The Vampires of San Francisco

I think I need to ret-con a bit already, here. Last post I said that Doc brought Georgia up unconscious, but I was thinking about it, and I think that actually he brought her up dazed, but alive and well. See, Doc was there when she woke up down below, having survived the attack and the darkness, and details are sketchy cause it was off-scene. All we know is that she suddenly had no damage from the stab-wounds, the Assamite was gone, and she may or may not have had the bloomings of a crush on Doc, but only to the level as is proper between a lady and a gentleman.

In any event, she is in the cab of the El Camino as we ride up the Peninsula. Doc asks that we drop him off in Colma, since apparently he doesn’t come around the city too often, and she and he share a brief and poignant moment of goodbye while Norton flips through the radio stations and I avoid Carlo’s creepy stare.

Once we’re ready to go again, I climb inside the car, where Georgia and I discuss what to do about Carlos. Georgia and Doc found a withered husk of Alejandro down in the catacombs, and we now suspect that eating him was what drove Carlos to a frenzy (Also, we don’t know it at the time, but Carlos went on to diablerize not just one but four of the proto-gargoyles in the vat room. Jason said that if anyone had tried to check Carlo’s aura, it would have been solid. motherfucking. black.) Georgia and I quietly agree that maybe it’s best to take him to the Prince and let that asshole figure it out.

Carlos, though, apparently hears this, because as soon as we’re off the freeway and cruising through the abandoned streets of downtown, Carlos leaps out of the back of the car and starts running away, again. We tell Norton to follow, but as we try to corner him, Carlos unsheathes his claws and starts climbing up the side of a building.

(Jason: “This is not how I expected things to happen!”
Kara: “You say that every week!!”
Jason: “BECAUSE IT KEEPS HAPPENING EVERY WEEK!!!!”)

We get out and stare up at him, unsure what to do. Realizing that Clarence has probably made it back to the city now, I call him.

“…Yes?” He answers curtly.

“Heeeeey,” I drawl, “So, we’re back in the city, and we found Carlos, but he’s escaping. Again.”

“Oh?” Clarence replies flatly.

“Yeah, we’re down the street from your place and he’s climbing up the side of a fucking office building.”

There’s a pause. “Well. Deal with it.” And with that Clarence hangs up.

I stare at my phone. “…Sonofabitch Ventrue piece of shit,” I grumble, shoving it back in my pocket.

Worried about what Carlos will do now that he’s loose in mortals’ territory, Norton and I grab our weapons from the car and race after him. We can’t climb up after him directly, but we break into the building and try to make our way up from inside, but he intercepts us, and fuckery breaks out. Norton and I eventually retreat, ceding the building to him, and head back outside.

Now out of options, I call the Prince, reporting that Carlos has gone awol and is armed and dangerous. The Prince grumbles, orders us away from the building, says he will be sending someone else in to apprehend Carlos and drag him in for trial.

Not long later, the Sheriff shows up–

(–Oh shit, I haven’t mentioned the Sheriff yet, have I? Well, there’s not much to mention, except that she’s a strong, lithe woman, usually seen lurking behind the Prince, dressed in a well-cut suit, and always, always silent. No one has ever heard her speak, but they certainly speak of her, and usually in hushed tones. Everyone is afraid of her, far more than they are of the Prince, and no one is even entirely sure she’s a vampire…)

So she shows up, climbing out of an unmarked car and gliding toward us with the smooth gait of a hunting cat. Even Norton shuts up as she approaches. She eyes us quietly, then gestures us away and taps something on her phone.

And then an army of unmarked cars pull up, armed dudes jumping out of them and rushing on the building. She stares at us a moment then enters the building herself.

Norton and I trade a glance, wordlessly agreeing to find Georgia and GTFO. Luckily, Georgia shows up then with the El Camino. Unluckily, though, since she is originally from the 15th century and has zero dots in drive, so we stare as she actually rolls up, the car stuck in neutral, stopping only when she bumps slowly into a mailbox next to us.

Dawn is fast approaching. Norton takes over the driver’s seat and says he will take us to our abodes before retiring to his own palace. Georgia thanks him graciously and asks to be dropped off at the Chantry. Norton turns to me and asks where I would like to be taken.

I grin sheepishly. “So, ah, your eminence…you got a couch?”

#

Indeed, after dropping off Georgia, Norton takes me to his place: The Cliff House, at Land’s End. Rather, the Cliff House itself is a restaurant, but Norton apparently has an apartment secreted underneath it. He has lived there for almost a century, through all the occasions his enemies tried to get at him by burning the place down.

Norton parks the BarrioMobile out front and disappears down the secret staircase leading to his quarters. I hang back, staring at the pre-dawn light over the sea and firing off quick notes to Sophia and Aitor informing them of what happened. And by “quick notes” I mean “My Instagram photo of dicks all over Alejandro’s face.”

Footsteps on the sidewalk draw my attention up. A gentleman stands before me, smiling at me patiently, and for a moment, I wish I was back with Carlos.

It’s The Englishman.

“Pardon me,” he says in a smooth British accent, “But would you happen to have the time?”

(I stare at Jason. He smiles at me. “So…what do you do?”

“I…give him the time?”)

I glance at my phone. “5:27. A.M.” I add, needlessly.

“Ahh,” he nods. “Thank you.” With that, he nods again and walks off.

I watch him go, his cane–the cane bearing his vicious sword–tapping his pace against the sidewalk, then run down the steps to Norton’s place, slamming the door behind me.

We descend into some sort of sewer complex, with long, dank tunnels and a lingering stench of blood strong enough to overpower the rot. The tunnel at the base of the ladder goes two directions and through details I don’t remember, we end up getting split (because the rule in our game is ALWAYS split the party). Georgia, Carlos, and I–oh, and Emperor Norton–go left, while Clarence goes right. Doc, incidentally, stays up top to stand guard.

