hmm, too bad. What are the chances of you meeting someone who is fluent in Latin?") "Can I take these?" she asks, holding them all up. Max waves without looking up. "Take what you need. If there's a chance you can avert this thing without getting everyone killed, why not. And if you can find me anything more concrete about this...plan of his, I might be able to be of assistance to you, but I can't do much with merely the fact that he wants to perform a ritual. I don't know Abyss Mysticism as well as some." (Chris: "You mean...Abystiscism?") Georgia carefully places the books into her satchel (which Kara just decided she has, because books). "So...if I want to talk to you, I should just show up here?" "Well that's one way. Or...try this...." Max pulls out a drawer and removes a small item. He tosses it to her. It's a bracelet made of some kind of silvery metal. "Hold that, spend blood and soak it into the metal. It will establish the appropriate connection." He meets her eyes. "And I would appreciate it if you would keep my name out of the conversation you are about to have with Bell and the others." Georgia rolls her eyes. "Alright, I'll keep you secret." Max nods and points behind her. Georgia steps back to the wall carefully, reaching a hand out. This time she goes right through. # Georgia rejoins us in the empty basement room. Though her conversation with Max lasted almost half an hour, she only appeared to be gone a few seconds. She gives us a cover story about there being a secret bookshelf back there, but apparently only Tremere can reach it. Paul is suspicious. I really don't care. We all head back upstairs and continue our various attempts at looting scavenging. This took quite some time, and involved both on-scene and secret off-scene components for everyone. I will summarize the on-scene components as follows: 1) Anstis steals a bunch of gilded shit and finds eight heavy grimoires of books that appear to be necromantic in nature. He finds a box and hordes these with even more urgency than he hoarded the gold he stole from the storage locker. 2) Paul steals some silverware and aura reads all the things. 3) I find a massive stone-worked hall, like a keep or an old chapel. It's filled with crates of weapons, though the weapons seem to be mostly outdated swords and rifles. It also has four small Tzimitscian hellbeasts, alive and jabbering in cages. At some point I check my phone and see that Marcus has finally texted me back, with nothing but the phrase, "Legion of Honor." 4) Paul runs into Georgia, clutching a new book she's found, bound in brass and with elaborate decoration. Paul makes her open it and they see the writing is in some non Roman-character language. (Jason: "Oh and by the way, the pages aren't paper." Chris: "...Oh no...." Jason: "They're made of metal." Chris: "...Oh thank god.") Paul falls into a bibliophilic trance and asks to keep it. Georgia sighs and agrees. As Paul goes to put it away, a jewel falls out of the cover. It's an amulet, mounted on a chain, with words in the same cryptic language inscribed on the back. Georgia picks it up and keeps it. We all eventually wander back to the main atrium and find Bell talking to some of his men. He looks up as we approach. "We have a slight problem," he grumbles, waving the men away. "Not enough matches?" I suggest. "This place won't burn," he scowls. "Ah. So definitely not enough matches, then," I say, looking around. "I thought all the magic was out of it...." Paul says. "So did I, but it still won't burn." I shrug. "It's San Francisco, everything explodes. Just give it time." Bell rolls his eyes. "We've been trying to set the kindling for some time now, it doesn't want to go up." Now that the subject seems to be leaning toward Tremere mysteries, Georgia steps forward to change the subject. "What was the result of your phone conversation with Seattle?" she asks. Bell sighs. "I informed them that it was going to be necessary to destroy this entire place, because it might be of aid and comfort to the enemy, so to speak. They were...of mixed opinion as to whether or not that was a wise decision." He glares at the stone walls around us. "As it turns out the question may be somewhat moot." Paul too is staring around thoughtfully. "Do we have any theories as to why...What's-His-Face went after van Brugge? Or the Tremere in general?" "The most powerful Tremere in the city? The man who was deputed here to try and stop him? I can think of several reasons." Bell scowls. "The problem is I'm convinced none of them are right. I'm certain there was a personal reason for why he'd go after van Brugge, that he wanted something from him, and since I don't know what that is, that concerns me. "Perhaps it might have something to do with the fact that he aided in the near-death of...'P,'" Anstis suggests, scowling at the nickname. "He was with Helgi and Marcus when the deed happened." "When?" Georgia asks. Anstis shrugs. "Long time ago. Centuries. Before even my time." "A personal vendetta then, perhaps," Bell muses, staring into space. The room falls silent for a few moments as everyone contemplates this. "What else have you found?" Bell finally asks. I decide that a picture is worth a thousand words and show him the shot I took of the four hellbeasts in the cages. Bell darkens noticeably and tells me to show him. I lead him and the others through the Chantry to the crate room. The things start chittering again as we come in. They throw themselves at the bars, snapping at Bell as he paces in front of them. "Does anyone," he looks at Georgia pointedly, "know why the Tremere were keeping four zslatcha locked up in this place?" Georgia shrugs. "To study?" "It's a possibility, but what were they studying? I would have thought the Omen War taught you people everything you needed to know about this sort." "I didn't even know this place was here," Georgia says, staring curiously at the bloodstained walls and the crates. Bell finishes examining the last of the cages and turns to us. "Does anyone see any reason as to why these things should remain alive?" We shake our heads. "Good. I thought not," Bell says before pulling out his shotgun and dispatching them all in rapid succession. # Paul, incidentally, who did not follow us to the room, tries to absorb himself in his book and ignore the gun blasts echoing into the hall. Now that he's been staring at it awhile, he's realized something: the strange letters the text is written in aren't some freaky mystical runes, they're Greek. He pulls up GoogleTranslate on his phone and starts laboriously typing lines in. The first one he tries, obviously, is the title: "Commentaries on Metaphysics and Material Dynamics. By Phaethon of Rhodes." # Bell pokes through the crates. "This is all old stuff, why were they hoarding this?" "Well, they also have this," I say, holding up a belt of machine gun ammunition I found in one of the boxes. Bell frowns and takes it. "Well if they have this, where's the machine gun?" He looks around at the other boxes. I shrug and gesture to myself, clad in skin-tight leather pants and a t-shirt. "Well I'm certainly not hiding it." He rolls his eyes. "Why would the Tremere have a machine gun belt?" I spread my arms. "Why would they have four zslatcha?" He glares at me and pulls out his phone. He calls someone and tells them to bring the large crates. "We're taking all this out too," he says to me, gesturing with his other hand. "We'll box it and sort it out later." "Great. Stash it next to the Arc of the Covenant?" He