DIR Return Create A Forum - Home
---------------------------------------------------------
HTML https://anywherecafe.createaforum.com
---------------------------------------------------------
*****************************************************
DIR Return to: RP Threads
*****************************************************
#Post#: 1073--------------------------------------------------
Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: Jenn B. Date: March 30, 2025, 5:46 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/b1a31eb0-9ae5-4753-97e1-cd14502f6c96.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To celebrate the fact[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]That we've seen the back[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Of another black day[br] [/font]
[hr]
It was too loud in here.[br]
Maybe he was just too used to otherwise. Still not accustomed to
the crowded press of modern cities, especially large ones like
Chicago. More people in any one place than seemed possible, all
piled on top of each other. People who breathed each others air,
but did not care for or look out for each others' well
being.[br]
Perfect places for Kindred to move among them, that was. [br]
After paying the customary obesiances to Lodin's court, he'd
headed out to the city's infamous Elysium to finish the job that
had brought him here. Somehow, he managed to look both in and
out of place at the same time. The loud abstract print shirt had
just enough light colors running through it to pick up in the
black light - the dark jacket he was wearing over it at least
covered most of it. Dark jeans and black boots to complete the
look.[br]
Car keys visibly clipped to the left side. Just the corner of a
maroon-colored bandana peeking out of the back pocket of the
same side. It matched some of the colors in the shirt. At least.
Top couple of buttons undone to reveal a silver chair with a
saints' medallion on it. And an antique coin in a silver
setting.[br]
He kept his gaze averted to avoid picking up the light overhead.
Drifted with a purpose, making a few inquiries before he got
pointed in the right direction.[br]
The individual looked popular, schmoozing around the club, so
Geoffrey followed. Watching him from the peripheral vision, not
getting close enough to eavesdrop, but closing in by increments
as he waited to catch him alone.[br]
"Sorry to interrupt." He finally spoke up, loud enough to be
heard over the thumping bass, once he was close enough behind to
be head. [br]
"Are you - Abel Beaumarchais?"
#Post#: 1075--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: MAT Date: March 31, 2025, 12:35 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Rudolph Longstaff
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZVwgFFGIlPara3FBwLIndOLpNxMUo41-94QQkEPg7BI/edit?usp=drive_link<br
/>aka Abel Beaumarchais
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/rudy/abel1.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we're gonna live
forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]heaven and earth, couldn′t stand
in our way[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we′re gonna
live forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]and that's the price we′re gonna
pay[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health |
Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura [/font]
[hr]
The walls of the men's bathroom were covered in artwork:
spray-painted symbols, poetry, and collections of symbols both
of the mundane modern times and the occult tags of forgotten
nights. A miasma of beer, sweat, cigarette smoke, and different
colognes clung to the air, thick and oppressive. The fluorescent
lights buzzed above, occasionally casting erratic shadows that
seemed to pulse in rhythm with the bass-heavy music pumping
through the club.
In one of the stalls, two bodies were intertwined. One man was
desperate and the other just a little hungry. It was a fair
trade, the vampire told himself. The Kiss was ecstasy and he
wrapped it in a nice package; a hot and heavy tryst. Something
to make a person feel alive. To feel wanted, to feel good.
He was a creator of good feelings. He was basically doing them a
favor. Wink.
Rudolph licked the neck wound clean and adjusted his tan khakis,
murmuring some quiet praise into the other man’s ear. Then he
stepped out and stopped at the sink, taking a moment to splash
some water onto his face. Leaning against the porcelain, he
turned the water off and checked his appearance. Just a few
years earlier, he’d been hanging by chains in a Tzimisce
dungeon, hacked apart and disfigured. The monster had undone the
physical damage and repaired his visage…even enhanced it. But
the psychic damage was healing much more slowly.
His look was a preppy aesthetic, refined with just enough edge
to make it his own. He wore a soft, pastel pink polo shirt that
clung perfectly to his lean frame, the collar popped up with
what the kine thought passed for casual, carefree defiance. The
shirt's short sleeves showed off his toned arms, and the small
embroidered logo on the chest, subtle but expensive, hinted at a
designer label without screaming for attention. A pair of
sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. Sunglasses. As
if.
His vibrant green eyes sparkled in the flickering pale light,
and he glanced in the mirror’s reflection to the stall door
behind him, barely ajar, and the silhouette inside. Au revoir.