#

I, armed with nothing but my whip and a machete, lead my half of the team through the narrow tunnels, eventually coming out on a walkway circumscribing an open cistern. Instead of being filled with stormwater and sewage, though, the bottom of the pit is filled with bodies. Fighting through our distaste (or, well, except Carlos, he prolly feels right at fucking home) we make our way around and into a new corridor.

As we move along this one, we hear chanting echoing from the distance, across the stone. Turning a corner, we see an archway lit from beyond by candlelight and torches. Slowly, we make our way forward and peer inside.

Beyond the archway is a room, almost as large as the cistern, with candles and sconces around the perimeter. A pentagram drawn in what looks to be fresh blood covers the floor, and five figures stand at each point, apparently the source of the chanting. Our eyes, though, are drawn to the middle of the pentagram, and the man standing shirtless and blood-covered there.

Alejandro.

We pull back, discussing a plan. The whole point of the operation was to collect information, maybe find some of the missing Semtex, but this ritual looks like something we probably don’t want to let procede. But there’s five robed men in the room, and Alejandro, so stopping it won’t be an easy thing. Georgia and I debate what we should in hurried whispers, but after a few seconds the decision is made for us….

….When Emperor Norton draws his sword, screams about usurpers and vile treachery, and charges into the room.

#

Meanwhile, Clarence is poking around a different part of the hideout and comes across a room filled with vats. By the smell, they’re vats of blood. Strange shapes seem to move around in them, just beneath the surface. Clarence peers in sneeringly before moving on.

Beyond the vat-room, he finds a prosaic-looking office, complete with computer terminals. He immediately sits down at one of the computers and starts combing through it, smirking at his efficiency in investigating, as compared to the rest of us losers running around the place in circles.

(Jim: “The vampires are, of course, running Win95.”
Jason: “No. Windows ME.”
*everyone gasps*)

#

Element of surprise lost, Georgia and I grab whatever weapons we have available and charge into the room. Norton is battling with the robed summoners and Georgia takes one on as well. I, however, only have eyes for one man in the room: the shirtless asshole in the middle of it.

Alejandro roars at the sight of me and immediately explodes up into Costco Monster form, nearly scraping the ceiling with his bulk. He lunges at me and I dodge, swiping with my machete, reaaaally wishing I had my dragonsbreath back around now. He swipes back with claws the length of my forearm. I duck back and go with the only ranged weapon I have, slicing him across the face with my whip. He roars and wheels away, one eye bisected in a bleeding welt. Thus distracted, I take my opening, dashing forward, ducking around, winding up to make a full-powered strike–

–And practically cleave his spine in two.

(Jason: “…Well that was a lot more anticlimatic than I was hoping.”)

Alejandro falls with a thump that shakes the room. The gash in his back is massive, but healing even as I watch. Scared, pissed, and berefit of ideas, I do what any rational person would do: continue beating the shit out of him. Georgia and Norton, once they take out the robed men, join in, and soon Alejandro is reverted to normal-human form and passed-out at our feet.

Only then do I realize that perhaps I should have left him conscious to interrogate him….

#

Clarence’s hacking is going better than he expected. He finds his way into a bunch of files, many of them encrypted, but in the parts he can read, he keeps finding references to something called “The Dancer.” Running short on time, he decides to download as much as he can to pour over later. However, having seen this movie before, instead of trying to download a hard copy of the information, he backs it up to a private online cloud server, completely independent from all the shenanigans going on around him.

Which is good, because it’s around this time that he hears strange noises coming from the vat room; wet, organic sounding noises, undercut by growling. Carefully, he crosses the office and peers out the door.

A hideous creature is climbing out of the vats, like a balrog that’s been flayed alive, dripping blood and snarling like grinding stone. Wings, like half-skeletal dragon wings, flare over it, and it peers around the room myopically through underformed eyes.

Clarence carefully steps back. He hasn’t had specific interactions with these creatures before, but he’s been around long enough to know what it is: gargoyle, or rather, a half-formed gargoyle.

Carefully, quietly, Clarence closes the office door and barricades furniture in front of it.

#

As I am standing there over Alejandro’s prone body, trying to figure out what to do next, darkness falls on half the room. As in, literally half the room has been bisected by a wall of black so thick it’s like a hole in reality. I stand in the candlelight, machete loose in my hand, staring in awe, before I realize: Georgia was in the half of the room that is now absorbed.

“INFIDELS!!11!1!111” Norton screams, hoisting his sword, then he too disappears into the black. I stare, frozen in indecision, simultaneously wanting to help Georgia, not wanting to leave Alejandro, and really not wanting to stumble blind into whatever the hell just cast this shit.

Moments later, Mr. Tails chimes in to help the matter, “She’s heeeeeeeere,” he whispers in a sing-song voice. “She’s heeere to eat her soooooul….”

#

Inside the darkness, Georgia is struggling with the complete lack of sight and sound, when suddenly something grabs her from behind in a grip like iron. A woman’s voice whispers in her ear, creepy-(-yet-vaguely-homoerotic-)-shit about surrendering, how easy and blissful it would be, and then moves to bite her.

Georgia ruins the moment by stabbing her assailant in the gut.

A struggle breaks out, with more slashes and stabs, but finally comes to an end when the unseen assassin–whom I’m sure you can guess is Isabella–decides she has had enough of this shit and stabs Georgia repeatedly with something that leaves her unconscious on the floor, wounds boiling green and smoking.

#

Outside the darkness, I’m fighting my anxiety and passing the time by trying to decide what to do with Alejandro. (Out of game, it’s pointed out to me that now would be a perfect time to diablerize him, but I balk. As a high-generation character, I’m worried about “eating above my station,” so to speak, and there’s nothing a Tzmitsce has that I would particularly want anyway. I soon incorporate these rationale into my character by saying that Tom had heard of such “soul bites,” but is weirded out by the concept and has little interest.)