glares at me and turns to Georgia and Anstis. "Anyone found anything else?" All of us have found secret stuff, and all of us pointedly do not bring these items up. Antsis is also noticeably loaded down with gilded shit and art, which he doesn't declare but Bell decidedly ignores. We return to the hallway. Georgia hurries up to Paul and starts pouring over the book with him, like two teenagers working on their homework together. Like two lovesick teenagers, even, what with how close they're— A realization suddenly hits me. I frown. They have been sharing an awful lot of blood back and forth lately, usually for good reasons, but still.... Georgia may be the only Tremere left in town, but that also makes her the only Tremere left in town, and what with everything going on, sooner or later being bound up with her might not be good for Team Marcus interests. I make a mental note to keep an eye on that. We discuss a few more points with Bell—the trip to the Farallones, this creepy Gus guy and the crows, Perpenna's plan to apparently Eat All The Things—but things aren't going anywhere and I gotta make my appointment with Marcus before the night is up. I bail to head across town. Georgia, meanwhile, gets a call from Dr. vonNatsi, who is asking about the acquisition of an etheric transducer array. Georgia doesn't have one on hand, sadly, but offers to check some thrift stores. Dr. vonNatsi agrees to this plan, but in the meantime he is also going to try and make one. To that end, he needs some specific components. One of which is werewolf bone. Georgia sighs and agrees to at least try and track some down for him. Paul says he'll help, so they head off on this new quest, as well as find somewhere safe to put Paul's new fancy book Anstis is left pondering what to do about his own fancy new books, and how he can find a place to store them without letting anyone know what they are. # Now. Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special new surprise for this writeup. See, as I have been extolling Jason's virtues as a GM, one of the things I focus on especially is the voices he comes up with for many of the characters. Everyone loves Norton and Dr. vonNatsi, but you don't really get them until you hear them in their original dialect. Thus-as suggested by others-for the first time, I have edited an actual sound-byte from the original recording file capturing a scene with one of these beloved characters. This time, the scene in question is Dr. vonNatsi's phone call to Georgia, which I summarized above, but now you can hear it in all its erratic Etherite detail. Please to enjoy. # I arrive at the Legion of Honor to find it deserted, as usual. There's no sign of Marcus, but the fog has lifted enough that I can see up into the trees. I wander a bit till I find one with a suspicious-looking lump on a branch. "Hey Quill," I call, taking out a steak I picked up on my way over and holding it over my head. I barely see her move before the steak is snatched out of my hand. Moments later she is back in the tree, tearing into it. I find Marcus in sight of Aquilifer but further down-slope. He's deep in the shadows of a tree, watching me. I glance around again to check again that we're alone before ambling up. "I appreciate the discretion," he says as I approach, "but I doubt it will be necessary here. I already searched for cops and social workers." I shrug. "Well, apparently other enemies can pop up anywhere at any time, so...." "If they wanted to you would not find them by walking around, believe me." He stares into the distance a moment. The lower part of his is arm is still missing, but it has noticeably begun to heal. "What did you find?" "Well, we had an interesting conversation with Everton about possible motivations for...certain parties." Marcus frowns. "And what are those things?" "Well, something about a werewolf prophecy about Armageddon—" He snorts. "—The werewolves have nothing but prophecies about Armageddon. They prophescize Armageddon with their breakfast." I shift my weight. "Yes, well apparently the...other...one—by the way, can we say his name, Boss?" Marcus stares at me. "What are you talking about?" "Your...sire.... " I take a breath. "We have suspicions that saying his name seems to call down whatever evil demonic powers he's rolling with these days and that's why he's been popping up all over town." I hesitate. "We're...pretty freaked out, Boss." Marcus stares at me flatly for almost a minute. I shuffle nervously under his gaze. "...I see," he says finally. His expression is still unreadable. I can't tell whether he thinks I'm an idiot, or that I might be on to something. Honestly, he's possibly thinking both.... "Well, call him what you would then," he says with a shrug. "Right." I take another breath. "Ass-face is apparently planning something that has to do with this werewolf Armageddon. It involves capturing their Messiah and twisting it somehow to use it against them." Marcus raises an eyebrow. "Well he's certainly gone up in the world. Then again, Perpenna," he looks me in the eye as he says it, "never lacked for ambition, did he? Misplaced though it might have been. He thinks he's going to become the...what's the Christian term...Werewolf Antichrist? Since when does he have an interest in the Lupines?" I shrug. "I don't know, that's just what Everton said he found out." Marcus waves the comment away. "Everton sees ancient conspiracies everywhere. I know the type. But...I thought Perpenna dead a month ago, so...." he shrugs. "Everton says that part of the plan seems to involve becoming...not exactly mortal but...something in between." I glance around nervously before continuing. "This...involves some sort of blood ritual that involves eating...all of his extended Vitae." Marcus looks at me silently for a moment before responding. "Oh he wants it back, does he? Funny that. All of it?" "Yeah...." I rub my neck. "I was actually going to ask you about that—" Marcus, though, is deep in thought. He starts pacing across the grass. "Perpenna had other childer but they're not with us anymore. At least none that I know of...." I scurry to follow. "Everton said that he thinks it also means the Vitae that has extended down the generations—" Marcus stops. "What? He wants...my childer?" I nod. "And any of theirs, and any of theirs...." Marcus hesitates a moment, glowering into the darkness, then continues walking. "Of course he does, I should have thought of that." "Yes, and—" "I haven't kept in contact with all my childer," Marcus continues, wandering aimlessly as he thinks. "Not all of them were amenable to such things, and not all of them are still alive, but there are some. I can place a call. But if he wants his Vitae back I assume we know who he's going to try and start with." I slip on a wet patch of grass as I catch up to him again. "Yeah, about that, Boss, the way Everton said it, he didn't just say it was all those of his direct descent, he said it was Vitae, and...." I gulp. "I'm concerned it extends through blood-bonds." Marcus stops and turns to me. I slide to a stop. He stares at me a moment, face unreadable. Out of the corner of my eye I see Aquilifer drop onto a branch in a tree nearby. "Really?" he says finally. "Well I'd try and reassure you by telling you that most such things do not, but at the same time it's not like he lacks for reasons to kill you anyway. You did rather tweak his nose, didn't you?" He smirks. I beam, remembering my epic burn about Perpenna's armies. It's true, Perpenna did already threaten