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#Post#: 1059--------------------------------------------------
Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: Jenn B. Date: March 21, 2025, 10:10 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No morning colder than the first
frost[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No friends closer than the ones we've
lost[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
It took approximately sixteen hours to drive from Tampa to
Chicago barring any obstacles.Unfortunately, for the Kindred,
there were a few obstacles that were unavoidable.[br]
The first and always foremost was racing the sun. It was coming
up on springtime; the nights were slowly getting shorter. Even
waking as Geoffrey did immediately at dusk, the clock was
running from the moment he started the engine. [br]
He lost a few hours making a wide loop around Atlanta. I-85 was
congested through the city at all hours of the night, and he
didn't fancy getting caught in a traffic jam in the middle of
Sabbat territory. Spent that first day in Chattanooga, in a nice
place near the river. If he was really in a hurry, he could have
made it further. Louisville was the same situation as Atlanta,
though. If he didn't want to drive through a Sabbat city, he
sure as hell did not want to rest in one.[br]
He was in the Chicago city limits by the end of the second
night. Found somewhere to rest again, made the necesarily
formalities to Prince Jackson, then.....he wasn't sure where to
start. How even to explain it to himself. [br]
He was here because he'd had some kind of dream and Chicago had
been in it. It felt ridiculous to think about as it would to say
out loud. He didn't dream, really. Rested like the corpse he was
until the sun set and he was aware of the world again. Maybe he
was finally losing his mind and his grip. Going mad as Malkav,
after all of this time.[br]
He'd picked up a bit of news on the hotel TV, something about a
homeless tent encampment in Gompers Park. He listened with
interest, but noted something in the background of the reporter.
The trees in the recording. [br]
The Park closed at 11 PM, but the gates were open and noone
stopped him as he drove in to park. Which could very well mean
that one of the locals might have their eye on a large group of
forgettable and unmissable people for the natural reasons any
Kindred would. [br]
He could see the camp from where he found up. Sitting in the
driver's seat with the door open, feet in the ground. The
shadows of tents, trash can fires for warmth. A few voices, but
for the most part, things looked like they were settling in for
the night. [br]
Besides, he wasn't stupid enough to hunt in what felt clearly
like someone else's carefully managed territory. He could mug
people down on the Rack like a civilized creature instead.
Though, if someone just happened to blunder his way in the
dark...[br]
He got up briefly to examine one of the yew trees lining the
parking lot. Grasping a couple of older branches to shake,
testing the weight and quality of the wood. [br]
If things in Tampa were heating up the way his contacts
suggested they would, he might want to be better armed.
#Post#: 1060--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: MAT Date: March 21, 2025, 10:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/ricky4.png[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
Things had slowly started getting a little better in Chicago.
Yorick had gotten a job at a chain bakery store. His shift was
early mornings, mostly because they apparently couldn’t keep
someone willing to work those hours. It worked fine for his
schedule since he was almost nocturnal anyways. He’d worked as a
barista at a terrible coffee joint back in Portland, so he had
that part down already.
At the bakery, there was always a big pile of products that
hadn’t sold. Day- or two-day-old pastries, donuts, and bagels
going stale were supposed to be thrown out. His supervisor had
been really stringent about it, but he didn’t really give a
shit.
Fuck the corpos.
It was his day off. He had lugged bags full of stuff he’d taken
from the store to the women’s shelter. Then the remainder to the
encampment. It wasn’t difficult to enter without being noticed
and then leave empty handed.
He still didn’t have a place of his own to stay at long-term, so
he’d been camping out himself in a nearby cemetery.
Superstitions and the lack of anything really valuable tended to
cause regular civilians and mundane criminals to give the spaces
a wide berth. Sleeping amongst the dead…that created different
problems.
Yorick was pretty tired; it had been a long day. He decided to
take a shortcut he normally didn’t. He passed through a line of
trees and then ducked down an alleyway between two tall brick
buildings.
At one point, he felt…something. Something off, something
familiar. It was a bizarre sensation. Something real, but also
unreal.
He paused and turned, looking behind him. His hand instinctively
and silently drifted to the pistol holstered under his jacket.
Still only had the two bullets. Still didn’t want to have to use
them.
Withdrawing the pocketwatch, he looked at its face in the dim
yellow halogen light. The minute hand was absolutely twitching.
Forward, backward, forward, backward. He’d never seen it do that
before.
