The Darkchaple Files (IC)

[The Walox]

"Just a little farther now," Joe Humboldt drug himself across the coarse sands. The high unforgiving sun shone brightly overhead, making each inch of his agonizing trek just a bit more unbearable with every breath. He didn’t know why he kept muttering to himself.

To any casual passerby, though there were none to be had, Joe was a dead man. Both of his legs had been broken and what blood he had left, coated his body in thick dark patches. He would probably die in this infernal dessert, but at least she would be safe.

The unfortunate soul continued on his path-not like there was anything else to do- when suddenly the accursed sun was blocked from the sky, and a familiar pair of Italian boots blocked his path......

The Crimson Lotus Nightclub, Seattle, 11:03 p.m. November, 2, 2071.
Chapter 1. Rock The Casbah

The old Crimson Lotus had been built during the nineteen twenties, and as
such had seen many a better day. Judging by this small back room of the three story complex, thoughs better days had been quite some time ago. And judging by the noise from the main hall, the ancient nightclub was long from its well deserved rest.

It had been said that the Lotus was always the liveliest of any club in the metroplex, and this was true. In its youth it had been the favorite hotspot of the well-to-do, even through war and depression it had kept its reputation spotless. The counterculture came, and the lavish wallpaper began to fade, disco became all the rage, the cooper began to tarnish, recession and counterculture came and went and came again. By this time the ceiling began to sag and the carpets became thread bear, the paint cracked and all was forgotten. The swing, the jazz, society’s best and all the glamour that it entailed all of it gone.

Now the crimson Lotus stood a dark phantom of days gone by, a silent hulking monument to urban decay. But, it wasn’t all so bad. Not so long ago magic was granted a new lease on life and returned to the world with a vengeance. And then the vampires came.

Poseurs and genuine vampires alike now flock in droves to the crimson lotus to partake in their peculiar debauchery. They party here each night, loud techno, and every vice imaginable shake dust from the ceiling and plaster from the ages old walls. From sunrise to sunset the metahuman leaches celebrate sin. But little did the walking bats know, there were party crashers among their company.

This particular backroom was rather small; its intricate tile floor was filthy and cracked. The walls weren’t any better, the paint was peeling and large portions of the plaster had gone missing. The copper ceiling was hanging very low in places and what of the period furniture remained was ruined and scattered about the room.

The door to the dimly lit room opened with a loud squeak of protest and a young woman entered. Closing the door behind her Ruby Cardinal came into full view. She was of average height –oh 5’6” or so- and had a slender but healthy frame. As she walked in to the center of the room she brushed her swing bangs out of her face. Her hair was short and black with pink highlights, and she had a pretty face with soft benevolent features; just as well she was the only pacifist that any of the runners had ever met.

Pacifism wasn’t the only way that Ruby differed from the other people in the room. She wasn’t dressed in the usual black duster or spy turtle-neck. Ruby wore a black t-shirt with a large cartoon skull across the chest, she also wore a pair of skate shoes-white and pink-, a very short pair of denim shorts, and a white hooded sweatshirt, to top it all off. Her clothes, her hair, her face, her pale skin and her slight, underdeveloped figure gave her the look of a teenager. Just as well, she kind of acted like one.

From one of the dark corners of the room came a cultured snort. "Well, Daisy Duke returns,” the voice that said it had a hint of a cool Spanish accent. Ruby shot the dark corner the dirtiest of dirty looks. The faint warm glow of her brilliant jade green eyes-noticable only in the dark- intensified.

“Ha-ha,” the deep lovely voice continued “I was only joking, I would hate for the great Bubblegum to turn me into a toad.” Amelio, the voices owner, steeped into the dim light. He was perhaps the prettiest orc who had ever lived. His dark Latino skin was flawless, his tusks barely noticeable. The body he kept concealed underneath his fine tailored clothes was lean and muscular, not overly masculine.

His 6’3” frame was, a thing of beauty. Amelio smiled good naturedly at ruby, she glared back. He was in fact so pretty he could have passed for an elf. “If I did we could lose you with the other orcs, and do everyone a favor,” Ruby replied her glare replaced with a friendly smile. Her voice had a curious dark raspy quality. The pretty orc’s face twitched, visible between his curtains of long black hair; he hated being compaired to other orcs.

In the back of the room sits an elf; his name is Duncan Darkchaple, a man with a sever hatred of pain, cheap suits, manual labor and vampires. He didn’t come here to listen to his business partner argue with the hired help. No, his mission was much more serious than that………..

[Galvain7]

"Toichka."

The word was one of those impossible-to-translate expressions the Russian peoples were so inordinately fond of, and coming from the mouth of one Duncan Darkchapel it sounded like a curse. In fact, 'Toichka' was more like an adverb/adjective/noun with some genitive and motion verbiage thrown in for good measure. So yes, exactly like a curse.

'Toichka' was that feeling you get when you get in line and you are not sure what the line is for, or when you run out of tea the same day you catch a cold. Toichka described going to a shabby shop in shabby clothes to buy something you need but can not afford, only to meet your dream woman in the checkout line- and she doesn't remember your name. It was that sinking feeling you get when you polish off that last, precious, sacred bottle of pineapple schnapps, and realize you still have a stone cold sober week until payday.