to kill me to my face, and I have no doubt he will make good on the offer the next time we meet. But it's one thing for someone to off you for being an irritating prick, and it's quite another to know an ancient, mutated monster of unmeasured power is gunning for you—and your soul—as part of his plans for world domination and will not rest until he succeeds. Marcus looks at me appraisingly a moment, then frowns. "Where'd you get that?" He points to one of the swords stuck through my belt. "Oh, I stole it from the Chantry...." I pull it out and hand it to him. It's much larger than his gladius—nearly as tall as he is—but he still handles it effortlessly. "Now where did this come from...." he mutters, sighting down its length then looking up at me. I shrug. "I'm not sure what it is, but there's something to it...." he continues, taking an experimental swipe. "Interesting," he says, handing it back. "Well if the Tremere felt the need to have it around, might be useful." "So what now?" he says, gazing across the park toward the ocean. "Still planning on heading to the Farallones?" "As soon as I can," I say, fumbling with the swords in my belt. "Everyone says getting out there isn't easy, but since they never have any constructive suggestions to add...." "There was a time when things that were not easy prospects were done for that reason alone." Marcus glances at me. "This...Himmler fellow is out there? I don't know him well and I don't know his group, but I know people who do. They would...appreciate it if someone were to make his day worse." Yes! Allies! Definitely need more of them. "And these people are...?" "Well, Helgi for starters, but not just him." He takes a breath. "The Tremere are an interesting clan. They profess to almost Assamite-levels of solidarity and insularity, and then engage in Lasombra-levels of infighting. Simultaneously. It's impressive." "Sounds like my high school," I mutter. "You don't get to be my age without developing a few contacts. I remember running into a Tremere. An interesting man. In Spain, some...seven centuries ago, during a particularly bad period for the region. He's still around, I believe, it's only been several decades since last I heard from him. He might have an interesting thing or two to say to someone who wanted to bring him Himmler. He was a Kabbalist, that's why the Tremere picked him up, and Himmler's ilk have some...difficulties...with Kabbalists in particular...." I nod slowly, understanding dawning. "Yeah, I don't blame them...." "I can make a call, if you wish. He might have some advice as to what to do. Last I heard, he found excuses to get some of those type transferred to his care, and...well, accidents happen. He must be fairly senior now, at least as senior as Adrianus." He pauses. "Did you find Adrianus, by the way, at the Chantry?" "Ah...." I have no idea how Marcus is going to take the news but I plunge ahead anyway. "No. He was talking to Georgia through their telepathy-shit when the call got interrupted by...Ass-face...and then we got attacked by the Clarence-zombies and Georgia stabbed one with the Time-Out Dagger and—" "—The what?" "Oh...yeah, that's...the dagger that Clarence used on you...back at Elysium when you fought Bell. Georgia had it, I think she stole it from the Chantry, but then—" A sudden realization plunges my stomach to my feet. "And...Bell has it now...Oh noo...." Marcus's gaze turns icy. "Bell has that dagger? Well, that's an interesting situation now isn't it." He rolls his eyes. "Well, Bell still has to actually use it, so we'll deal with that later." "Right, well speaking of Georgia, I've been noticing that she's getting a little buddy-buddy with Paul, and considering how much you keep warning us about her—" "Are they bonded?" "Oh, yes," I nod vigorously. He rolls his eyes. "Well, that's on her head, Tremere aren't supposed to bond outside their clan. But yes, the depths to which the Tremere cannot be trusted are more extreme than even you can imagine. My advice would be to watch her closely and if she shows the slightest sign of disloyalty, kill her. Immediately and remorselessly. With the Tremere it's the best way." He stares stoically across the lawns. "If you give them time, they will unmake you." "Into...an armchair?" I mumble. "No, thats the Tzmitsce. The Tremere will simply unmake you." I nod, debating whether or not to tell Marcus about Adrianus's fangs, but before I can decide he continues, "My advice to you is to get this Farallones business underway as soon as possible, and not just for the reasons I elucidated earlier. If Perpenna has anything to do what's going on in the Farallones, it would be best to retrieve whatever you have to before he has a chance to acquire it."

No argument here, I think, following his gaze into the driving fog. Aquilifer suddenly gives a sharp cry. We look up. She's staring to the east, bobbing her head intensely, and as we watch she takes off. A shape is approaching from that direction, high above even the tallest of the cypress. It's small, and fluttery, and passes overhead without pausing. In the dim ambient glow of the fog, I catch flashes of blue and gold. "Now where in Tartarus is he going?" Marcus mumbles. # Anstis has been doing some interesting housekeeping. First, he somehow convinces Paul to store his stolen Chantry loot—including the Necromancy books—without telling him what they are. Once that's set, he makes a beeline for the ocean. He's almost to the water when he notices another shape following him, circling overhead. Even through the fog, he can tell that it is eagle-shaped. He grumbles to himself and ignores her. Anstis circles around Lands End. The windows of the Cliff House stare out silently over the ocean, the observation deck and road deserted. He lands on a small spit of beach exposed by the low tide at the base of the cliff. He shifts back to human form, glares up at Aquilifer-still circling overhead-then strolls out waist-deep into the cold waves. And then Summons sharks. (Jason stares at Jim. "....Really?" "Yep!" Jim confirms enthusiastically. Jason exhales slowly. "Alright, gimme a roll!") Anstis stares at the water for minutes, undertow sucking at his boots, until he sees a dark shape slice the waves in front of him. A fin bobs through the water, followed by the tip of a lashing tail. It's at least fourteen feet. By that size, and our local habitat, there's only one thing it could be: a great white. ("Alright, I would like to...feed it some blood!" Jason leans back and folds his arms. "Now how are you going to pull this one off, I'd like to know!") # "What in the world is that man doing?" Marcus says, staring vacantly to the east. I follow his gaze but can't see anything but trees and fog. I frown in confusion, then it hits me. Eagle eyes. I shrug. "I don't know...piratey things?" Marcus frowns, eyes still unfocused. "Going for a late-night swim is he? The currents out there are something to be seen." "Huh. Well, he does have a swim form. It's...rather gripping...." # The shark is an unequivocal predator, but not a stupid one. It circles a dozen yards out, not approaching any closer. Anstis wades out deeper, deep enough that he has to tread water, then bites his wrist and releases a thin ribbon of blood. He skulls back a ways and commands the shark to ingest the blood. (Cameron's voice cackles through the computer. Jason stares. "Well...this is a thing that is happening.... Um, alright...." "And you guys yelled at me for summoning Himmler," Chris grumbles. "Yeah, that's