But that doesn’t mean I can’t still have fun with him. Thus, I pull out my sharpie left over from the Slayer prank, draw a bunch of dicks all over his face, and take a picture. I figure that this is actually better than killing him cause now he’ll lose face with Andre, or something. Course, he’ll probably be even more pissed at me, but…whatever. Fuck this guy.

I don’t have too much time to gloat, though, before the darkness suddenly boils over and envelops the entire room, cutting out sound and light like a heavy cloth dropped over reality. I stumble to where I remember the doorway was, making my way through to find more darkness in the hallway. I run down it, groping at the walls, until I reach clear air once again. There I stop, staring at the abyss behind me, waiting for Georgia, or Norton, or anyone to come out of it again.

#

You might be wondering what happened to Carlos in all this, and you, dear reader, would be a lot more intelligent than we were at the time. The dark cloud–Nocturne, as I know know it’s called–was cast by Carlos as cover for Isabella the Assamite to make her move, then expanded to drive us out of the room. Once we do, he goes in to investigate.

And finds Alejandro, beat to an unconscious pulp, ready for the taking.

Which he, unlike myself, does.

But, just as I feared, the generation-gap is a little too wide, so the moment he finishes consuming Alejandro’s soul, he frenzies.

#

I am waiting in the hallway on the far side of the cloud, waiting for Georgia or Norton to reappear, when suddenly something does, rushing out of the darkness and toward me like a talon-tipped freight train. It’s Carlos, and by the look on his face, he is out for more than just blood. I have just enough time to whip up my machete and slash at him before he dives at me with his claws, tearing open my chest (and instantly causing three levels of aggravated damage). Wounds healing before my eyes, he comes at me again, so I (wisely)decide to noope! the fuck out of there, dashing down the hall, toward the way we came in. Carlos isn’t as fast as me but I can hear him following behind, snarling and scraping against the stone. I reach the cistern and make my way around carefully, mindful of the slick footing, but something draws my eyes away from the walkway to the open pit next to me.

The bodies, they’re moving, heaving like a tide of limbs and flesh, reaching for the walls, climbing over each other to reach toward me.

Double nooooope! I scramble around the cistern and bolt down the entry hallway, leaping for the ladder and climbing up to the safety of the surface. He follows, but before he can climb the ladder, he’s tempted by something else: the smell of blood, fresh blood, drifting from further down the hallway.

#

Clarence is holed up in the office–using his time to continue working on the computer–when suddenly roars and crashes echo from the vat room outside. He freezes. The sounds of battle grow louder. Finally, Clarence gets up…and starts piling more things in front of the door.

#

Back up in the convenience store, I lurk around the entrance to the pit, wondering what to do, when suddenly I see a pale shape ascending out of the darkness. Clutching my machete, I lurk back behind the couter, waiting to attack or run if necessary….

…Then a cowboy hat appears from the darkness, followed by Doc’s head, then Georgia’s unconscious torso, slung over his shoulder.

I sheathe the machete and hurry over to help them out. We retreat outside, where Clarence’s two cars are waiting, and discuss what to do next. While we debate, Clarence himself appears, strangely calm and mentioning something about a computer and things that may or may not have been gargoyles. That’s odd, we agree, cause making gargoyles is supposed to be illegal, and only the Tremere are supposed to know how….

We glance at the unconscious form of Georgia thoughtfully.

The last question, of course, is where the last members of our party–Carlos and Norton–are. I mention how Carlos seems to have gone berserk, and Clarence mentions the battle in the vat room, though by the time the sounds died down and he stuck his head out everyone was gone. As we debate this, someone else stumbles out of the store.

Carlos. Clothes torn up more than usual, covered in blood, but woozy and apparently back to himself.

We all freeze, watching him owlishly. In his rasping voice, he apologizes for the mess down below, saying he’s not sure what came over himself, but no lasting damage seems to have come from it. I poke gingerly at the gashes across my chest and glare.

As Carlos stumbles around, staring up at the roof of the building for some reason, we all rehuddle, debating to do about Norton, whether it’s best to look for him to get back to San Francisco before sunrise and just hope for the best.

As we debate this, Carlos skitters over to one of Clarence’s cars, overwhelms the ghoul driver through a combination of strength, Dominate, and just plain terrifying intimidation, and goes squealing off into the night.

We all freeze again, not sure we believe what just happened. Clarence curses, storms over to the other car, climbs in, and orders it to go racing after Carlos, back up to the city.

Leaving Doc, Georgia, and I stuck in San Jose, in the middle of Sabbat territory, two hours from sunrise.

#

Carlos has an interesting plan. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but here’s what happened. As his car raced out of sight, a few blocks away he opened the passenger door and rolled out, sending the car continuing on its way. He then made his way back toward the convenience store, perhaps to figure out what the hell happened to Isabella and why Georgia was still alive.

#

Meanwhile, as the rest of us figure out what the fuck to do, a heavy bass line starts approaching from the distance. We turn to see a low-rider El Camino with spinner plates and a hot-rod flame paint job, roll up next to us.

Emperor Norton is at the wheel.

He pontificates about his victory, having convinced some men to loan him the use of their conveyance. In no place to question or argue, we pile in, Doc and Georgia inside the car and me sprawled out in the open bed. With a rev of the oversized engine, we pull out, heading back toward San Francisco.

Then two blocks away we spot Carlos, walking back to where we were.

We pull up next to him, asking what the fuck is going on. He blinks at us innocently and rasps some excuse, I don’t even fucking know, but I flick my machete at him and tell him to get in the car. He does so, sitting across from me in the small bed, which I’m fine with cause I don’t want to be anywhere near him if I don’t have to be. I knock on the rear window, asking Norton to change the music from rap to classic rock, but after that I remain silent the whole ride home, ignoring Carlos’s strangely piercing gaze.