When he opened the door to the main floor, a soundwave hit him
and his body vibrated. He carefully threaded through the packed
tables and past the bar on the south end of the building.
Working his way to the north corner, he flashed a grin at the
bouncers standing on either side of the wrought-metal stairwell
to the balcony level.
Upstairs, he had his own table; a kind of permanent haunt that
overlooked the throngs below and the dancers suspended on the
hanging platforms. He was lounging against a faux-leather backed
bench chatting with a young woman. Someone’s neonate lackey.
Eventually she left to dance.
There was an earthenware jar sitting on the table. He’d **** the
red wax seal holding its lid shut and poured some of the
contents into a shot glass. He was sipping it slowly when the
newcomer approached.
Eying him up and down, Rudy nodded. “Yeah. And you are?”
#Post#: 1077--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: Jenn B. Date: March 31, 2025, 8:14 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/b1a31eb0-9ae5-4753-97e1-cd14502f6c96.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To celebrate the fact[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]That we've seen the back[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Of another black day[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
Getting up to the balcony level was a matter of giving the
bouncer at the stairs a couple of words. He was a drifter, not a
regular, not even a permanent fixture in the city. Not getting
any invitations to anyone's exclusive soirees and absolutely
fine with that. [br]
Upstairs, it was far quieter; somewhere you could actually have
conversations while you watched the dance floor below. He
lingered off to the side with his arms folded, watching until
the woman had departed before closing in. Waited until he had
the right person before saying anything else. [br]
"Geoffrey." He introduced himself with a name, reaching into the
interior of his jacket for something. Presumably, not a weapon.
His voice had a muted accent, a touch of West Country to Abel's
English ears, maybe. [br]
"This is for you." [br]
It was a nice envelope. High quality paper, archaic wax seal.
Nothing written on the front of it as if in some kind of
caution, but thick with paper folded on the inside. Something
else, too, tucked inside the delivery. Settled heavy in the
middle of it, concealed by the paper.[br]
He offered it to Abel with the seal side up so the Toreador
could see it. See that it hadn't been broken, that the paper
around it was crisp. Unntouched and unread. His amber-colored
gaze turned down on the other Kindred's face, but only because
he was standing and the other man was seated. [br]
#Post#: 1078--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: MAT Date: March 31, 2025, 9:58 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Rudolph Longstaff
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZVwgFFGIlPara3FBwLIndOLpNxMUo41-94QQkEPg7BI/edit?usp=drive_link<br
/>aka Abel Beaumarchais
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/rudy/abel1.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we're gonna live
forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]heaven and earth, couldn′t stand
in our way[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we′re gonna
live forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]and that's the price we′re gonna
pay[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health |
Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura [/font]
[hr]
“Have a seat, Geoffrey,” Abel said, gesturing at one of the
empty seats. Getting a permanent table on this level of the club
had taken a lot of doing. A lot. It had already turned dividends
in spades, though. The perception of being important enough to
receive such a gift elevated his status and curried favor
without him even having to do anything for it. That made it
easier to wheel and deal, and it was always good for the table
to look occupied, especially with other Kindred.
Look at me! I’m an important man doing important things!
Goddamn vampires were a petty bunch.
He hadn’t taken the envelope yet. “Who was the sender?” he
asked. He wasn’t really expecting any kind of deliveries. There
were always products moving to and from, but not from here. It
made him suspicious, but he didn’t want to sound suspicious.
“It’s not a bomb, right? Those are becoming so en vogue these
days.” He didn’t fly, but it seemed like there were hijackings
and bombings happening all the time.
“I don’t recognize your name or face,” he said. It sounded
smooth - everything he said had a lyrical quality to it - but he
was challenging the other man to identify himself. “No offense.”
Standing up, he took the lid off the earthenware jar and poured
a glass of beer, then slid it across the teak tabletop. “Have a
drink. Take a load off for a few minutes.”
