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Telling Tales; Open to Anarchs
Topic Started: Jan 31 2018, 03:48 PM (288 Views)
Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
Vinnie was sat in the private section of the bar; a separate bar altogether really, separated from the rest. The building in which he did most of his business was large and attached to a large warehouse at the back; it had originally been a factory but when the depression hit Detroit and business started to move elsewhere the property had been left vacant, available for purchase at a knockdown price. Vinnie had scooped up the whole complex and had completely refurbished it; the warehouse remained, officially it was used as a storage facility for the bar and the small vending machine company he ran as a front. The rest was divided into three parts, the main bar where anyone could walk in off the street at any hour and get a drink, the private bar which only kindred and others inducted into the Masquerade could enter, and Vinnie’s haven which occupied the sublevels below the building.

Vinnie always had been an early riser, ever since his embrace, so at this time there were never many people in. Even so as he sat in one of the rear booths, smoking one of his characteristic Montecristo cigarillos, he had collected a small group of fellow Anarchs and a few ghouls. For his part Vinnie sat with his arms outstretched along the top of the padded booth seating, the haze of smoke and shadows hiding his features; an attractive young woman sat on either side of him, more for show than anything else although they doubled as his own walking bloodbags at need. It was one of those nights, the kind that those granted the mixed blessing of the embrace found interminable. Nothing much of anything was happening. Mortals might call it a slow day, Vinnie called it hell.

For the past half hour his little group had been idly talking about their backgrounds, some were young and naïve enough to talk freely about it, not bothering to hide any of the details for the sake of security. It didn’t matter, Vinnie wasn’t the kind of person who took advantage of people unless he absolutely had to, but some of the older Kindred present might be. Still, it wasn’t his job to police them, just like it wasn’t his job to watch over the newly embraced of which there were many. The number of embraces had sharply risen in Detroit of late, a combination of poverty, politics, and war; the trouble was the sires of these newly undead weren’t around the kick their progeny into shape – either they were dead, or didn’t care, or simply knew no better themselves. The number of high generation kindred had exploded and the Caitiff were everywhere.

Taking a deep draw on his cigarillo Vinnie tapped off the ash into a nearby ashtray. A break in the general conversation gave him the chance to talk. On nights like this he preferred to sit back and let others talk while he listened, you could pick up useful information that way, or if you tuned out the hubbub it gave you time to think. But tonight Vinnie was feeling nostalgic, so he coughed softly, an unnecessary affection but one which got people’s attention. ”You all talk like you don’t realise what you are. Like you’re still human, mortal. You talk like I used to talk. Openly, freely, communicating as if you are part of some civilised society, but it simply isn’t so. This existence is war, you’ve seen the amount of bloodshed in this city over territory and power.”

”Call me jaded, maybe I am, but I’ve lost my appetite for civilisation. At least the kind of civilisation we’re propping up right now. You know how many spies I have to deal with? How many people I have do away with just to maintain my way of life and my basic existence?”

The group around him had gone quiet, they were looking at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. Damn he could be a real downer at time, but it was true, someone was very interested in what he was doing, or if Vinnie was honest with himself, not doing. He wasn’t some King, able to order about ‘his’ people at will, hell not even the London Anarchs were entirely ‘his’ anymore. Sure he represented them on the Council which kept the Anarch community from tearing itself apart from within, but outside his own little organisation he commanded no-one. The Anarchs were a growing force and they were going to expand and fight turf wars even if he tried to stop them. After he had pioneered the idea of Stronghold Outposts every Anarch in the city wanted one to call their own; it was a sign of prestige which, at the time, when the Anarchs had been united against Nash, had seemed like a very good idea. Now that they lacked that unity of purpose it was a free for all with everyone the king of their own little castle, holding court and aping the structures and pageantry of the Ivory Tower at its worst.