A gaze that spends the entire hour-long trip slowly and carefully studying my face.

Because, unknown to me, Carlos has now picked up Viscissitude. And he has ideas….

We arrive at Alejandro’s hideout, an unassuming corner store in a rundown backwater of South San Jose. We spread out to investigate, but there’s no-one in the store, so getting in is easy. A bunch of us fan out, searching for back-rooms or whatever, when suddenly we notice something: the store has products on the shelves, but they’re surprisingly dusty, and almost everything I pick up is year’s expired or out-of-date.

Meanwhile, while most of us are poking around inside, Carlos decides to be Carlos about things and climbs up to the roof. Scrabbling around up there, he is beset by the Assamite, Isabella, who has apparently been following us down in secret. She relays new instructions, ordered by Max:

Carlos has to help her kill Georgia.

Carlos agrees readily, irritated by all these distractions, and she disappears into the darkness. He hears people moving around in the rooms below him (which are above the corner store we’re in). He finds an area above an empty room, slices a gap through the ceiling with his Protean claws, then crouches there, talons extended, patiently waiting, like a polar bear on the ice waiting for a seal.

#

Downstairs, we find a lead: there’s no back rooms, but there is a trap door, hidden behind the counter. We pry it up and find a black pit with a ladder descending into it. The ladder is streaked with blood, some of it fresh. I pull away at the sight, fighting waves of panic.

See, my experience in Marin has sobered me. For the first time in two decades of being a vampire, I’m starting to get the sense of what’s really out there, and it’s a lot more than douchey goths hanging around a hotel bar. For all my bravado, Alejandro’s giant monster form–“Coscto Monster”–terrifies me, and who knows what else could be down there. I find myself wishing for that dragonsbreath shotgun again and make a mental note to track more down, if I survive this.

Suddenly, in the midst of all this discussion, Mr. Tails wheedling voice appears in my mind, “Are we going down there?”

“Maybe,” I mutter, glancing at the others to make sure they don’t hear me.

“I think we should go down there! It looks like fuuuuuuuun!”

Well, shit, if I didn’t have reservations about the pit before…. “Is there anything else you think we should do?”

There’s a pause, then, “…Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” he whispers cheerily.

I hesitate, then hit the floor, milliseconds before a shotgun blast erupts upstairs.

#

Upstairs, Carlos’s prey have discovered him, but duck out of the way of his claws before he can take their heads off. They fire a shotgun, miss, then fuckery ensues.

#

Everyone looks to the stairs, except for Doc, who looks at me curiously. I get sheepishly back to my feet, which is good, because moments later Carlos’s battle spills down to us. The guys are all humans–ghouls, perhaps–so we quickly kill them or drive them all off.

We reconvene around the pit. The time has now come to make our decisions, and if I had a living heart, it would be pounding. As the largest guy, the obvious strategy is for me to head down first, but I hesitate.

Doc, though, scowls at me, and makes some comment about courage or whatever that I barely hear through my anxiety. His face, though, is clear, so I nod, steel myself, and descend, with everyone else following along after.

Before I continue, I realize there is a character I have yet to explain in these backlogged-writeups, a character of invaluable narrative importance.

Mr. Tails.

Mr. Tails was an artefact of “Elizabeth’s,” simultaneously a spirit guide and part of her psychotic Malkavian manifestations. Mr. Tails was a squirrel that only she could see, who would whisper things at her, things which might have been helpful clues and might have been traps for his own amusement. Mr. Tails was, of course, voiced by Jason in a wheedling voice whenever he felt it necessary to influence “Elizabeth’s” actions to add creepy drama to the plot. When “Elizabeth” died, one of the first thing we lamented was that we would no longer get Mr. Tails commentary.

Jason considered this fact a moment, then said nope, Mr. Tails was too useful and terrifying. Thus it was decreed that, upon Elizabeth’s death, the spirit of Mr. Tails separated from her body and attached itself to any other intact beings in the room who were able to receive him.

Which Jason decided was myself.

Since returning to the city from Marin, Mr. Tails has been whispering creepily to me at random moments, though–as I treated his master before him–I mostly try to ignore him.

#

Back to the story, we collect all the associated assholes and start rolling down-Peninsula, in cars provided by Clarence, heading to San Jose. On the way we pick up Doc in Colma. (It bears mentioning that after we grabbed him, an argument broke out on who was going to sit where in the cars, since few people wanted to deal with Norton and no one wanted to deal with Carlos, so we ended up drawing a diagram and rolling initiative to pick our seats.) Once we get settled, it seems like it’s going to be a straight-shot to the South Bay.

Except…. My meeting with Marcus is still fresh in my mind, as are the tasks he gave me, one of which I have absolutely no problem with: finding Slayer and getting revenge. Word has it he’s hiding out in Palo Alto, at the edge of Sabbat territory, so I convince everyone to make a detour on the way to find him. Everyone tentatively agrees, but only after Doc says he’s on board, citing Slayer as, quote, “An ignorant skunk.”

I have a plan for what to do with the asshole once we find him, something which will hopefully injure body and reputation, so before we get to Palo Alto I have the cars stop at an all-night adult store for…a few items, hiding them in the store’s opaque black bags so no one (not even Jason) can see.

We get to Palo Alto. After asking around, we track Slayer to the Nut House, the closest thing Palo Alto has to a dive bar. When we get there, the place has largely cleared out of its usual crowd of locals and grad students, which is good because the first thing Slayer does when he sees us rolling in is leap to his feet and shout at his goons–ghouls and otherwise–to smoke us sons of bitches. A firefight breaks out, with much crashing and shouting and people running in and around the back door like its the fucking Benny Hill show, but eventually we grab Slayer and subdue him.