#Post#: 1079--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: Jenn B. Date: April 1, 2025, 10:32 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/b1a31eb0-9ae5-4753-97e1-cd14502f6c96.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To celebrate the fact[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]That we've seen the back[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Of another black day[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
Geoffrey took the offered seat, easily. The letter remained,
face down on the table if Abel wasn't keen to touch it. It
didn't matter to him either way. The wax seal had an archaic
crest stamped into it - an eight-spoked wheel surrounded by
motifs of sun and moon. At the charge, a unicorn rampant bearing
a sword.[br]
"Some Charlatan I met in a bar in Budapest.Tamas" He said the
name out loud, pronouncing that soft end syllable like a
Hungarian would. He kept his attention on Abel as he identified
the sender as if trying to gauge a reaction. Suspicion wouldn't
have been out of place; he was more interested in gauging if it
was going to be received with weal or woe.[br]
If he was going to suddenly have a problem about it.[br]
Sometimes, it was like this. Sometimes, he'd make a delivery and
be out in the night air five minutes later. Mostly, Kindred
wanted to talk a little. Someone who traveled to them could
travel for them, naturally. He was almost always open for
negotiations. [br]
And, of course, as true today as it had been centuries ago,
travelers were interesting by the things they had seen.[br]
A rotating strobe light turned on him, catching the hint of
silver jewelry under the collar and also a flash off his gaze.
The tapetum lucidum of some animal - or just like he'd been
caught in a camera flash. He turned his head slightly as if to
mitigate it. Not quite quickly enough.[br]
"Well, I should hope it's not a bomb." He went on, dryly. "Want
me to open it?" He'd do it. He wasn't an expert on the munitions
of this area, but he'd wager he could survive something of that
size. [br]
Whether or not he or either of them would survive Mister
Thornhill's displeasure would be another matter.[br]
"None taken. We haven't been introduced." Obviously. "I work as
a courier; I've been through before, but I doubt we move in the
same circles. Until recently, I'd been loosely based near
Washington, but I'd been considering a more, ah, centralized
location." It'd make the haul out to somewhere like Seattle a
little less harrowing.[br]
"Thank you." He accepted the offered glass with one hand,
holding it a moment. Then, he tilted it to look down at. Held it
to his lips as if getting a sense of it.[br]Finally, he did take
a cursory drink.
#Post#: 1080--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: MAT Date: April 2, 2025, 2:04 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Rudolph Longstaff
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZVwgFFGIlPara3FBwLIndOLpNxMUo41-94QQkEPg7BI/edit?usp=drive_link<br
/>aka Abel Beaumarchais
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/rudy/abel1.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we're gonna live
forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]heaven and earth, couldn′t stand
in our way[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we′re gonna
live forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]and that's the price we′re gonna
pay[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health |
Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura [/font]
[hr]
Tamas.
That ratfucker. That son of a bitch. That vile cretin.
Lickspittle mooncalf. Gormless half-wit. Purse-mouthed prig.
Grime-stained grotesque. Scrofulous wretch. Foul gasbag. Filthy
degenerate. Toad-faced mongrel.
Swine!
“Hm.” A single syllable; barely even a word, but it carried more
sentiment than he'd wanted.
The hate billowed up from his stomach like the smoke from a
rushing coal-fired train engine. It seemed to hit the back of
his teeth and swirl around against his cheeks as he made every
effort not to show the depths of his enmity. Or any fear.
“No I don't think you should. It might contain boudoir photos,”
Abel joked with a tone that was just a little tinny; just a
little cracked. Trying too hard to be ambivalent. Casting
concern away with humor. A trashy joke on par with the trashy
man. His sire.
Some blood magics probably existed that could tamper with a
package. Something keyed to a specific vampire. Something like a
ward or rune that might detonate. Tamas himself didn't possess
such knowledge but he could find someone to do it for him.
Negotiate, cajole, or threaten them. It could be laced with some
chemical; an acid. Something volatile to react with the open
air.
Whatever was inside was not good. It would be terrible because
Tamas was terrible. An interminable thorn wedged deeply into his
urethra. It would be some kind of feint or trick or lie or
deceit. Something to hurt him. Tamas had to know that he was
vulnerable. Something to kick him while he was down.
“Met at a bar in Budapest.” If true, then not by accident. “Did
he pay you? Probably tried to tell you I'd pay upon delivery…but
you don't strike me as the naive type.”
Abel emptied his glass and poured himself another. Then he
reached for the envelope. His fingers stopped just shy of
touching it. Hovered there for just a second, twitching
slightly. Then he picked it up and examined the seal.