In theory Detroit had gone from having one Baron ruling a singular Anarch movements to a Council of the three major factions, which was meant to make things more stable. In practice the Council had only nominal power and none of the individual representatives had the clout to enforce its rule. That meant that any Anarch strong enough and with enough resources could do more or less what they liked and this situation was leading to a political landscape akin to the Dark Ages. Vinnie as an idealist believed that the Anarchs should live up to their name and their history and be a totally free society without a hierarchy; but Vinnie as a realist knew that this was suicide. The Camarilla would regroup sooner or later, the Sabbat were already mustering their forces, and while the Anarch stronghold system made individual kindred more secure it weakened the collective whole.
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Vincent Tadeu
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[ *  * ]
Vinnie had heard the trouble coming too, felt it more like. He lacked the Grangrel's keen senses when it came to sight, sound, and smell, but he had a nose for trouble, especially when it was happening in his bar. Sighing angrily he stubbed out his cigarillo, unfinished, a waste, and stood. Reaching back behind the padding of his seat he pulled out Maybelle, he favourite weapon, and with a casual calm that belied his actions he made his way towards the door. By this point Sully was already back in the main bar area and Vinnie worked the level action on Maybelle and started to load the high density buck shells into the feeder. By the time Sullivan had caught the table and slammed it down he was in the bar area working the level a second time to chamber the first round and cock the gun. All this time he was the perfect model of calm expeditiousness; he didn't rush, but his movements were purposeful and practical. He wasn't wasting time on any shows of power, supernatural or otherwise, he simply knew what he had to do and did. As Vincent emerged into the bar area the barman spotted him and jumped out of his dazed surprise to reach under the bar for his own weapon, a double barrel shotgun, all perfectly legal, unlike Maybelle with her sawn off barrel and stock.

Levelling the mare's leg lever action in a pistol grip, arm extended, at the big fledgling squaring off to Sullivan while the Barman keep his head on a swivel Vinnie looked at the kid and shook his head. "Now where are your goddamn manners hm? I'm detecting a great deal of aggression here which frankly makes no sense since your body isn't pumping testosterone to that damp sponge between your ears anymore." Vinnie didn't have claws to call on, he was quick sure and physically strong, but he preferred not to use his supernatural abilities. Burning blood for speed in order to do something as Sullivan had done, sure, but generally he preferred to leave people guessing as to the extent of his kindred capabilities. "Now this thing won't kill you, probably, but it'll sure as hell do a lot more damage than you're used to just yet. So how about we de-escalate this situation entirely, hm?"

Vinnie cocked his head and as it became clear who among the assembled kindred were the focus of Vinnie's ire his barman turned his own shotgun in their direction rather than keeping an eye on Kaz and Sullivan. The fledgling about to throw down with Sullivan turned and looked at Vinnie and for a moment it looked like he was considering some retort or other, but one look at Vinnie's unamused expression was enough and he held his hands up in placation and surrender. "Right, first lesson on potential immortality. Don't pick fights with people you know nothing about. Better yet, don't pick fights full stop. Chances are it'll get you killed." Vinnie turned to the neonate who had been the less troublesome of the two; "Get him out of here and impress upon him how lucky he is that I'm not cutting the both of you off right here and now. Attack guests in my establishment without my say so again and you won't be so lucky."

With that the fight seemed to go out of the pair altogether and the smarter of the two pulled his battered friend back and out of the bar, looking back apologetically towards Vinnie, Sully, and Kaz as he went. Vinnie raised Maybelle and leaned the barrel on his shoulder so it now pointed into the air and looked at Sullivan and Kaz. "Thank you for your restraint Sully. I know you could have done a lot worse and frankly that kind of impertinence deserves it, but this is my place of business so let's try to keep it clean and free of trouble hm?" He smiled and then turned away heading back for the VIP room, motioning that Sully and Kaz could follow him in if they pleased. Once through the doors he swung down Maybelle and worked the lever, extracting each slug one after the other, tucking them back into their loops on his belt. He hated the idea of leaving a loaded gun lying around anywhere - loaded guns just led to trouble and the temptation to use said gun when it wasn't necessary, whereas an unloaded gun which had to be loaded one shell at a time gave you time to consider your actions and put a barrier between a situation and reckless impulsive action.