#Post#: 1061--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: Jenn B. Date: March 22, 2025, 10:11 am
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Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No morning colder than the first
frost[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No friends closer than the ones we've
lost[br] [/font]
[hr]
Once he found a branch he liked - sturdy, good natural curve -
he reached out to snap it off the tree as casually as one might
a dry twig. Stood it on its end to check it out with a very deep
and private sense of irony about the whole act.[br]
He produced a sharp folding knife from a pocket. Used it to
begin shearing off satellite branches so he could at least get
it in the back seat. It'd be something to do in the coming
nights, if nothing else. Good to keep the skills sharp.[br]
When that was done, he picked the branch up to set across his
shoulders on the way back to the car. He was almost there,
rounding around the outside of a brick building adjacent to a
parking lot when he stopped and set it down. Folded his hands to
lean on it instead.[br]
Something felt off. A prickling at the back of his neck. It ran
a moment before he decided it was less immediate danger and more
a general unease. Familiar in a way he didn't immediately grasp.
[br]
He opened the rear door so he could shove the branch in, getting
it out of his hands. One hand went to the door, still open as if
bracing himself. [br]
He turned to look down the dark space between those two nearby
buildings.[br]
His head canted to one side, something vaguely canine about the
gesture, at the figure concealed there.[br]
He looked like he was drawing a gun. [br]
#Post#: 1062--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: MAT Date: March 22, 2025, 10:09 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/ricky4.png[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
Yorick scanned the environment quickly. His eyes immediately
went to the tops of the brick buildings he was standing between,
because of course that was where he felt a threat most likely to
manifest. Looked ahead of him, then behind. That was when he saw
down at the end of the alley, across the street, a car, a man,
and what looked like a long broken branch from a tree. It struck
him as bizarre, completely out of place. It was like something
out of an epic tale.
Glancing down, he saw the minute hand of the pocket watch
spinning backwards.
That bad feeling in your gut is the gods sending you a warning.
Be a fool to ignore it.
The words of his father echoed in his head. Turning, Yorick
started walking away. Walkin’ casual. But not looking like he
was walkin’ casual.
He made it about ten paces before he broke into a dead sprint.
Instead of turning left to head to the cemetery and the pathetic
safety of the crypto he'd turned into an apartment, he instead
turned right. He wasn't about to lead a pursuer right back to
where he slept.
About halfway down the next alley he vaulted over a piece of
corrugated metal serving as a makeshift fence. Crouching behind
it, he looked through a crack, watching and waiting.
#Post#: 1063--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: Jenn B. Date: March 22, 2025, 11:38 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No morning colder than the first
frost[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No friends closer than the ones we've
lost[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
He shut the car door when the figure turned to go. Watching just
a moment before he opened the driver's door. Reached under the
seat for the 9mm his day driver insisted on. Tucked it to the
back of his waistband, pulled his shirttails over it.[br]
One person alone was about as much a concern to him as a mouse
to a mountain lion. But he'd laid and walked into just enough
traps in his time to be wary of this. It could be nothing. It
could be bait. [br]
Not to mention the Masquerade. If this to be some ugliness, it
was better that it looked like the gun violence that was
prevalent in the city instead of anything else.[br]
It itched in the back of his mind like the fragment of a memory,
a dream. Compelling him onward on instinct, impulse. [br]
He jogged across the street to close the distance, then slowed
down to a measured stride. Unhurried, like he was just out for a
stroll. at the turn, he sighted a cemetary to his left, but
listed to the right instead despite himself.[br]
Despite knowing a graveyard at night was the perfect unoccupied
spot to hide and wait.[br]
The opposite alley looked abandoned when he walked in. He ran
his fingers across the corrugated metal. Stopped once to look
around. Look down. Then continued down the dead end to tohe
opposite wall.[br]
He looked up at the locked-up ladder of a fire escape over his
head as if contemplating how skilled someone would have to be at
jumping to reach it and climb. [br]
Left his back exposed to the world and anyone who might want to
take a shot at it.
#Post#: 1064--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: MAT Date: March 23, 2025, 1:00 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/ricky4.png[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
When he saw the man approach, his face twisted a little and his
eyes went wide. He didn’t really understand what he was seeing,
and at first he didn’t recognize the guy. But then he did. And
suddenly there was a violently nauseous feeling in his stomach.
Like falling out of an airplane.
It was the man from his dreams. For over two years he’d been
haunted by visions of the man. At first, they were vague
impressions and passing fragments. An abstract mosaic. A
portrait in a museum. A taxi driver. Then they became more
defined. Lengthier. Several months ago, the man had spoken to
him. He couldn’t remember a lot of what had been said. Only the
base sentiments remained:
‘Jeff’ was a man in the throes of Jhor. Entropic quiet. And Jeff
was searching for something - someone - a friend, perhaps a
love. Long lost. A source of anguish and despair. And more than
just being some kind of archetypal representation, or some vague
notion of a future state…Jeff was real.