He starts babbling, apologizing for the shit in Marin, expressing some manner of shock and awe that I’m still alive. I backhand him a couple times till he starts telling us something useful, specifically that Alejandro was the one who told him to send us to Marin.

(Me: “I don’t understand why Alejandro has it so out for me.”
Jim: “Maybe it’s cause the last time you saw him you shot him in the face.”
Me: “Yeah well the last guy I shot in the face is now my best fucking friend! …Which says a lot about the quality of my friends right now….”)

Slayer says Alejandro was also involved in this missing Semtex business, that apparently he stole it from Esteban, though later Helgi stole it from him. Slayer gives us more specific directions to Alejandro’s hideout, where he’s apparently been working on…something. Interestingly, though his operations have had limited success, they’ve apparently been enough for Alejandro to win a lot of points his his boss, the Archbishop of San Jose, a guy named Alekse Roussimov, sometimes called Andre.

Slayer gulps, says that whether or not we fuck around with Alejandro, we reaaaaally shouldn’t fuck around with Andre.

Having gotten as much usefulness out of Slayer as we can at that point, we decide to stake him. I, however, can still get entertainment value out of the asshole, so I grab my unmarked black bag and move to complete my plan.

Which is to strip Slayer, redress him in the Catholic school-girl outfit I bought at the porn store, then write, “BUFFY” in big letters across the white tanktop.

Then, to complete the quest, I take a picture of him and text it to Aitor to show Marcus.

With that, we have some of Clarence’s ghouls take Slayer back to the city to be put in the custody of the Prince, while we continue the ride down to San Jose.

The Prince drags me and Georgia–and a resuscitated Clarence–in front of him and asks what the fuck is going on. Clarence says he was attacked, the Prince asks by whom, Clarence says he doesnt know. I raise my hand and say I overheard some guys talking, they mentioned this name, Dies Ultimae…?

The Prince freaks out. Apparently they are a private military contractor run by werewolves–which I had more or less assumed already–and if they’re attacking vampire businessmen in our city that’s baaaad. The Prince calls the Camarilla leadership in New York, speaks to some dude named Hardestadt, who more or less chews him out for not being able to run shit–which I had more or less assumed already–and says he’s sending a Justicar to help straighten things out. A guy by the name of Theo Bell.

The Prince ends the call and orders us all to spend the day in his private quarters at the top of the TransAmerica Pyramid while he tries to figure shit out.

The next evening, wake up and pace in my room, trying to figure out what to do.  I give fewer than two shits about the Prince’s problems but I’ll need to stay involved in all this to report back to Marcus. I also find myself thinking about Sophia. The Prince seems like he might go on the warpath vis a vie the werewolves, and I’m concerned about her getting stuck in the crossfire. I decide to let her know, but since I don’t know her phonenumber, I concoct an elaborate workaround wherein I type a message to her in the notepad of my phone (addressing her as “GRRRRRL!” ), warning her about the arrival of Justicar Bell. Knowing she has a near-mystical affinity for technology–and assuming she’s already watching me–I’m hoping that somehow she’ll find it.

I also contact Aitor, Marcus’s man, and give a thumbnail sketch on what happened last night. He replies that he needs to meet with me in person to discuss this further, tonight, so I tell him to meet me at The Eagle in an hour.

I suddenly realize that I have now effectively become a triple agent, relaying information to Sophia and Marcus, while still doing whatever the Prince forces me to do (to the letter of the law if not the spirit of it).

Somehow, I am not bothered by any of this.

#

Meanwhile, things have gotten interesting for Carlos. Upon returning to his tanks after an early-evening hunting trip, he checks on Vontaze and Not-Vontaze–both of whom he has been putting through Guantanamo-levels of psychological torture for the last night or so–and discovers that Not-Vontaze, while still tied up, is dead, his throat cleanly cut.

His murderer, though, isn’t a mystery for long; a woman melts out of the shadows, blonde and lithe, confident as a cat, and identifies herself as Isabella. Apparently she is an Assamite doing some work in the contract of Maximilian von Strauss. The details of the arrangement are a little hazy, but in essence Max wants Carlos to do some work for him, and Isabella has been sent to ensure it happens. In return, though, Max promises Carlos that he will provide the means necessary to help Carlos with his “Great Work.”

#

I head to The Eagle. Aitor is there, sitting awkwardly at the bar, but he leads me out of the bar to an alley behind the side-patio. He leaves me there, and wait, perplexed, wondering what’s going on.

Then Marcus steps out of the shadows of the solid wall behind me.

I stare, paralyzed with sudden fear. “That’s…a pretty cool trick, Boss,” I mutter.

“Thank you,” he mutters, fidgeting with his clothes, which are nothing more than kid-sized jeans and a t-shirt, but some how still seem to fit uncomfortably on him.

He asks for my report, and I dish on everything that’s been going on, from the attack on Clarence to the Prince’s continued flailing around, carefully omitting all mentions of Sophia, though I do mention the arrival of Bell. Marcus says he is a man of considerable power, Brujah as well, and the best way to deal with him will be to lay low and do what he says.

Marcus, eyes narrowed suspiciously, goes back to the topic of the attack, asking why, if it was in fact Dies Ultimae, I survived, and for that matter, how did I know it was Dies Ultimae in the first place? I decide to go with edited truth, saying they grabbed me and shoved me in a van, and I overheard things, then later escaped.

His stare intensifies. The shadows along the walls start to ripple, just like they did in the room in Cascade Canyon. Dread climbs through me and I take a step back.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Tom,” he says softly, his nine-year-old voice carrying more threat than the Prince has been able to convey in his entire body. “Those men should have killed you the moment they smelled you. How did you escape, Tom?”