looking better every day....") The shark knifes through the water and snatches up the drifting cloud of blood, then flips around and disappears into the darkness of the waves. Anstis nods, satisfied, and turns to head back to shore. But the beach is now further away than he remembered. He was so focused on the shark he didn't notice the sucking tide pulling him deeper. He starts crawling back to shore, but barely makes headway against the current. A creeping feeling descends on him as he swims. There's something else. Something else in the water. # Paul and Georgia have been having a quiet evening at Paul's penthouse when something decidedly unquiet shows up. Emperor Norton. He rolls in, inexorable as the fog, and proclaims a toast to their shared survival of the Monomancy (cause oh yeah, he got ejected from Paul's car when it crashed into the vozdt and then we kinda forgot about him...do do dee do....) Norton asks Paul about his next great adventure and Paul mentions the Farallones. Norton scowls and rants about evil Tremere and dark things in the waters, blah blah blah.... Norton also points out that Paul and Georgia look a little worse for wear after our last battle and perhaps they would do well to seek out additional healing from a "practitioner" of which Norton may be acquainted with. "These...practitioners you speak of," Paul says, staring at the blood in his hand-blown modernist glass. "They can accelerate healing?" Norton, who has been pontificating about Tremere and gargoyles, pauses mid-rant. "Yes, in a sense. I have known two in my time. One I think you are acquainted with. The other...perhaps less so. I can fetch one for you now." Before Paul can respond, Norton turns to the door, still partly open. "JUPITER!" he shouts. His dachshund suddenly appears in the crack, noses the door open wider, and gallumps his way into the flat. He sits down at Norton's feet and stares up expectantly. Paul and Georgia stare at the dog and trade a glance. "Umm...does he have any treats he likes?" Paul asks. Norton frowns seriously. "He is rather partial to...sausage." Paul glances at the fridge. "I...think I have spiced tofu?" Norton considers this and shrugs. "Well it's worth a shot." Paul pulls a package of tofu out of the fridge and places it on a plate in front of Jupiter. The dog sniffs tentatively, then inhales it in one gulp. He stares up at Paul, then immediately vomits the tofu back onto the floor. Norton frowns. "Perhaps it's best you try the other practitioner, then. I believe you know him." He meets their eyes, lingering for a moment on Georgia's. "Holliday." "Ahh," Paul says. "But...wasn't he a dentist?" "At times. But are we not all creatures who must care for our teeth?" Norton grins and momentarily flashes his own fangs. "Holliday is more than he may seem, and he may be able to help you. But what price he would ask I cannot tell you." Norton leans forward. "But fear not. We will burn Leopold to the ground. Incinerate his works and send his colleagues fleeing into the night. I HAVE SEEN IT!!!!" He smashes the coffee table with a fist, upending it. He tenses and stares at it, aghast. "It's alright, I can get another," Paul says with a wave. "I don't believe I have his contact information, and I think it would be rude to show up unannounced." "With Holliday that is the only way. He does not carry your contrivances," Norton says. "If you wish to speak with him, you must speak with him directly, or he will you. He is a classicist in this way." Norton gets up suddenly, stepping over the flipped table, and strides to the window. "When do you plan to strike?" he growls, staring to the east. "Well, soon, but we have a mage friend of sorts who wants a favor from us—" "The madman in the tower?" Norton turns and scoffs. "How you can stand to steal with madmen I will not understand!!" "Umm.... Small doses. Very small doses.... Anyway, dealing with Holliday seems less terrifying than that quest—" "I would not be so certain of that," Norton says darkly. "Holliday was dangerous when he was alive and he remains one today." "Well, Holliday doesn't involve werewolf bones, so...." Paul shrugs. Norton blinks. "Werewolf bones? Oh my...." He sighs and looks to the east again, this time toward the crest of Twin Peaks, currently socked in by fog. "The crazed man in the tower has been here some time. I met him once. There is..." he hesitates, "....there is something unfortunate circling him. A fate perhaps, I cannot tell. The Sight is bothersome at times. Perhaps it circulates around his apprentice, the German lad who disappeared some time ago." He shakes his head. "Perhaps he will destroy himself, or possibly us all." Paul processes that silently a moment before turning to Georgia (which IRL requires Chris to yell across the room to Kara, who is dozing on the couch). "Ms. Johnson, how would you feel if we visited Dr. Holliday before getting the werewolf bones?" "Ok," Georgia says (sleepily, from under a blanket, which is a pity cause I'm sure if she was awake more she'd have better shippy things to say or insinuate about the situation). Norton nods. "I believe Holliday resides in Colma, in a store." (Me: "I thought it was a strip mall." Jason: "It's not a strip mall, it's a store." Me: "A store in a strip mall!" Jason: "No! It was just a corner store!" Me: "He could be in a store in the corner of a strip mall!") "Yes, a store in Colma," Norton repeats emphatically. Paul nods and gathers up Georgia to head out. # Anstis stops swimming and glances around. He can't see anything around him, but he can't shake the feeling that something else is in the water. He ducks his head under and peers through the gloom. It's inky dark under the fog-shrouded sky, but he can make out...something...in the near distance, a shadow within shadows. The longer he looks, the larger the shadow seems. He surfaces and swims faster. Suddenly the tide accelerates, sucking toward the sea like the forefront of a tidal wave. Even at top strength he can't fight it any longer, so he finally relents and shifts into octopus. He jets against the current, angling for the beach as fast as he can. Conveniently, though, his new form gives him eyes that can not only see better in the dim water, but can see behind him. But at this moment, he probably wishes they couldn't. A shark is sliding through the water behind him, but it's not the shark from before. The outlines are indistinct, melding with the darkness around them, but even with that this shark is obviously immense. Anstis doesn't know paleontology; if he did, he could have described it more succinctly. It's not a great white. It's ****ing Megalodon. Built like the great white but fifty feet long, with stocky jaws wide enough to swallow a car. Whole. Anstis freezes in the water column, molluscian eyes staring. The shark circles around, then turns toward him. ("I...continue swimming away, but leave a small amount of blood and tell it to...eat that." Everyone in the room stares at Jim. The Skype call is silent too, but I glance at the chat log. "Julian just sent, '*HEADDESK,*'" I report.) Jim throws his hands out. "What!? I want a Megalodon ghoul!") Anstis...does just that, slashing a tentacle with his beak to release the blood and gurgling his command through the water. The shark whirls around, making another wide circle through the shadows. Anstis scoots away a few meters, watching patiently. Then a voice responds, felt more than heard as it reverberates through the water and crawls across his skin. It's a strange tongue, gutteral