Taking his seat once more he tucked Maybelle away and took out a fresh Montecristo. Damned things were expensive, especially here where the Cuban embargo made them hard to get, but he liked the taste and he'd be damned if he settled for some cut-rate Virginian junk. The Americans could do so many thinks so well, like steak, or burgers, but good tobacco seemed to be beyond their abilities; leave it to nearly impoverish Caribbean island populated by some of the friendliest and happiest people he'd ever met to produce something like this. Lighting is as before he waited for Sullivan and Kaz to enter. He'd heard of Nora's Childe of course but hadn't really met him; the kid had been on the peripheries of his whole business mostly, maybe Nora was being protective, he couldn't blame her Vinnie was in a dangerous business after all.
Edited by Vincent Tadeu, Feb 16 2018, 01:44 PM.
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Kaz
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[ *  * ]
As the table careened through the air, the blond Cainite's hands flew to the sides of his head and his feet slid to shoulder width, staggered and bent, ready to ward off the projectile. The process was fast--blink and you'll miss it fast--but still couldn't compete with the supernatural speed of the dark silhouette that slid between the fray, snatching the table from its flight as if it were a paper airplane.

The prospect of the fight didn't frighten the young Kaz. Not even having furniture flung at him or a stranger slide into his periphery almost out of thin air didn't phase him overmuch. It was when the man turned and their eyes met that his Beast showed itself.

One look at the Irish lion's face brought back every memory of that dark night so vividly, the younger Gangrel could feel his ribs, broken again as he fell from the window of the ruined apartment, clutching the man's eviscerated Childe. A deep rage welled up in him as he again saw his proud Sire, broken and bloody on the floor, the man before him standing over her, claws and fangs bared.

Back in the present, in the bar, Kaz's fangs were bared now as well, a tigrine growl rising through his throat unbidden at the sight of the man. His eyes flashed in outrage before catching himself. Somewhat abashed at the show, he coughed away the bestial tones that lingered in his throat and drew one of his hands across his face, rubbing his jaw in an attempt to hide the fact that he let the Beast do the talking for a moment.

He knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

Sully didn't speak to him. Maybe he didn't have anything to say. Maybe there was nothing to say. Instead, the older Gangrel took the violent neonate to task. A few quiet words, returned by shouting, and answered in turn with a weathered fist. Vitae splattered from the nose, and in spite himself, Kaz winced sympathetically. He was attempting to de-escalate the conflict, but Sully took the short route. A punch like that was an on-off switch for a fight, ensuring that a throw-down was going to happen, or not, immediately.

After that ultimatum, however, in came Vinnie with an even more convincing argument. And it was filled with buckshot.

Everything became calm fast. People stood still, eyes flashing between one another while the Brazilian Baron laid down the law. Kaz kept on his toes, ready to act. He had met Vinnie before on the night he died, but aside from noting his confidence and intensity, he didn’t know anything else about him save that he kidnapped Nora and ran the show now. Kaz hoped that causing trouble, even accidentally, wasn’t worth a death sentence in this vampire’s eyes.

In the end, it seemed it wasn’t, or perhaps his association with Sully was saving his hide. The two older vampires seemed to share some rapport. In any case, the fledgelings--the ones who weren’t Kaz--were ushered out to suffer some sort of consequence, and Vinnie bid him and Sully to follow.

Hesitating for a moment, the Kindred from Miami looked to Sully, wondering if he should even be in the same building as him. There was something in the old Gangrel’s eyes. Was it… Sadness? Certainly didn’t look like the man who had tried to kill him and Nora a few nights ago.