I look around, desperate for an exit, but the shadows seem to swell closer. “Tell me, Tom,” Marcus repeats, “Or I will make you. You know I can, and you know you won’t like it.”

I cast my eyes to the dirty alley ground and sigh. It was probably only a matter of time till it came to this. “I…may…have found a…werewolf…friend….” I whisper.

Silence in the alley. I can hear shouts from the patio next-door, but they seem strangely muffled, distant. Marcus stares at me, but I avoid his gaze. There’s no question that what I’m doing–talking to werewolves, giving them information about vampire politics–is illegal, and even if Marcus isn’t involved in those politics, I’m probably too much of a risk to keep around.

I wonder if he’ll kill me quickly, like Elsa and “Elizabeth,” or if it will be slow, like whatever the hell he has done to Paul….

“Well,” he says finally. “That’s certainly not what I expected….” I risk a glance up. There’s actually a hint of a bemused smile on his narrow lips.

Relief that I’m not about to die rushes thorough me and washes out all the details, how I rescued Sophia from Alejandro and how she killed Isaac, though I say this is the first time I’ve seen her since then. I say she seems to be good with technology, mentioning my bike. “Glasswalker,” Marcus nods, gesturing for me to continue. I say that I might still be in contact with her, through texting, and gave her a warning about Bell coming to the city. Marcus nods again, considering this, and tells me to continue with my interactions with her, if I see fit, so long as I report to him whatever happens.

“However,” he says warningly, “Do not mention me, not my name, not even my abstract existence.” He hesitates and I see a strange look cross his face. “I…have a history with the werewolves. It would be best if she didn’t know you were associated with me.”

With that out of the way, I ask him if there’s anything he wants me to work on. He says that he’s heard word Slayer–the asshole who sent me to Marin–has been hiding out in the South Bay, at the fringes of Sabbat territory, talking smack about how he got a Methusula to do his dirty work and get rid of a bunch of neonates for him. Marcus advises me that he’s not too thrilled about what that will do for his reputation, so if I could go pass his…displeasure…on to Slayer, maybe publicly humiliate him in some way, that would be equitable. I agree whole-heartedly.

Marcus hesitates again. “And…another thing. Something has come to my attention….” He pulls out a folded newspaper clipping and hands it to me. It’s from today’s paper and mentions how gang-war in Bayshore has escalated lately, leading to a bunch of disappearances, a family of six brutally butchered in their own home, and one young boy executed and dumped in the shipyard.

“Most vampires wouldn’t notice something like this,” he says, “Most people wouldn’t. Such victims are already half-disposed so what difference does it make what they do to each other.” He meets my gaze. “But I make a habit of keeping an eye out for these sorts of things.  I’d like to know more information on this.”

I stare at the article another moment. According to it, the lone boy didn’t even have a recorded name. Marcus watches me carefully. I don’t know why he has an interest in such a thing, but the fact that he does…intrigues me. I look up and nod. “I’ll do what I can, Boss.”

#

Later that evening, the Prince calls everyone back to Elysium in desperation (including Carlos) and starts ranting about everything that’s going on. Apparently the werewolves have been moving against his own business interests, attacking him in specific, targeted ways that makes him think they are acting on inside knowledge. He glares at all of us suspiciously–(Me: “OH MY GOD THE PRINCE THINKS SOMEONE IS PASSING INFO TO THE WEREWOLVES BUT THE BITCH IS THIS PERSON IS PASSING INFO I CANT PASS SO ITS NOT ME EVEN THOUGH I AM PASSING INFO TO THE WEREWOLVES!”)–then waves off his suspicions and moves on.

He says he is organizing a new special task force, based on the various bits of info we have relayed to him. Werewolf bullshit aside, most signs about The Englishman and other things going on seem to point to the Sabbat in San Jose, lead by Alejandro and Andre. He wants us all to go down, check it out, and report back to him. We agree, and make plans to leave immediately, picking up Doc along the way.

Somehow in the confusion of departure, despite my frantic gestures against it, Clarence and Georgia convince Emperor Norton to come along as well.

After waking up in Clarence’s douchey high-rise building downtown, I get a call from Don Esteban, congratulating me on being alive, and asking about his fucking Semtex. I choke down irritation and tell him no, I don’t have it yet, but people have been throwing this guy Helgi’s name around, but Oakland’s on lockdown so I don’t know what to do about him. Esteban suggests I go meet an acquaintance of his, an Anarch down in Colma who goes by the name “Doc.” He and I have something in common, both being enemies of Alejandro, and maybe he’ll be able to help with my (many) problems.

Speaking of Alejandro, Esteban tells me he’s not just a Sabbat asshole, he’s a Sabbat Bishop, and he’s been running around pretty pissed at me killing his werewolf and kicking his ass in front of his men. More to the point, though, Alejandro’s boss, an even scarier motherfucker named Andre, has been asking around about me. Andre is the Archbishop of San Jose, aka the biggest Sabbat asshole in the region, so I may want to stay off their radar if I can.

I take a mental note of that, while also reminding myself to report all this to Marcus, the actual biggest (supposed) Sabbat in the region.

I leave Clarence’s douchey mansion, taking the Rune bike he gave me, even though I know the thing is going to backfire on me somehow–and, in fact, find a LoJack tracker on it almost immediately–and ride down to Colma to meet this Doc guy.

Long story short, “Doc” turns out to be Doc Holliday, who holds his on mini card parlor in the dusty backroom of a crappy convenience store he owns in Colma. Humble surroundings aside, the man is a figure of considerable power and presence and I respect him immediately. He tells me that Alejandro has been up to some bullshit down in San Jose, and since he is, quote, “an ignorant skunk,” if I was to made an expedition against him, Doc would be happy to join. I agree and we make plans to venture down there in one nights’ time.