and lyrical at the same time, with an unexpected edge to it: a feminine one. "Defile Unsea if you must," the voice says, "But this is the price of defiling my waters." With that, she whirls around again and torpedoes straight for Anstis, jaws wide and distended. Anstis darts out of the way just in time. Her jaws clash shut like a thunderclap, releasing a shockwave that rocks him. He jets toward the beach, hoping that shallower water will impede her. Nope. (Jason: "What's your current damage?" Jim: "Um...completely fine!" Jason: "Oh, good! ...Five ag.") The shark hits him like a freight train, tearing out a chunk of flesh the size of his human body. Gore and Vitae spill into the water as she shakes him like a dog, then releases. She flips back through the water to make another speed strike, while Anstis continues grasping feebly for shore. Nearly delerious, he barely registers it as something rough rubs against his underside. Sand. He crawls his way out onto the beach, watery eyes peering around. He is further down from where he started, but can still see the cliffs of Lands End and the shape of the Cliff House looming over him. Relieved, he pulls himself further out of the water, turns back into a human, and collapses onto the sand. He lays a moment, healing up some of his gaping damage, and rolls over to look at the water. Then immediately wishes he hadn't. A monster is walking out of the black waves. Ten feet tall with brawny arms and legs but topped by a hulking shark head with jaws big enough to bite a human in half. (Me: *Gasp* "Like a Street Shark!" Jason: "Yes, exactly like a Street Shark!" Chris: "What is a Street Shark?" Me: "...Where were you in the mid-90's?" Cameron: "Jawesome!") It pauses at the edge of the tide, water sluicing off the grey flesh like oilskin. The broad, clawed hands clench as it sees Anstis. It advances up the beach. # Marcus suddenly freezes. He looks up at me, eyes wide. "Oooh...Neptune's cock, what did he just find!?" I look around the park. "What??" "The beach! The beach that way," he points south. "GO!" I take him at his word and bolt blindly toward the water. # Anstis—still badly wounded—drags himself up the beach away from the creature, trying to gain enough time to shift back to flight form. I, meanwhile, sprint down Point Lobos Ave, past the Cliff House, and skitter to a halt on the cliffs overlooking Ocean Beach. My position is a good vantage point to see Anstis dragging himself backward through the sand below me, pursued by a monster from the mid-90s. "Oooh, son of a bitch...." I stare, paralyzed by shock as I process the situation. Anstis's form is shrinking, taking on a soft, feathery cast, but it's clear that the process won't complete before the creature reaches him. There's not enough time for me to get down there and fight—not that I would particularly want to—but perhaps I can buy him some time. I pull out a shotgun and fire it into the air, arcing over the beach toward the water. The creature whips its head toward me and stares with inky black eyes. It growls—a deep, gurgling noise—which even from this far away sends shivers down my back. But it works. Anstis shifts down into a bleeding, bedraggled excuse for a bird and lumbers his way into the air. The creature snarls in frustration and grabs at him, but he clears to a safe altitude and soars over the park. The creature turns back to me, growls again, then starts climbing up the cliff. Nope nope nope nope.... I turn and run back up the road, climbing higher back into Lands End. The thing roars like crashing surf, spurring me faster, but then the noise stops. I'm fifty yards away before I dare to stop and look back. There's no sign of the monster on land, on the road or the beach, and nothing but rocks break the lapping swells of the waves below. # Anstis—exhausted and starving—circles higher, looking for high ground and/or a snack. Fortunately, he finds both, as he soars over Sutro Castle and sees a couple homeless people curled up against the low walls of the ruins. He lands, shifts back to human, and crawls to the closest one to begin feeding. He finishes when the guy is dead. Some of Anstis's superficial damage starts to heal back together as he crawls toward the second sleeping person. He's just started feeding again when a noise makes him stop. He drops the man and looks up. Aquilifer is perched in the tree overhead, staring at Anstis intently. "What do you want?" he squacks at her. She ducks her head and mantles her wings open. "Angry angry angry with you!" "For what?" Anstis scowls. Then Marcus steps out from the shadows beneath the tree. "Ask directly, Captain," he says darkly. Anstis regards him. "You are angry with me?" Marcus folds his good arm against his body. "What the hell was that?" "The incident in the sea?" "Take a wild guess!" Anstis shrugs, affecting a nonchalant look. "Twas a beastie beyond any I've seen before." "You don't say." Marcus continues to frown. "You were warned against the waters around here, Captain." Anstis glances toward the ocean. "And apparently with good reason!" "Yes, but there's something else I'd like to know." He points to the other homeless man lying a few feet away. The dead one. "Shall we have a discussion about that?" (Me: "Ooooh no...." Chris: "It's just like Elizabeth....") Anstis looks at the body. "I take it this is not something you approve of?" "Does it look like I am approving?" Marcus says flatly. "Who was he?" His glower grows darker at Anstis's blank expression. "Whose client was he? His patron? You know nothing of these things!" Anstis shrugs. "You are from a different time than I." "And you from this. It concerns you so little to leave them dead, then?" Anstis regards the body cooly. "I choose those at the fringes of society. The ones that won't be missed." "Of course. How convenient," Marcus hisses. "I served with the Sabbat for four centuries, Captain, I'm not new to this. But I do like to know who it is that I'm dealing with." He glares silently for another moment. "Please. Don't let me interrupt your meal." He steps back deeper into the shadows, but doesn't walk away. I arrive at that moment, having followed Anstis's flight path to the top of the park, but stop as I see the staredown in front of me. "Fine compatriots you have here, Tom," Marcus says without looking up. I notice the two unconscious forms nearby on the ground and frown. "Well...I found him in the Chantry, so...." "Fitting, isn't it." They continue to stare at each other. I look back and forth between them. "Tom," Anstis calls, "Did you see the thing out there?" "I saw a thing, I have no idea what the hell it was—" "Neither do I," Marcus says, still staring at Anstis, "Which should tell you something by itself. There is talk of things in the water out here, which is why I suggested to be carefuL. What in the world were you doing in the sea?" Anstis shrugs. "I thought we could use some sea-born allies." "Funny way of acquiring them. What did you do in there?" Anstis draws himself up. "What do you think I did?" "Captain," Marcus steps forward from beneath the tree, but somehow the shadows on his face grow darker. "I have long since stopped trying to figure out what you're trying to do, so why don't you just answer me." Anstis stares a moment before responding. "I was trying to make a ghoul." Marcus rolls his eyes. "I should have known. And did you get one?" "Well these things take time—" "Oh, of course they do, well by all means, dive back in, Captain!" Marcus throws his arm toward the water. Anstis