With a sigh, Kaz shook his head and reflected that he did come here to make friends. He gave his senior a look, before nodding towards the VIP section. "Come on, Sullivan, let's not keep him waiting." He turned to leave before hesitating. He turned back. "And... Thanks." His eyes spoke volumes; as if to say “we’re not okay, but let’s talk.”

Waiting a moment for Sully, he entered the secluded room, noting that this was the second time he had caused trouble in a bar and was invited to the velvet rope section because of it. He had good luck, maybe he should go for the hat trick.

He sat opposite Vinnie, giving a nod that showed his respect and gratitude in a single, simple motion. “Vincent,” he said. “Not sure if you remember me, but I’m Nora’s bastard.”
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Sullivan
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[ *  * ]
He breathed deeply, standing stock-still as the situation died and he faded Alasdair's violent instructions into the background. As a master manipulator in his walking days, Alasdair knew which buttons to push. But one fundamental truth couldn't be surmounted by the wraith, no matter how much greater he was than others of his kind - Sullivan had killed him. The Irishman held close to that as he followed Kaz into the back.

He pulled his coat from his shoulders and folded it over his forearm, casting it casually onto the bartop and beginning to roll up his sleeves. He'd never liked long-sleeve button ups anyway. He awaited Vinnie's response to Kaz, not just because it was respectful, but also because he didn't know how to describe to Kaz what had happened that night. Part of him wanted it to just be possession - vampires, given their practically soulless nature by mortal standards, would be easy prey. For the less magically or socially inclined kindred, a ghost with sufficient power could just bust in and subsume what little was left swirling around a kindred's corpse-like excuse of a meatsack.

But it wasn't that. He'd committed diablerie. Among those who'd known him longer, it was justified - hell, possibly even a cleansing of his own honour. Slaying the man who caused his mother's death to come about and ripping from him all that was of use? Hell yeah it was justified. But Kaz didn't know him well, and he sure as shit didn't know Alasdair. What he definitely knew by now is what diablerie was. Despite not wanting any of the beer at the bar, Sullivan got behind it and took a bottle out of its' optic on the back wall - Jameson's Irish Whiskey. "Hell Old Faithful." he murmured, grabbing three shot glasses and sliding two of the down-bar towards the others. His own drink her poured, knocked back, and re-poured before coming to a stop near enough to leave the bottle near their glasses.

Establishing himself in his previous seat, Sully swirled the contents of the shot, gazing into its' amber hues and wondering what he looked like to his various compatriots. Saviour, villain, broken man, breaker of others... Lover. Father. Failure. War hero. Somehow, just knowing that he had to admit to ripping out Alasdair's soul made him feel as though only a chosen few of the many potential descriptors applied, and none of them were good.
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Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
"I remember, vaguely." Vincent accepted the proferred shot of whiskey but he didn't down it just yet; he could consume food and drink though it gave him no sustenance, but just because he -could- didn't always mean he wanted to, after all the process still made him feel somewhat unwell, even if he didn't spew up whatever he'd consumed. He generally only ate or drank if he had to to maintain the pretence of mortality, or when it was customary to do so, but turning away a drink offered in good faith was rude so he'd take it but hold off on drinking it until the end. "Sorry about the poor welcome. Like you those two are young, unlike you they lack the benefit of good manners and common sense it would seem."

In truth Vinnie barely knew Kaz, he'd met for scant minutes in the past and had never really had the chance to speak at length with the young childer. In the grand scheme of things there wasn't much of a gap in terms of age between the two of them; a couple of decades here and there were nothing to many kindred, but a gulf of experience divided them Kaz had his own problem surely, and his own struggles to deal with, but Vinnie had been fighting in one form or another for his entire existence, going back to his mortal days before the embrace. Back then it had been the petty conflict of the criminal underworld in London, since then it had evolved and now he fought a deadly political war to determine the future of Detroit; it was really a struggle he could do without, but then he'd been run out of London, he was loathe to be forced out of Detroit - that might set a pattern.