That last part being something new; something Yorick only
learned a few moments ago. Unless this was a dream, too. Was it?
An inability to determine a dream from reality seemed like an
indicator of significant mental illness. Distress, in the least.
He was certainly experiencing distress.
Yorick wasn’t very good at a lot of things, but some things he
was very good at. Hiding behind the fence, he stayed perfectly
still. As still as a statue. The asphalt was gross; grimy and
oil stained. There was a pile of puke nearby, probably from some
drunken lout. The whole space stank of garbage and piss. And he
pushed all of that down and concentrated on not making noise.
Unfortunately, his body betrayed him a bit. His living body. His
heart pounding against his ribcage. The bead of sweat tricking
down the side of his face, irritating him like a mosquito. The
breaths that came in and out of his lungs. Quiet. Practiced
quiet.
Products of controlled fear.
He could hear Jeff pacing around. Shoes scraping against the
alley floor. A pace that was rapid, then slowed. Came close,
then paused, then moved slightly away. A thought suddenly
occurred to him. Something he’d read once.
[center]How can you prove whether at this moment we are
sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are
awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?[/center]
Only one way to find out, really.
Yorick rose silently from his hiding place. His head and
shoulders emerged above the thin barrier of corrugated metal. A
bulwark of sorts, for as much as it would be worth (nothing). He
recalled a moment in a dream when he was in a similar situation;
standing on the other side of a thick pane of glass.
“Why are you following me?” he asked simply. His hands were out
of sight, but despite the anxiety gripping his heart, none
showed on his face. “I gave away all the donuts. I’ll have more
in a couple days, though.”
#Post#: 1065--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: Jenn B. Date: March 23, 2025, 10:33 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No morning colder than the first
frost[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No friends closer than the ones we've
lost[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
There was a kind of deliberation in the pacing of his footfalls
at the dead end. A little too patterned to be randomly searching
for the trail. Yorick's trained and carefully honed combat
instincts may very well key him into the play: a feint. Like he
knew no one had made it up that fire escape. [br]
Geoffrey pressed a hand to the brick the same way he'd pressed
it to the glass in Yorick's dreams. He knew the man was behind
him. His preternatural hearing picked up the panicked heartbeat
of whomever was behind that corrugated fence. Just the sour hint
of fear under the revolting stench of refuse in the alley. He
didn't hear anything that suggested he had backup; just one
person, hiding in the night.[br]
In a moment, he thought he'd just go over there and kick that
fence over, but some instinct in him decided to see if he was
going to be brave first. People could summon an amazing amount
of courage when they were scared.[br]
He was rewarded a moment after by the voice over his shoulder.
[br]
"Why were you watching me." He asked it before he turned his
head to turn around. Cool. All menace beneath the surface. At
least until he got a look at the face behind the voice. Which
stopped him, dead. The expression on his face shifting in the
low light. Immediate recognition, followed by a real confusion.
And a heavy blanket of that same kind of disorientation that
Yorick was suffering under. Aware of what he was seeing, but not
quite certain it was solid. [br]
Maybe tonight hadn't happened. Maybe he was still in that hotel
bathtub with the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. In a moment
he'd open his eyes to the darkness and all of this would be
forgotten by the time he was fully roused.[br]
He'd been dreaming about Yurik for the past few years, off and
on. Always hazy, always with that uncertainty. His face
appearing in crowds, sometimes closer or further, sometimes just
in buried memories that replayed themselves. Always with that
same sense of absence that had sent him casting all over Europe
and northern Africa some decades prior to no avail. The last
time he could recall was different. He'd been speaking to
someone who was very much not his fellow Cainite. Just someone
who wore his face, taunting him with some kind of riddle that he
didn't remember in entirety. Seeking Life.. As ridiculous as
that was.[br]
He blinked, once. A very slow, conscious closing and opening of
his eyelids. He seemed to be holding his breath from surprise as
well. At least, the absence of vapor clouding in front of his
face on this cold evening. In person, he looked the exact same
amount of shite, at least: same unhealthy pallor, same eerie
stillness in the posture. [br]
"You."[br]
He pointed a finger at Yorick as if somehow accusing him of
something. He didn't waste time in immediately walking his
direction, closing the gap. Unfortunately, even his strides had
a kind of unconscious, predator-like quality that could very
much look like a threat without even being one.
#Post#: 1066--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: MAT Date: March 23, 2025, 11:48 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/ricky4.png[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
Yorick couldn’t help himself. When Geoffrey pointed a finger at
him, he lifted his own hand, jamming a thumb into his chest.
“Meee?” he replied with a sarcastic, slightly shaky voice.