scowls at the sea. "I may have to let this one go. To big for the line, shall we say." "Too big for the boat. And the skipper," Marcus scowls (with Jason's laughter breaking through). "And speaking of time, this must delay your plans somewhat." He looks Anstis up and down. "You've looked better. ...But, then again, so have I." He shrugs his mutilated arm. Anstis stares at him, then points to the dead man behind him. "Would you like an arm?" Marcus glares at him, the shadows growing perceptibly longer around him. Anstis stares back and smiles. "Waste not," he says with a growl. Marcus watches him another long moment, then turns and walks away. Aquilifer barks an angry cry at Anstis, then soars off after her master. Anstis turns to me, his face challenging. I hesitate a moment, looking between him and the bodies on the ground, then I too turn and follow Marcus into the trees. I hear a mean chuckle behind me, carried by the breeze of the fog, but I ignore it and keep walking. # I catch up with Marcus on the cliffs overlooking Sutro Baths. He stops as he hears my footsteps crunching across the gravel path. "Watch that one," he says as I approach, staring out into the sea. "He kills too easily." "Well, he is a pirate," I say, glancing behind us. "And a Gangrel, but nevertheless. Those who kill too casually tend to wind up casually killed, in my experience." He shrugs. "But that's me. I'm long past the point where I had to kill every one of them." I follow his gaze toward the ocean. The fog obscures everything beyond a few yards away, merging sea and sky into a fathomless blackness, as if we were standing at not just the edge of the continent, but the edge of the world. "If you mean to take him to the Farallones, I would see to his injuries. I suggest you find some means of accelerating this matter, you can't wait for him. There are means about. Talk to the one in Colma, he might have something. But get it done, and get it done quickly. Not just for your sake, and not just for your friend's. There are other matters at work." I nod, and continue to stare silently into the abyss. # Everyone—independently of one another (and/or asleep on the couch)—decides to actually take the hooks for once and converge upon Doc's place in Colma. I go to collect Anstis, and in the process of which we finally about setting up a training-exchange, teaching each other Potence and Fortitude, respectively, and exchange blood points. That completed, I call a car to take us to Colma. Which, of course, is being driven by ****ing Adam. He grins at us as we climb into the car. Anstis collapses in the back. I take the front, tell him our destination, and return his grin with a glare. We sit in silence for the ride. # Paul and Georgia arrive at the Doc's store first. They're directed toward the back by the clerk and walk into the storeroom to find Doc dealing cards to himself at a table surrounded by dusty shelves. The table is lit from above by a half-shaded hanging bulb, directing the light down onto Doc, leaving the rest of the room in darkness. "Good evening!" Paul calls as they walk in. "Mr. Stewart," Doc says without looking up. "Welcome. How do I find you this night?" "Um...." Paul looks down at himself. "Truthfully, worn a little thin." "It is a wearing time." Doc glances up from the shadows under his hat. "We have all been through interesting times. We may yet live to find more." "Yes...." Paul smooths at his torn, stained clothes. "Our friend the Emperor said you might be able to...aid the healing process." "The healing process is a difficult one, Mr. Stewart. It cannot always be performed." Doc gathers the cards and taps them into a stack. He place it on the table and looks up. "Tell me Mr. Stewart, what is it you wish to be healed of?" Paul decides the best summary is to simply take off his shirt. "Most of these," he says sadly. Doc looks him over. "Those are physical injuries, Mr. Stewart. The essence of healing lies deeper than that. Not all men are capable of it." Paul inclines his head. "Go on...." "Well there is not much more to tell." Doc idly fans the cards out in front of him. "I am a doctor, or was at one point, but I do minister in other ways now. Some are not commodious to some, and some are. You wish to be cured of your many afflictions, do you?" "I suspect disaster will strike sooner rather than later. I worry I am not up to it in my current condition." "I suspect you may be correct." Doc looks up. "You wish to oppose disaster then, do you, Mr. Stewart? Disaster may not brook with opposition. And what form of disaster do you see on the frontier?" "Well, the most immediate one is getting across an ocean filled with angry beasts of some sort—or other malice—to fight a Nazi who should have died seventy years ago." Doc raises an eyebrow. "Nazi. I have heard this term. It was not applied to men whose existence I approve of. You wish to fight this Nazi?" Paul nods. "To rescue someone from them." "And who might that be?" "...Another friend. Someone who has done well by me." "It is wise to keep council of your friends, Mr. Stewart. And you fear you have not the constitution to take on the man of this caliber, or the things that may ring him in?" He leans back in his chair. "Well, Mr. Stewart, I have the knowledge of certain techniques that some may call into use in a term like this. I was once a dentist, and then I was another thing. Whose services are you asking towards?" Paul frowns. "I'm...not sure I follow...." Doc leans forward, deepening the shadows across his face. "I am no longer a dentist, Mr. Stewart, I have not been one for some time. But I am, perhaps, not wholly what I replaced that with either." "Well my teeth, as far as I can tell, are in good order...." "That is good. I would say they are the only ones you will ever have but we know that to be untrue." Doc gathers up the cards again, shuffles them, and starts dealing them into two even piles. "Tell me, Mr. Stewart, are you a gambling man?" Paul watches the quick movements of the cards. "Not in the traditional sense." "I do not tend to trust those who do not gamble a little. To gamble is to live, in a sense." Paul thinks a moment before responding. "I believe in taking risks. I believe in reaching as far as we can. I feel, in many ways, I have contributed to that at Tesseract." "But what do you do, Mr. Stewart, when the risks cannot be calculated and the events to come cannot be measured? What do you do when confronted with..." he finishes dealing out the piles. "...chance?" "Trust my gut." "And what does your gut say in this case, Mr. Stewart?" Paul stares at the two stacks of cards, then looks up to meet Doc's gaze. "It says strike fast and strike hard." Doc watches him a moment, then gathers the cards together back into one pile. He starts dealing again, but this time it is a game of solitaire. "I knew a man once who employed such strategies. It was effective in his case. Though I cannot say I follow his path." He shrugs. "I am a man of some persuasions but I do not know everything. Not even everything I have seen." He falls quiet, the snap of cards echoing in the room. "This friend of yours," Doc continues, "Have they been of use to you in binds in the past?" Paul nods. "And is that why you wish to retrieve them? Reciprocity, Mr. Stewart?" Paul shrugs. "I have a certain vision of how I want the world to work. "And does the world work according to your vision, Mr. Stewart?" "I make it so," Paul says evenly. "Thus speaks the Malkavian, and few others." Doc starts moving the