'Toichka' perfectly matched standing practically alone in a club crammed with 500 or so monsters and their debauched hangers on, all of whom would fly into a neigh orgasmic fury once they realized they had a sworn enemy on premises.... only to get your cigarettes wet on the cab ride over.

"Toichka."- "Any second now, I'll sober up and realize this is just a bad dream, and go home. No reason to die today. I guess I could get an advance on that fee and buy a cruise missile. Wipe this place out Crimea style.... I could really use some caviar to take the edge off this budding hangover. The red kind though. I'm in a red sort of mood. No! Focus! Yes. I already brought all my crap, and if I don't get some heat before I go out side I'll catch a cold. Then what would my mother's ghost say? Heh."

Duncan digs though an ashtray and finds a few cigarette butts. Methodically, he cuts the waste-tobacco out of the butts and dumps them onto a recepit from the dry cleaners.

"Alucard! Stop that! You'll catch a cold! That's unclean and worse still, unfashionable! You'll never make the High Dark Coucil of Butter Seals if you keep shaming me! Wait until I tell your father, Mr. Elf!"

Bombardia-special cigarette complete, the man who called himself Duncan Darkchapel sauntered out of the back room into one of the adjoining hallways, methodically lighting the bum-smoke as he went.

Duncan spotted the faux-flunkie before he spotted Duncan, but whatever drugs pumping through the goth/steampunk/hot-topic affectionado catapulted the goon into a stand-ready before Duncan cleared the door.

"Sorry chap- this establishment has a dress code. I'm afraid we follow the guidlines set down in the Blood Nite setting. You'll have to leave."

Duncan narrowed his eyes. I quick glance around the room showed that Ruby and the suave Latino were out of far earshot. "Blood Nite is alright- if you're a schoolgirl with mommy issues." The goon gasped and nearly turned purple. "I find you Monthies have a limited concept of class."

"Why you little-" spat the goon, his chemically amplified reflexes tearing the gun out of its pleather holster. Duncan did not have time to draw his own weapon- so he flicked the still burning bum-cigar into the punk's open mouth.

The rouge maneuver produced the desired affect as the hot topic stock booster dropped the gun to clutch at his throat. Duncan would never publicly admit that he knew any ballet, but he did his mother proud with a side-sautee kick he next delivered with the top of his foot to the outside of the goon's left knee. He was rewarded with a satisfying snap as the lamed punk toppled to his knees- never let it be said that ballet had no practical uses. However, the knee-to-the-voice-box-maneuver was decidedly less graceful but ultimately as effective. With a gurgle the goth doorman collapsed into a heap.

The startled gasp from across the room alerted Duncan to the girl in the shadows, who must have been sent to keep Gurgle-Goon company. He was surprised, but his face gave nothing away as he turned to look at her. She was skinny, and in need of some better cosmetics. It also looked like the pleather corset was giving her a rash.

"Ohmygawd! Its.. its you! I uh.."

Duncan cut her off. "Tell me- who am I?"

"Ah... Ah... Ah..."

"Who. Am. I? Say my name." Duncan smiled.

"Alucard! Alucard 'the Elf' Bloodspike! Last Disciple of Steam and Cogs setting! Its really you. The armor. The gloves. The eyes. The... the ballet. I mean, holy-molly, you're famous! Ur... Infamous!"

Duncan crossed the room in two long strides and snatched the girls commlink with his left hand as he pulled her up by the front laces of the corset with his right hand. The move brought the girl forehead to nose with Duncan, and he held the commlink just out of her field of vison as he crushed it in his fist. Thankfully it was one of the cheap models that broke easily. Duncan was rewarded with a 'Meep' from the girl.

He studied her closely, spitting out his words in a staccato- ."You could be about 20 pounds heavier and still qualify as fashionable. The Groovy setting likes the curvy girls (they are more the peace and love type), and the upside is it will probably increase your cup size. Hurgles sells a hypo-allergenic setting fashion- including make up and corsets. The half starved look makes you desperate, and the sexy woman is never desperate unless she wants to be perceived that way. There's a dwarf on O'Hurgth street that give away commlinks to the down and out. Leave, now. Use the fire escape door. If you so much as breathe a warning to anyone in this dump, I will find you. Now, scram." With that Duncan gives the girl a gentle shove toward the fire escape and continues toward the room where Ruby is.

[The Walox]

As Duncan approaches the room where his associates have agreed to meet, He can’t help but hear the row inside.

“, and then you’ll be all alone, just you and that llama. . . TOADFACE!!!”

“You, how dare you, you perennially post pubescent faux emo harlot!”

“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!!?”

“You couldn’t have this if you WANTED IT!!!”

“Excuse me senior suave, you’re the one who propositioned ME!!”

“YOU WORTHLESS WITCH!!! I ought to…."

“YOU…..OUGHT……….TO………what…..”