"So what brings Nora's childe to my bar?" He flicked his gaze up from the glass of whiskey on the table beside his booted feet and took another long draw on his cigarillo. Vincent wasn't one to have a potent presence about him; he could shoot a withering look it was true, and he could convey authority well enough but unlike many other kindred when he looked at someone, or someone looked at him, you barely noticed. Aside from his physically imposing height he didn't really stand out, perhaps that was why he was constantly overlooked and underestimated, not that there was much to underestimate.
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Kaz
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[ *  * ]
Opening the palm he rested on the bar, Kaz caught the shot glass as it was slid to him almost effortlessly. With a hollow expression, he nodded to Sully. More to be polite than anything else. Vinnie had just commented on his manners, after all, would be a shame to ruin the illusion this soon.

His eyes returned to Vinny's, looking him down through the cloud of tobacco and nicotine that he puffed through the air. He was polite, as well as friendly. Usually, a vampire was one or the other, and neither trait meant they were kind. Kaz was far beyond trusting a smile from a vampire at this point. That naivete had been beaten out of him long ago.

"Just touching base," he responded. He shrugged before continuing. "Don't know who anyone is in this town, save Nora. And even then only barely." He paused a moment, and considered Sully, wondering if he sometimes felt the same.

"Just got back from my 'newly a vampire' sabbatical I'm told many Gangrel go through--though since she didn't knock me unconscious and leave me in the middle of the woods to figure it out myself, I'm told that Nora was more kind than other sires." Kaz kept his eyes locked with Sully as he said this, not realizing the significance.

Abruptly, he turned back to Vinny, refocusing on the question as he did so. "Flying solo may work when you don't intend to stay anywhere for very long--even if I did, sometimes--but I plan on setting up shop here for the foreseeable future. And if I'm with Nora, that means I'm with the Anarchs."

Truth be told, Kaz considered himself more independent than anything else. He didn't care for the rules of the Camarilla and loathed the Sabbat with a passion. The only reason he kept up the Masquerade was the knowledge that anyone he broke it to would end up silenced one way or another. In his eyes, the world would be a simpler, better place if Humanity was in the know, and could come to the table to deal. He knew it would be messy at first, every first contact between two cultures usually is, but he held out hope. In the meantime, however, Anarchs still had a code that more or less protected your average mortal without propping up some Kindred Prince with delusions of world domination.

His eyes flicked up, bringing himself out of his introspective reverie and hoping that the others didn't notice it happened immediately after claiming he was an Anarch. They would.

A wry smile crept onto his face as he realized he had been caught. "Might not be the best thing to admit to in my... 'application,' but truth is, I tend to get in trouble on my own. No matter where I went on this earth, shit seemed to find where I was staying."

He considered the golden whiskey in the glass in front of him. It wasn't blood, and he couldn't get drunk, but he still enjoyed pleasures like this. He looked again to Vinny and his cigarillo. No matter how often fellow Cainites claimed that blood was the only way they could feel pleasure, it was dogma none of them really believed. Every vampire had mortal pleasures, no matter how pointless it was in the end. With that in mind, he downed the shot, appreciating the burn, but it was tempered with the somber knowledge that he would have appreciated it more alive.

"Then again," he said, wiping his mouth and setting the glass on the bar with a satisfying clack. "Sounds like you've recently had your own, problems, huh?" He didn't mention the name Lucas Nash, but then, he didn't have to. He whistled, shaking his head. "I don't know much about that other than I'm glad I missed it."
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Sullivan
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[ *  * ]
Wincing as Kaz drifted a little close to the diaphragm with his description of most Gangrel embraces, Sullivan downed his second shot and set it onto the bar empty and upside down. Partly to silently tell himself that two was enough, and partly because whether it was enough or not, even able to handle food and drink didn't make it feel quite right. In life, he'd hated this brand of whiskey. Too harsh. Nowadays it was the only one that burnt enough for him to tell.