cards in his game. "This friend of yours...is she worth the price that may be required?" Paul frowns. "I don't believe I mentioned it was a she...." Doc deals more cards. "No, Mr. Stewart, I don't believe you did. But I assumed that a man of your persuasion would not go to such lengths if not for a woman. But perhaps I was mistaken." "I would like to think that I would act this way in any case when someone I respected and valued was on the line." Doc nods. He gathers up his discards and starts dealing new hands. "Then what can you offer me in return?" "Well my natural response would be money, but I have a feeling that would bore you." "I have sufficient funds for my purposes, and I prefer to acquire more through...other means." He glances up and smirks. "Payment in cash for services rendered is so pedestrian, you understand." He looks back to the cards. "But there might be a matter on which I might request your assistance. After you have completed your business on those islands." "If you can tell me the matter ahead of time I can give you an answer." Doc moves a stack of cards, snapping the top corners to the table. "There is a man I knew once. I have not seen him in some time. But I have been told that he is here, in these environs. I do not know if that is true, but I have been told it by men whom I profess to trust. This man and I have had our disagreements in the past. He is an ignorant skunk, I do not approve of his continued existence, if you understand me. Now, in short order I would ordinarily go and strike him dead on the spot for the offense of having marred my sensibilities. But there are obstructions to my capacity to engage in my ordinary activities here." The snap of cards echoes through the room. "The man in question has proven elusive. He does not enter the Bay itself. He hides in the margins, watching and waiting. I do not know his purpose, but I do know it is likely to be inimical to my interests here." He looks up. "I do not ask you to kill this man for I am better suited for that task, I think, than you may be." He looks over Paul's injuries and glances at Georgia (who is now formally parked, as Kara is fully asleep). "Or perhaps not so much better as I imagined. What I ask for you to do is to find this man and relay to me his location, as well as what purpose he may have in this city. The last I spoke with this man, he had purposes in the city in which I presently was in that were not conducive to its existence." Paul nods, processing this. "It is good you did not ask me to kill him, cause I would have had to turn you down." "It is good you would do so. A man must know those he kills, and know the reason. Even if that reason is something petty." He flips more cards. "The man resides, last I was told, in Hayward, but he may be ranging anywhere from there to Antioch. His name is Samuel, though I do not know what name he goes by now. I can give you a description of what he was when last I saw him, but he is a man who knows best how to change his appearance. However, I have a feeling you may know those who are capable of finding him. Paul frowns. "My social circles do seem to be widening...." "They do. Moreover, you know men of the East Bay. My credit in those parts is sadly depleted. There was an incident." He looks up. "Something has kept Samuel in these parts for some time now. I wish to know his interests. I have a feeling, Mr. Stewart, you will wish to know them too." Doc turns suddenly, looking toward the door leading to the front of the store. "I have a feeling there may be others approaching," he says, gathering his cards. # Adam pulls the car up out front of the store. This time, he lets us go with nothing more cryptic than some pleasantries and a wave. I return the wave suspiciously as he drives away into the night. We enter the store, heading straight to the back—(yaaaaaay the party is united again!)—and find Doc at his table, Paul and Georgia looming in the darkness next to him. "Mr. Lytton," Doc says, stacking his cards in front of him. "We were just discussing reciprocity and the nature of healing." "Yes, actually, speaking of, I wanted to introduce you to our friend here." I stand aside so Anstis can step forward. Anstis nods. "We met already, but you saw me in a different form." "I'm afraid I don't recall...." Doc tips his hat. "Jonathan Holliday. I'm known to some." "Captain Thomas Anstis." Doc looks him over. "Why, Captain... You look like you've been bit by a shark." Anstis glowers. "Yes...the oceans are a bit treacherous around here, it would seem." "You will find all the waters in these parts are treacherous, and I do not simply mean the ones in the sea. You will come to understand if you live that long." He leans back in his chair and turns to me. "And how do you fare in these nights, Mr. Lytton? May I assume you have come here for the same purposes as the good Mr. Stewart and Ms. Johnson?" Actually, I am noticeably undamaged compared to the other three.... "No, actually, I just thought I'd come by and...pay my respects." "Well I'm always open for respect." He smirks. "We were discussing an acquaintance of mine, one whom I knew from some time before. A man whom I have had the misfortune to incur the...pleasantries of more than once. A man by the name of Samuel." (Jim: "...L. Jackson?" Jason: "Yes. Samuel L. Jackson. Who is not a vampire, he's just a bad mother-****er." Jim: "Lol, so no one wants him to become a vampire because—" Jason: "—Everyone is terrified of the thought. They're pretty sure blood-bonds wouldn't work on him and if they embrace him he will proceed to be Caine." Chris: "I have to believe that there are a few vampires who would try anyway." Jason: "Probably, but none of them have survived the experience of getting close enough to Samuel L. Jackson to embrace him." Chris: "So he's a Hunter?" Jason: "...By default yes. He has no supernatural powers, he's just Samuel L. Jackson." Me: "The actual Hunters don't want him around cause they're afraid he'd make them look bad." Jason: "And he would. He's like the Anti-Ellison." Me: "There are two real powers at work in the World of Darkness, Ellison and—" Jason: "—Samuel L Jackson, yes. They are the twin poles around which the world operates.") "This man by the name of Samuel," Doc continues, nodding at Paul, "Mr. Stewart contracted to give me information on his whereabouts in exchange for some assistance that I might provide." I frown. My mind immediately jumps to Samuel Clemens, which seems a little far-fetched, until I recall that I'm standing here talking to Doc Holliday with an actual pirate of the Caribbean and was sent here by a ****ing Roman who knew Caesar personally. I sigh. You know, my math teachers always told me that paying attention in their classes might someday save my life, but I sure never expected that it should have been my history teachers giving the advice.... Doc regards Anstis and I appraisingly. "Samuel is an ignorant skunk. I wish him to stop being so, by one means or another. I can handle as much, as long as I can locate this man. But I do not know his whereabouts, though it is likely in the East Bay. All sightings have been in the East Bay." "Is he Kindred?" Anstis asks. Doc nods slowly. "Indeed, though of a sort I cannot say. I last saw him quite some time ago, in the Year of our Lord 1906. It was not a merry meeting." Doc shuffles the cards, still staring at us. "If you will contract to assist me in his location, or possibly in his removal, I may in position to help. Contingent of course on the answer