#

Meanwhile, Clarence is up to some bullshit. Despite being BFF’s with the Prince, he secretly wants his job, and starts doing some political machinations to that effect.

#

Meanwhile, Georgia starts making inquiries into secret Tremere business, many scenes of which happened actually-secretly, off screen, so I can’t tell you too many specifics, but the main concern seems to be not the fact that Isaac disappeared, but that the team sent to find him was killed, since signs point to it being a gargoyle attack. This is concerning because the Tremere are supposed to have total control over all the gargoyles in the world.

#

Meanwhile…*sigh*…in Carlos land….

Carlos returns to Bayshore after meeting with the Prince and picks up right where he left off. A whole gang of locals–as in, literal gang-member types–shows up at his hide-out, since word has spread he’s the monster who murdered that family. They are almost-literally a pitchfork-wielding mob, but Carlos takes them all out with liberal application of Obtenebration darkness and Protean claws. He captures two of the men, though, and ties them up in his tanks, separated from each other so that one is in each in the not-body-tanks.

(Later, when Chris asked Jason for their names so it would be easier to distinguish them, Jason came up with the name “Vontaze” for one, but was stuck on a name for the other, so we ended up calling him “Not-Vontaze.”)

I should also probably point out that during the course of the fight with the gang-members, Carlos comes across another young kid, who was apparently with the gang because he led them to Carlos’s hideout in the first place. Carlos calmly slashes the boys throat with the Protean claws, and watches cooly as he bleeds out on the weed-cracked tarmac.

#

After his networking, Clarence returns to his home-base.

Now, out of game, Jim put a lot of thought into this hideout of his. He basically wanted to build a modern castle that Clarence could retreat to, while still being able to run his businesses and networks from afar. He’s got all sorts of security goons and technology, reinforced walls, even a fucking elevator that locks down and blasts fire on the occupants, like a modern day portcullis oil-pit. He also has a helicopter, a sweet little AW109, and in fact chose his building not for looks (in real life its really fucking ugly), but because (at the time) it’s one of the only private buildings downtown with a helipad. He carefully planned out and identified all these details to Jason over the course of a couple weeks, bragging about how he was going to be almost impenetrable, unlike the rest of us schmucks running around with normal housing, or no housing at all.

Which, of course, was an insanely stupid thing to do, because Jason then took this as a challenge.

So Clarence is hanging out in his place, minding his own damn business, when suddenly gunfire breaks out, inside the building, and werewolves start walking in through the fucking walls. Clarence tries to escape, running to his helicopter, but he doesn’t get more than a few feet from liftoff before one of the attackers takes it out with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. The chopper crashes back to the helipad, ruined, and Clarence scurries back into his building, trying to find a new route of escape.

#

I’m riding back through the city from my meeting with Doc when I notice smoke and flames pouring from the top of Clarence’s building. I…don’t much care what happens to him, but this is certainly unusual and worth checking out. I pull up in an alley next to the building, but find it overrun with black vans and men–human men–in black-ops style gear. They shove their guns at me and force me off my bike, asking who the hell I am. I affect an ignorant expression and a lisp, saying that my boyfriend lives here and what the hell is going on? They order me off the bike, slap some zip-tie cuffs on my wrists, and shove me into the back of one of the vans. I let them do this, of course, curious where this is all headed.

Once I’m in the van, I break the cuffs and listen at the doors. Footsteps race by, trailed by muffled shouts. Finally I hear a cry of, “He’s on the roof!” and they disappear around the building. I still hear a voice talking outside, though, a softer voice, but I kick open the doors and stick my head out anyway.

It’s Sophia, holding a tablet and staring at me with equal shock.

I ask what she’s doing here, she asks what I’m doing here, something about me being Clarence’s boyfriend…? I snort. “He wishes.” I tell her that I was simply passing and saw the commotion, figured I should check it out. She looks around nervously and says I need to go, that there’s shit going down and she doesn’t want me caught in the middle of it. She won’t give me specifics on what’s happening, but she mentions the name, “Dias Ultimae” a couple times and I make a mental note of it for later.

In return, though, I start telling her about some of the vampire shit going on, how The Englishman is still running around and the Prince doesn’t have a handle on shit. She says she heard of some vampire up north, a baaaad vampire, and I mutter that yeah, I may have heard of him.

Sounds of fighting from the building get louder and she says I should go, and she’s sorry if I’m a friend of Clarence. I laugh and say no, fuck that guy, asshole is working some angle on me, he even bugged my damn bike.

“Really?” she asks with a confident smile, then taps at her tablet. “…No, he didn’t. I just deactivated it.”

I stare at her. “…Really? Um…won’t he notice that it’s suddenly stopped working?”

She grins wider. “Not if the bug keeps reporting false location data.”

I’m a little taken aback by her power there, but undoubtedly pleased. I grin back at her. “Thanks girl, I owe you one.”

“Well,” she mutters, suddenly shy again. “I still owe you, for…what happened….”

Before I can respond, a new car pulls up in the alley and Georgia, of all people, gets out. I turn back around, but Sophia has gone, melting back into the mess of vans. I go over to meet Georgia and discuss what the hell is going on.

“Who was that you were talking to?” she asks, craning past me to look down the alley.

“Um, no one,” I mutter, “Just…another tenant of the building.”

“Really? I thought Clarence owned the entire building himself?”

I tense. “She may have just been one of the…new hired help, or something.”

“I don’t know if Clarence needs any more help,” Georgia scoffs.

At that moment, Clarence crashes to the ground behind us, having just fallen off his own roof in his escape and broken his neck.

Georgia argue a bit on what to do next, then finally shove his body into her car. She leaves to take him to the Prince, while I decide I am done with vampires for the night and leave in the other direction, heading up Market street to go to a club or something.