Breaking the wax, he opened the large envelope and slid out the
contents; a VHS tape in a plastic case. Squinting, Abel looked
at the label:
UMatic Conversion
Investigation Session 398
Investigator - Fedosia
Subject - Hemming
#Post#: 1081--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: Jenn B. Date: April 2, 2025, 5:44 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/b1a31eb0-9ae5-4753-97e1-cd14502f6c96.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To celebrate the fact[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]That we've seen the back[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Of another black day[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
It was just part of the nature of dealing with Kindred is
knowing that they were all liars. Even Geoffrey, who in all his
years had never quite developed the skill of it, and who came
from a Clan that valued forthrightness over manipulation, didn't
always stay truthful about everything. Concealment was a matter
of survival in this world.[br]
"Don't worry. I've seen worse." Than boudoir photos. That was
the other advantage of doing what he did. You learned things
even if you didn't pry into it. [br]
He caught it, though. Fine cracks in the mask; the simmering
rage and fear underneath. He was a little more alert then, on
guard for any sign this might boil over into a mess. No matter
how slick, how polished, how refined, every one of them was a
monster at the core. The Beast didn't care about convenience or
timing or things like a crowded club of witnesses and potential
victims.[br]
"Nay. Actually, he paid in advance, and well." He admitted,
saying without saying much about the circumstances or payment..
"I don't like dealing with his sort, if I can help it. Even when
it looks good, there's often something smeared on the
underside."[br]
His gaze darted to the stairs, the crowd, around the balcony for
any kind of service exit. Considering options if this went to
shit.[br]
"What is this?" He asked, then, holding up the beer to indicate
it and not the offending videotape. Tapped his last three
fingers against the glass. As if trying to draw Abel's focus
back to something else. Something distracting. Even if that
happened to be him here in a moment.[br]
Wouldn't be the first time some frenzied Kindred had come at him
over a table.
#Post#: 1082--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: MAT Date: April 2, 2025, 8:39 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Rudolph Longstaff
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZVwgFFGIlPara3FBwLIndOLpNxMUo41-94QQkEPg7BI/edit?usp=drive_link<br
/>aka Abel Beaumarchais
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/rudy/abel1.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we're gonna live
forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]heaven and earth, couldn′t stand
in our way[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we′re gonna
live forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]and that's the price we′re gonna
pay[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health |
Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura [/font]
[hr]
He couldn’t pull his eyes off the tape. He knew exactly what it
was and where it was from. And when. He could hear it in his
head. The tempting, the lying, the misdirecting, the seducing.
The screaming, the pleading, the sobbing, the begging for mercy.
Screams that had gone so long and so loud that they seemed to
have separated from his body. Seemed to come from someplace
else. Echos of pain from nerves he didn’t even know existed.
Abel’s hand instinctively drifted up to his face, and he cupped
his palm around the eye socket. How many times had she
complimented him?
I love your eyes. Evocative. Arousing. Like glistening grapes.
How many times had she torn them out? Crushed them in her
fingers, or eaten them? Left him blind only to feed him vitae so
he could regenerate? Torn them out again. Left him hanging on
the wall with spikes driven through the bones of his wrists.
Twisted his flesh, scarred his handsome features, undone the
work, and did it again. She’d shown him a mirror with a
completely different appearance looking back at him. Was it
real? Who was that person? Who was he? Was it all just a
nightmare?
He was clearly lost in a memory. Bloody tears formed in the
wells of his eyes and started to spill down his face. His face
was a mask of rage or sorrow or some combination; fangs
extended, then sunk into his lower lip to try and stem the
Beast. The glass in his hand cracked, then shattered.
Then, whatever storm that manifested also had passed. He
retracted his fangs and shook loose the shards of glass that had
embedded in his hand. Abel wiped a napkin against the
condensation collecting on the outside of the earthenware jar
and then used it to clean his face. Then he pulled down the
sunglasses perched on his face to cover his eyes.
Sunglasses. As if.
“It’s beer, Geoff.” The simple reply came out just above a
whisper. If not for the Gangrel’s supernatural senses, he would
have doubtless missed the reply entirely.
He turned the tape over, if only so that he didn’t have to look
at the label.
“So. Looking to move to the city?” he asked, his tone suddenly
normal. As if nothing had even happened; as if he’d never
deviated from a languid, carefree demeanor. “It’s a happening
town. Could probably get some regular work just here, even.”
There was value in getting things moved securely just within the
domain’s borders.
Abel swept the shards of glass off the table and then poured
himself another drink.