to a question: what form of help are you seeking?" I look at Anstis. He returns the gaze cooly. "When were you looking to get underway?" he asks. "Immediately." "And what be the harm of waiting a couple of days?" "Possibly the end of the world," I say flatly. (Jason: "So...no pressure.") Anstis stares a moment, then sighs. "Fine, fine. End of the world." "Someone's world is always ending, Captain," Doc says. "In my experience, there are only personal Apocalypses." Anstis considers this and nods. "In mine as well." "And mine as well...." I add under my breath, avoiding anyone's gaze. Doc looks us all over. "Am I to assume that you all will be attacking in defense of Mr. Stewart's associate?" We nod. "Tom, when we get a chance, I need to fill you in on the game-plan," Paul says to me. "Oh, do we have a plan now?" I ask innocently. "Yes," he says, glaring at me. "I recommend we don't swim," Anstis adds. We stare at him, and the gaping hole in the side of his chest. Paul's plan, by the way, is to...wait for it...SUMMON HIMMLER AGAIN. This time, though, he's going to Summon him to a secure, fortified location where he and Georgia will be waiting with reinforcements. Meanwhile, Anstis and I will make our run on the island to try and locate and rescue Sophia. It's...not the worst idea in the world, and at this point—both in and out of game—I don't really care what the plan is so long as we're trying something. I'm sure no matter what we do it will eventually boil down to gunfire and punching anyway. "Mr. Stewart," Doc says suddenly, voice low. "This associate of yours...is she Kindred?" I tense and glance at Paul. He shakes his head tersely. "No." Doc leans forward, his hat casting his face into shadow. "Now how came you to have an associate who is not Kindred to whom you owe this much?" Paul shrugs. "Repeated mutual gestures of trust." "Something in short supply, I warrant," Doc says. "Mr. Stewart here seems to have an affinity for making all sorts of friends with humans," Anstis adds. "Oh I don't think anyone spoke of humans," Doc says, still staring at Paul. Paul stares evenly back. "You're pretty sharp." "I have my moments." Doc leans back and pulls a flask from his pocket. "Shall we seal our agreement with a toast then, perhaps?" "Actually, I was hoping I could have a word with you first. Tom, Georgia, Mr. Anstis, would you mine giving us the room? We will only be a moment." We exchange curious glances but step out of the room, back to the front of the shop. Paul closes the door behind us and turns to Doc. "When you were discussing healing, you implied there was more than physical things you could heal. Spiritual, perhaps?" Doc lifts an eyebrow. "Things I can heal? Perhaps. I spoke in general terms, of such healing as may be found." "Indeed. Well...nonetheless, you seem to have some expertise in the area, and it doesn't hurt to ask." Doc shrugs and tilts his chair back. He pulls a small blade out of his pocket and start idly cleaning his fingernails with it. "I have a handful of skills I believe. Some not involving pistols." "What can you do to...well...let's say I had some issues with my inner Beast." Doc glances up. "We all have issues. The trick is understanding that we have never not. Not before the embrace, not after it. What we call the 'Beast' is really a facet of who we are." Paul processes this silently, staring at the storage shelves lining the room. "In life I never seemed so...violent, or panicked." Doc points his knife at Paul. "The embrace refines you, down to a fine edge. One that can whet, or cut, as you see fit. It burns away irrelevancies. And what it leaves behind, well.... That is the trick, and the question. What has it left behind, Mr. Stewart?" "What indeed...." he says quietly, fingering some of his own wounds through his clothes. "I tried starving myself awhile ago...." "And how did your experiments with asceticism go?" Paul stares at the shelves unseeingly. Instead, he remembers the visions he had, that night he locked himself in the concrete bunker in the headlands. Visions of his lost lover Lisa. Visions of tearing her apart. "It flung them back in my face," Paul says softly. "It has that tendency." Paul turns to Doc, still leaning back in his chair, lit by the spotlight of the hanging bulb. "Is that a line of inquiry worth continuing?" Paul asks. "All lines of inquiry are worth continuing if they teach us something about ourselves. I am not you, I do not carry your bloodline. But I have not found the answers in fasting, I have always been a...continent man." Doc settles his chair to the ground with a thump and starts shuffling the deck of cards. "There are all manner of things to be found in this world, Mr. Stewart, if you know how and where to look, and how and where to listen. All manner of mysteries and all manner of answers to them. I wonder...are you capable of witnessing them? Of experiencing them?" Paul watches Doc's hands deftly snap and fold the cards. "Well, I have experienced more than a few mysteries lately...." "And you will experience more, I should warrant. This need not be a curse. Unless you wish it to be." He finishes shuffling and stacks the deck in a neat pile. "Perhaps you and your friends would care for a drink, to seal this matter. And when you have returned from your sojourn to the Farallones, perhaps we will speak at greater length?" Paul nods and walks to the door. "Oh, one more thing, Mr. Stewart, before you call them in." Doc leans forward. "Your associate. The small one. What is your tie to him?" Paul stares at the door a moment before turning around. "Similar to the one I'm going to the Farallones for. He spared me when he had no cause to and he has come through for me when he again had no cause to." Doc nods. "I do not wish to tell you your business, Mr. Stewart. I am not a perfect man, and I doubt you are either." He looks up, meeting Paul's gaze. "Marcus Sertorius is not a perfect man either, and there are those—which are more than a few—who regard him as far more imperfect than I think you can imagine." He pauses a moment before continuing. "I am not a man who tells one to abandon his friends, but there are paths that cannot be walked with others, and there are insights some are not ready to see. Be certain that you do not blind yourself through association with those who will not open their eyes." Paul nods silently, processing this, then calls the rest of us back in. Doc grabs the flask he removed earlier and pours us each a shotglass of the red liquid inside. We each take one, sniffing curiously at the cool contents, which smell richer than normal blood. Doc takes the last glass and lifts it. "To your success, then." We all toast him back and drink the blood. Then immediately pass out on the floor. # We wake up under stars, faces brushed by a breeze fresh with the scent of dry grass and sage. We slowly sit up and look around. Everyone else stares blankly at the landscape around us, but I, at least, have been here before. The top of San Bruno mountain. "Son of a bitch," I mumble, climbing to my feet. Paul, Georgia, and Anstis, arise more slowly, investigating themselves in surprise. Their clothes are still a mess, but their bodies are completely healed. Paul, though, finds something else during his pat-down: a piece of paper tucked in his pocket. He opens it and stares at it. It's a note, written in an elegant hand he doesn't recognize, with just a single short phrase. The wind tugs at the note as he reads it. "Be careful when staring into the abyss." END OF NIGHT