Intentionally or not... Kaz was right. Sullivan had been beaten over the head and buried while he underwent the transformation... Leslie, he'd left on her own in the woods under strict instructions. He wished he'd just not gone back to London now. If he'd stayed, taught her personally, made his way across Europe with her in tow, ahead of Alasdair and his own blood-bound siblings... How different it all would've been. "I'm glad ye did too." He said quietly, fidgeting with his own fingers, "It was brutal. If not fer Nora, Vinnie an' tha Prince of all people, I wouldn't have made it." he recalled Matachelli's terse exchange bitterly. You ate him, you put him there, you tell him where to go! Handle your shit!It hadn't been eloquent, but it had struck a nerve.

Silence fell over him as he searched for the words and his wheels just kept spinning up empty. he had nothing clever he could say, no turn of phrase. Well, he did, but somehow trying to apply wit to the issue seemed to make it less genuine. "I'm sorry. I... Let him win. An' ye nearly paid for it. You, Leslie, Nora... Heh. Some fuckin' father-figure I am." he uncapped the bottle and didn't reach for the shot glass again, simply swigging from the neck and wincing as the harsh burn rolled down his throat.

He looked to Vinnie, and then Kaz, and realized only one of them really knew what he was talking about. Vinnie had seen the early stages of Alasdair breaking his chains, but it had been on a mission - of sorts, at least - and so there had been other, more pressing concerns. "I'm... I'm gonna pretend I've managed ta ease this into conversation because I can't see how ta manage that smoothly. But... It's not all me in there. His name is Alasdair. An' it ain't a split-personality or a mental imbalance - at least not tha sort ye'd call normal. He was my sire. Long time ago." he wisped a gesture around his head with one hand, "So while I'm the main event, up there... It ain't all me. As fer why that's tha case... Well, that was all me."

Not having it in him to say the word diablerie, Sullivan left it there, half explanation and half verbal flagellation. Kaz might not know what he meant, depending on what sorts of things he'd experienced while out in the world. Or he might. Vinnie... The man was smart. Not the strongest kindred to throw knuckles, but smart. If he didn't know... Then Sullivan had to wonder how he'd gotten this far. Having admitted his shame, however, all the Irish Lion had left was to sit and wait for whatever judgement came from his peers.
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Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
Vincent looked at the Childe of his former Baron. Nora had been the closest thing he had to a friend for some time, they'd been closer as friends than he and Sully were due to the gap in age between the two men, and of course the usual instinctive alpha male issues which were only exarcerbated by the Gangrel-Brujah dynamic. Gangrel had a fundamental pack mentality and even the lone wolf types tended to want to stamp a mark of dominance around them; Brujah meanwhile, especially young Antitribu like Vinnie, just liked to asser themselves - it had led to some friction in the past but Vinnie and Sully had managed to work through it by simple association, or so he hoped. Though he hardly knew Kaz Vinnie did feel some sense of responsibility toward him; Nora had helped him out a great deal back in London, and although he'd essentially kidnapped her to bring her to Detroit he considered that to be doing her a favour since staying back in Britain would have only led to her demise.

"I'm glad you've come to me, really. You saw out there just how damn stupid most of the new blood is around here and I'd prefer not to see the progeny of my friends and allies meet their end simply because I wasn't there to help." It was an odd reversal and Vinnie knew it. Back in London he'd looked out for his own interests as much as possible, providing Nora with every assistance since her cause aligned with his needs at the time; but now he found himself acting the mentor, holding court for a host of Childer when he was still a neonate himself. Anthony would be laughing his ass off if he could only see Vinnie now. "What Sully says is true, about Nash I mean, we barely scraped through that and it only confirms for me that if we want to stay immortal and free we have to pull together."