“Th-th-th-that’s c-c-close enough!” he sputtered, raising his
palm to try and halt the other man’s advance. His other hand
still gripped the pistol, still keeping it out of sight so as
not to escalate the situation. Swallowing down a bit of bile, he
tried to get his feelings under control. The alleyway had enough
vomitus in it already without a donation from him.
“I w-w-wuh. Wasn’t. Watching,” he said, each word a slow labor.
“I was j-j-just pass-passing through.”
He closed his eyes really tight for a second. Under his breath,
he whispered something mortal ears would not perceive - a prayer
to Euryphaessa. Then he opened them again.
“I’m-I’m-I’m watching now.”
In Yorick’s gaze, Geoffrey’s body was suffused with very pale
colors. The uncertainty of grey and the suspicion of dark blue
swirled together like a tilt-a-whirl, indicating confusion. He
was temperamental. His soulstuff was etched with animalistic
hunger. A bloodlust, either metaphorical or literal. Or maybe
both.
“L-l-l-let’s j-just keep talk-talking. I’ve seen y-your hurt.
M-m-maybe I can help y-you.”
The aura he was looking at was very pale. Like, really pale. He
suspected ‘Jeff’ was in the throes of an entropic quiet, but
he’d seen Jhor before. In himself and others. He’d never seen it
this bad. That either meant Jeff was on the verge of being
unsavable…or…it wasnt a quiet at all.
Fuckin’ zoinks, man.
#Post#: 1067--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: Jenn B. Date: March 23, 2025, 4:29 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No morning colder than the first
frost[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]No friends closer than the ones we've
lost[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
The raised hand did about as much to stop him as wet paper. he
took two more advancing steps. And then, he stopped abruptly
like a marionette; the ball of one foot off the ground, heel
pressed firmly to the concrete. [br]
He listend to Yorick stumble and stammer his way through his
next words with the expression of a man seeing a ghost. That
same kind of numb, mute horror of people who didn't live steeped
in the other side as Yorick did. It only added to the eeriness,
the deep confusion of this whole situation.[br]
The dark blue took on a slightly brighter vein, a more royal
kind of shade swirling around in the mix like a thin piece of
ribbon. As pale as anything; like clothes that had just gone too
many wash cycles, spent too much time getting bleached in the
sun. Or - spent too much time growing outside of that light. The
very life of the colors wrung out of them, bled away.[br]
He didn't take another step, but there wasn't so much distance
in the alley. He was close enough to reach out and grasp the top
of the corrugated metal fence with one hand. [br]
"What are you doing in my dreams, Hector?" In any other scenario
and very much also in this one, this was an insane question to
ask. The amber of his eyes caught a glimmer from some balcony
light of a building overhead. Even when he spoke, there was no
cloud of breath before his lips.[br]
"How do you think you can help me?" He sounded utterly dubious
about this part, but pried at it anyways, to see what Yorick
might say.
#Post#: 1068--------------------------------------------------
Re: Fatal Rendevous - Chicago
By: MAT Date: March 23, 2025, 10:07 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/ricky4.png[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
Yorick reached under his shirt to grasp the metal amulet he
always kept around his neck. It had once belonged to a dear
friend now long passed. The disc bearing the symbology and name
of St. Christopher was meant to be a protection charm. It hadn't
worked for Colin. Maybe it would work for him.
He didn't share his friend's religious beliefs, calling upon
Aletheia for help instead. But what he wanted was to convince
Geoffrey of his unconcealed nature of being and good intent, and
perhaps in doing so, protect himself.
“I c-c-can see that you're sus-sus-suspicious of me. Th-that you
have lived a life of violence. That you have a lust for
b-b-blood. You have a beast within you. You f-feel that it
defines you. I can also see that you're unsure. C-c-c-onfused.
You're searching. For answers.”
Yorick glanced behind him. For a second it looked like the
thought of running crossed his mind. But he stood fast, whether
out of bravery or just foolishness. Resigned practicality, more
likely.
Yorick looked very bothered when Geoffrey called him ‘Hector’.
There were only two other people on the face of the earth who
knew his real name and they were something like ten thousand
kilometers away on the other side of the planet. The last time
he'd even heard anyone say that name aloud it had been the dying
scream of his mother.
“I'm-m-m not doing anything in your dreams. Maybe you're doing
something in m-mine. Geoffrey, I didn't g-go-go looking for you.
I think you came looking for me. Somehow…” He let out a little,
exasperated breath. “Somehow defying all ch-chance, you found
me.”
Against his better judgment he holstered the pistol under his
jacket. If he was fated to die in this time and place then
that's what was meant to be.
“I think that I remind you of someone very important to you. I
don't know how I can help you but I'm willing t-t-to t-t-try. To
listen.”
*****************************************************
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