I’m almost to the Castro when my phone rings. Caller ID tells me it’s the Prince. Dammit, I don’t want to deal with more shit tonight but I probably have to take this. I pull over to answer. “‘Yello!” I say cheerily.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!?!” He doesn’t sound pleased.

I look around calmly. “I’m out looking for a new apartment, what are you doing?”

“THE FUCK YOU ARE! THERE’S PRIVATE ARMIES AND GODDAMN WEREWOLVES ALL OVER MY CITY!! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!!!”

I roll my eyes. “But I have an appointment for an open house in half an hour–”

“RIGHT FUCKING NOW OR I AM SENDING THE ENTIRE CAVALRY DOWN ON YOUR ASS!!!”

I hold the phone an inch or two from my ear until he stops shouting. “Alright,” I sigh, “I’ll reschedule.” With that I hang up and turn the bike around, heading back down Market street to Elysium at the Hyatt.

Once I finally get back to the city, I take stock of the situation. I’m beat to shit and, with my apartment defaulted, have nothing and nowhere to go, so bereft of options, I decide to roll over to Elysium, cause walking in, back from the dead, like nothing’s wrong, should be entertaining at the least.

I’m not disappointed. The Prince is flabbergasted, and angry, and drags me away for a private interrogation to find out where I’ve been for seven months and what happened to the rest of the assholes. I start laying it all out, but when it comes time to dish on Marcus I hesitate, my blood-bond making it difficult to rat him out completely. Also, I suspect that if I do betray him to the Prince, the Prince isn’t the one I’ll have to worry about. So I carefully spin a story of running afoul of a Sabbat Methusula up in Marin, who captured us, killed the rest, and somehow I was able to escape. The Prince glowers, but seems to accept it.

But not everyone in the room does. Looming over the Prince’s shoulder is another Ventrue asshole I vaguely remember seeing around but have never interacted with before. He identifies himself as Clarence Walker, owner of Kink.com–as well as other vice-related interests in the city–and “asshole” is right because it is in fact Jim’s new character! After my meeting with the Prince, Clarence pulls me aside and, in that fake-chummy Ventrue way, says he’s heard I lost my apartment and my stuff, how sad and frustrating it must be for me, but perhaps I can stay with him for awhile till I get back on my feet. He even offers me a brand new motorcycle, a Valkyrie Rune, the exact rare bike I have coveted for ages, as a token of our new friendship. I, of course, don’t trust the asshole as far as I can throw him (which is admittedly far. Potence, and all) but I do need a place to crash for the day, and a new bike to replace the one Alejandro shot up in Marin, so I agree.

Meanwhile, an entirely new face is poking around Elysium, a Tremere by the name of Georgia Johnson. She’s new in town, sent in from the Seattle Chantry to figure out not only why the hell Isaac disappeared in Portola Valley seven months ago, but why the Tremere team sent in his wake was apparently torn to shreds. Georgia is a starry-eyed Neonate, but it doesn’t take long for her to develop a rivalry with Maximilian von Strauss, the Tremere Primogen and Regent of the San Francisco Chantry, who suspects that she has also been sent to spy on him.

The Prince rounds up Georgia–who, naturally, is Kara’s new character–and introduces her to Clarence and myself, saying that we should get back on the trail of The Englishman, cause in the last few months his shit has gotten worse, running around, showing up in unexpected places, and stabbing some people. The East Bay vampire populations have been freaking out and have shut down travel across the Bay Bridge. This is funny for them, though, because the viking guy Helgi in the Oakland Docks has apparently been warring openly with the Prince of Oakland, making their own shit worse. On top of all this, there have been more werewolf sightings, in Marin and other places.

So basically everything is fucked up and the Prince wants us to solve it. Us. A useless brown-noser, a starry-eyed Tremere, and a Brujah with no weapons. Good leadership decision, that.

#

“But what about Chris’s new character?” you ask, and yes, that is an interesting subject. Chris’s new character isn’t at Elysium yet. Here, now, is what Chris’s new character is, and what he’s been up to:

Carlos (full name “Carlos the Ticklemonster,” after a throwaway line in 4th season Arrested Development that I can’t seem to find a video clip of) is a Caitiff, with a murky history that somehow involved being a groundskeeper on an old European estate in the 1800’s. His disciplines are Protean, Dominate, and Obtenebration, which doesn’t sound o.p. at all. Physically he is a withered man of indeterminate age, with wispy hair and a rasping voice, and lank, bedraggled clothes that hang off his thin, hunched frame. Most importantly, though, Carlos is on the Path of Bones, and his Great Work in life is to understand the full nature of death.

When we first meet Carlos, he is hanging out at his homestead in Bayshore, at Hunters Point Naval Shipyard. By “homestead” I actually mean an abandoned gas station, and by abandoned gas station I mean the razed lot a gas station used to occupy. Carlos actually lives underground the station, in the empty gasoline tanks. Three of them, to be exact. One is an office-y sort of workspace, one is an empty space (perhaps the sort of place he’d put up guests, if he had them). The third tank, though, is the body tank, filled with the slowly decaying remains of his many victims, kept around for continued study as part of his Great Work. None of the tanks are a bedroom space, you might notice, and that is because Carlos sleeps in the body tank, just one more corpse in a pit of death. He feels comfortable there.

…Yeaaaah….

Carlos hits the ground running. While making his rounds in Bayshore, he runs into some kids, whom he Dominates into taking him back to their home, where he proceeds to slash the throats of all four kids and their parents, one by one, making them watch each other die, and studying their deaths in turn.

………Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…………

At some point, one hook or another forces Carlos to come up to Elysium–which, you can imagine, he doesn’t visit much–and the Prince somehow orders him to join the rest of us assholes.

But the first chance Carlos gets, he leaves, heading back to his hunting grounds to continue his Great Work.