Vinnie didn't know much about what had happened with Sullivan and Nora, he tried not to pry; as far as he was concerned most of it was a Gangrel thing and no business of anyone else, especially not a Brujah like himself. Kaz, Nora, and Sully formed their own pack and pack business was pack business. He might not understand in the ins and outs of it, which was why he treated it like 'business', but he could respect it, and the boundaries it formed.

"Lucky for us no big storm of eternal night and magical mumbo jumbo is on the horizon right now, but that's no reason to avoid one another. We still have problems."
Edited by Vincent Tadeu, Mar 6 2018, 02:54 PM.
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Kaz
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[ *  * ]
Speaking of shit following him, Kaz turned to look at Sullivan when he started speaking, an involuntary growl rumbling in his chest. The logical, kinder part of him knew that he was giving Sully a chance to explain, but unfortunately, the animal side-the cruel side-that was the Beast. The Beast only saw Sully as a threat, a problem to solve one way or another, not commiserate with. Thankfully, the Beast wasn't the one that got to call the shots, and the last four years had been dedicated to tightening its leash. Kaz regained his composure and let the man talk.

As he did, his knee-jerk anger gave way to confusion. "Alasdair," he repeated after Sully, the question evident in his tone. He sounded like a vampire, the name was certainly pretentious enough. And he was right. His Irish senior described the man to be his Sire, at least once upon a time. So, was he possessed? No, Sully soldiered on to clarify that, whatever the arrangement, he was the one responsible for it.

The young Gangrel's mouth opened and closed a few times, trying fruitlessly to find some kind of response, but any words turned to mist in his mouth. Vinnie offered the words instead, refocusing the conversation back on the group, bringing up words like "we" like a natural-born leader. Casey's green eyes offered him a pensive look, curious as to how Vinnie was able to just let the things Sully said slide, but the ebon man made it clear in his demeanor that it was not a lack of curiosity or care, but rather a surplus of respect that guided his words.

Unfortunately, and to his discredit, Kaz was not known for his respect.

"Appreciate your tact, Vincent, but it might not be a magical storm you need to worry about," the young tiger said, gesturing to Sullivan with a curt nod. "If you got problems, I want to help, but it should probably start with this one." With that, he turned in the chair, facing Sullivan fully, but leaving his shoulders slightly angled towards Vinny so as not to exclude him from the conversation with his body language.

"So," Kaz started, words still not quite solid but finding clarity as they began to roll out. "You have... Alasdair to fight with, and he's what squared off with us that night..." His eyes flickered down and he sighed, looking for words. He found them, and with another breath, locked eyes again and continued. "He almost killed Nora and Leslie, the two people who-I imagine-you care most about. So what guarantee do the rest of the Anarchs have? What's stopping him from cutting loose again and gutting some other poor unfortunate?"

By now, Kaz had found the words. Once the floodgates broke, the anger he felt towards Sully came pouring out, adding fire to his words without raising the volume to shouting range, but his eyes still leveled the accusation at the man. "What's stopping him from killing Nora again? Because it certainly isn't you. So why did you let him your skull?"

The man from Miami knew he may have given too much of his ignorance away with that last sentence. He wasn't naive, and he knew about, he imagined, things that many of your rank and file Kindred had no idea of. But his eclectic knowledge generally came from being separated from vampire culture, not from within it. He knew about Khans, Skinwalkers, and even some strange, nameless entity that stalked the ancient, forgotten woods of the world, but he couldn't recall even the name of his Clan's Antediluvian. But now was the time to learn about this, at least.

"What the fuck did you do?"
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Sullivan
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[ *  * ]
"It's called Diablerie." he bluntly uttered, dropping the D-bomb to get it said and done and off his chest. "If ye don't know what that is... Let me bring it all into focus." Calmly, he maintained Kaz's eye contact, letting the younger kindred's annoyance hit him full-force. His Beast - hell, Alasdair even - wasn't happy to do it, but Sullivan took the punishments he'd earned. That was his way - passengers be damned. "I found him in Chicago, on tha elevated train. Musta been midnight, or close to. No kine in the carriage. Just me an' him, all frenzy marks an' monstrous deformities. I couldn't tell it was him at first... Then I saw his face, an' knew."