#Post#: 1083--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: Jenn B. Date: April 2, 2025, 11:17 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/b1a31eb0-9ae5-4753-97e1-cd14502f6c96.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To celebrate the fact[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]That we've seen the back[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Of another black day[br] [/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
While Abel fought for composure, Geoffrey played the steps out
in his head. [br]
Get the Toreador in a clinch and get him out of his chair. Too
risky to get all the way outside to the alley like that, through
the throngs of mortals on the ground floor. Too many things to
go wrong, too much courting disaster. [br]
There were what looked like some storage rooms behind them.
Maybe there'd be something like a broom with a wooden handle.
[br]There was sure to be a lock on the door. [br]
His gaze went back there for somewhere other to look than
directly at Abel while he put himself back together. Giving him
a little dignity with the distance. Though he didn't fully ease
until the other Kindred could put words together.[br]
"It's good." And it was, eerily. It didn't taste like vitae and
it didn't taste like rotten grain and sour fermentation. He
wasn't immediately fighting to not vomit it right back up. He
took another drink, as if to verify it. Whatever was behind the
explanation, he didn't prod at. Seemed to accept it with an ease
that seemed to speak of some familiarity.[br]
Maybe he just wasn't the questioning sort.[br]
"I've been considering it." He too, went on, like nothing had
happened. "It's a big city, lots of movement in and out. Think
it's a good time to leave the East Coast anyways, stretch my
wings, as it were. And, I think I get along with Inyanga well
enough." He took another drink from the glass at that. "There
are worse places."[br]
He dropped the name of the city's Gangrel representative on the
Primogen council smoothly in the conversation so he could
continue talking around it. Just to back up the physical signs
he knew were there to pick up on if Abel was perceptive. Gangrel
wore the Beast on their bodies, in animal features and beastly
mannerisms. Perhaps not as iconic as a Nosferatu without a mask,
but absolutely identifiable.[br]
"Move a few of things inside the city, do you." He knew what a
hook sounded like. It was only polite to put his teeth to it.
#Post#: 1085--------------------------------------------------
Re: Black Celebration - Succubus Club,1986
By: MAT Date: April 3, 2025, 8:09 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Rudolph Longstaff
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1ZVwgFFGIlPara3FBwLIndOLpNxMUo41-94QQkEPg7BI/edit?usp=drive_link<br
/>aka Abel Beaumarchais
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/rudy/abel1.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we're gonna live
forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]heaven and earth, couldn′t stand
in our way[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]if the good die young we′re gonna
live forever[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]and that's the price we′re gonna
pay[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health |
Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura [/font]
[hr]
“My own personal recipe.” That wasn’t true, but it wasn’t
entirely false. He certainly had put his own spin on it. A
different incantation. Honey instead of dates. Barley instead of
wheat. Different yeast. Brewing tubs made from different
materials. Boiled wort. Cooler fermentation. It produced a far
stronger product by alcohol content. And since the point was to
get a human experience and enjoy intoxication, that was very
much desirable and superior to the Egyptian recipe. The Setites
who had tried it had been impressed, at least. Wanted to know
the secret.
The secret was one of Loki’s trickster ways.
He glanced over at Geoff at the mention of Inyanga, though the
sunglasses were partially shielding his eyes now. “They say she
was a sorcerer in her breathing nights.” He couldn’t remember
where he had picked up that particular tidbit, but everywhere he
went he laid down a network of spies and informants, and that
had surfaced from someone, somewhere.
“Did you make yourself familiar with Lodin’s personal laws? They
go beyond the Traditions, and he’s pretty strict about it.” This
Gangrel courier had shown him some discretion during his little
emotional bout, so Abel felt like he could demonstrate gratitude
with some information. “But. He’s been in a power struggle with
his Primogen for the better part of a decade now, and what I
hear is that he’s not been faring well. Local Anarchs have done
serious damage destabilizing his political base within the kine.
They probably wouldn’t amount to much on their own, which means
they’re getting help.”
He used his index finger to tip down his glasses for a moment,
giving Geoff a knowing look. “Something’s going to tip soon.” He
shrugged then. “I don’t tend to give much of a shit, though.”
Anarchs were often easier to work with than Camarilla, because
they were far more often desperate. The problem is that they
didn’t always have the resources to pay.
When asked if he moved things, Abel nodded. “Sure. I have
a…sanction of sorts. I move some things to and from Gary.” By
boat to Milwaukee or Green Bay. By truck to Indianapolis,
Chicago, or Minneapolis. “Sometimes they’re very sensitive.
Could be recurring work, if you're interested.”
*****************************************************
DIR Next Page