Gently pushing the bottle away from himself, Sully crossed his arms, his shoulders lowered in acknowledgement of his wrong-doing, but his back straight. He couldn't be a weak link - Alasdair would take him for it. "I'd gone there ta wipe him offa tha board. Fer good. After a point, the frenzy took me, like it always did when we fought. Christ, I can't speak fer you, but between me an' Alasdair? I've not known hate like it. Not before, not after."

He stood, suddenly uncomfortable and struggling to stay still, pacing the short distance from his chair to the bar and back, his face conflicted. He didn't want to be here, under someone else's microscope, examined and poked and prodded. It felt like the brood staring at him in the hot box. "Tha Beast latched on an' drank 'im. All of 'im. After ya drain a kindred, there's that wretched sliver o' what little soul we got left. An' if yer single-minded enough - or if tha Beast is in control, which is single-minded enough - ta do it... Ye can consume that too. An' I did. Swore I never would. But fer all tha pain him just bein' on tha periphery had caused me an' Nora, all tha scars he'd left me ta heal... Everythin'. After all he'd done, I wanted him so dead even Death himself couldn't find tha little fucker."

He gave up pacing, leaning his back to the bar, his suddenly shaky hands holding fast to its' lip, grey eyes stuck to Kaz. The pair of them knew that while Vinnie had his own thoughts on the matter... He'd offer support sooner than send Sullivan away. As such... That left the tiger to convince. Sullivan hoped his next few words were up to the task. "The wraith left behind by diablerie... It isn't typically this strong. I think it has somethin' to do with tha strength of tha Beast in a vampire at tha point o' death, but... I don't know. Yet. I spend at least one night a week devoted solely to beatin' him back into tha cuffs. Each time, I take more o' tha knowledge he had that I didn't. Each time, he weakens. He was stealthy about gainin' control that night. Cautious, careful. I don't suffer fools twice - especially when I put him there. You say it ain't me holdin' him in check, lad. But I guarantee ye, nobody else even can. As fer lettin' him near Nora again, or Leslie fer that matter... I'd die first."

He sighed, reaching for his coat and shuffling it on, settling it across his shoulders with a tug of the collar. "So... That's it. Tha whole sorry mess - so far. Granted, ye don't know much about Alasdair, or why I hated 'im, or what he was like - short of t'rowin' folk outta windows. But now ye know why what happened, happened. As fer other problems... Well, I got a suspicion, not a fact. I'm workin' on acquirin' proof 'fore I go an' kick tha hornet's nest."
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Vincent Tadeu
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"Well shit. Diablerie was one of the few things my sire told me -not- to do, ever. And to put that into context this was a man who had no morale qualms about feeding on children, murder, rapes, and casual violence. Something to do with consuming souls like that being bad for your karma. I don't know, he wasn't much for eloquence and he wasn't some wizened sage when it came to Kindred lore." Vinnie shrugged again and looked between the pair; there was more Gangrel back and forth going on here, he was sure of it, but as always he thought it best to leave it unexplored. Nothing good ever came from messing around with another clan's peculiarities. He decided he needed to take another drag on his cigarillo before continuing, and he did, the haze of smoke about him thickening. "Might be worth finding someone better educated than us in the ins and outs of Kindred lore, 'anatomy', and 'psychology' to work something out, because I'll be honest Sully - you get a lot of rope because of all you have done for us, but I can't have some half crazed Gangrel Ancilla running about attacking people at random - possession from a disembodied soul or no. Trouble is the only two people in my rolodex who fit the bill are not exactly the kinds you'd go to cap in hand. But I suppose if anyone in this city knows anything about diablerie it'll be Deveaux, given he's supposed to have consumed Nash..."
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