Once inside the dismal meeting space the sight that meets Duncan isn’t a pleasant one. Ruby and the orc, Ameilo, are standing in the middle of the room, face to face. Ameilo pressing an ancient and elaborate flintlock pistol to the young woman’s forehead. Ruby merely stares back at the Latino gunman, a familiar look of stubborn defiance on her pretty delicate features.
The two seem to be frozen there, the orc livid, Ruby with her arms crossed, as if oblivious to the pistol so blatantly shoved in her face. Amelio was the first to break the stillness,

“I swear by this holy relic of the great Saint Sergio Greeneyes, I will shoot you,”

“Are you sure you can manage that, a shot from two inches away? That’s SUCH a long ways, careful, you might miss and hit Mr. Darkchaple.” Ruby interjects sarcastically cutting the orc’s soliloquy short. Amlieo breaks his eye contact with the girl and glances up; keeping the gun leveled at Ruby’s head.

From the depths of the dark steps another figure, tall, lean and curvy. Wizard had worked many jobs with the narcissistic Spaniard. And fearing for everyone’s safety thought it prudent to intervene. She strides gracefully to where the orc stands; the room’s lone light bulb casting a brilliant shine on her long golden red hair. An experienced assassin Wizard understood the importance of blending in and as such dressed in appropriate vampire attire. She wore a skirt so low and short it might have been a belt and a cropped halter that left her gorgeous abdomen bare; the shiny black leather of her thigh boots accentuating every muscle of her long sculpted legs.

In summary everything that made “vampire fashion” sexy and enticing Wizard seemed to be. With her heels she is just tall enough to put her mouth to Amelio’s ear, and whisper something. His left eye twitches and a painful grimace spreads across his handsome face. He –rather reluctantly- lowers the gun and gives Duncan a single nod. Ruby turns from the orc to greet Duncan.

The tense air that seemed to emanate from her but a few moments ago vanishes instantly as she makes her way to the surely elf. “Hey Duncan!” she says in her usual bubbly manner, “We’ve been waiting for you, what kept you?”

[Galvain7]

Duncan strolled through the door seemingly non-pulsed. He realized, certainly not for the first time, that handling this jolly team of misfits was going to be a great challenge. Despite their obvious differences, they all had a few things in common that were obvious. First, they were all skilled. That made them confident. But, second, they all had the enormous egos that kind of skill and confidence brings. Ameilo, Violet, and Ruby all had pride that bruised easier than a hemophiliac in a mosh pit- the Axe/Face kind. Duncan included himself in that category as well. Violet was professional enough and conscious of her reputation enough not to get caught up in petty things. And while Ruby bounced back better than a Buddhist, she had an impulsive streak that was as hard to predict as it was fearsome. Duncan barely suppressed a shudder. As long as he could keep Ruby away from Amelio and focused, this could work. It also helped that Ms. Wizard could keep Amelio in line- for now.

That was the other thing that bothered Duncan- tonight's Johnson- Ms. Wizard. Duncan did not like mysteries. Duncan especially did not like mysteries wrapped in a package labelled 'Tall, Blonde, Leggy. Handle with care. Fatal if mishandled.'

Vaguely he became aware of Ruby speaking at him.

"Nothing... exciting."

"Good evening, ladies, Senior Ameilo. I'm pleased to see you all here. Shall we get started?"

Duncan shifts through his tactical vest, looking his typical slightly annoyed self until he finds his wet pack of cigarettes. Opening the ruined carton slowly, he gingerly draws a crocked cigarette with his thumb and middle finger. Duncan's face tightens in concentration has he lights the pathetic looking death stick with a delicate aluminum lighter.

"Sigh. What a complete bother. Now, where were we? Ah yes. I certainly do not need to inform you that what we are about to do constitutes a minor war crime, which is indeed an elevated step from the usual grand larceny, tax evasion and homicide, premeditated or otherwise. Therefore, I would very much appreciate it if we could all be on our best behavior and stay frosty until the little genocide is complete, Da?"

Duncan takes a long drag on his cigarette before proceeding, careful to keep his gaze at neck and above as he addresses the one called Wizard.

"Ms. Wizard, I would like an updated persons of interest list- the heavy hitters so to speak for this collection of infected."

Looking at Ruby was much easier despite the fact that Ms. Cardinal was certainly as attractive, primarily because Duncan still thought of her as the disaffected gearhead farmgirl who tripped into the big city. Sooner or later she'll loose her nerve and go back the the spooky folks. Maybe this will be the job that does it... Certainly going to be messy enough.

"Ms. Cardinal, I would like a briefing on the buildings magical countermeasures, as well as any unusual auras from the people inside. You also my want to do some... stretches."

Turning to the Latino orc Duncan is careful not to use too commanding a tone to avoid offending the man's machismo.
"Senior Ameilo, you are on point, por favor. Any observations on the conventional arsenal would be much appreciated."

While this is all being spoken Duncan composes a quick text to the team tech Violet, and patches his contacts through his commlink so she can get a good view of the room.

In text message:
"Ms. Violet? I need a readout on the buildings physical security as well as how many doors, and how many windows big enough to fit a person, and the ventilation system. Also, can you gain access to the lights and power? The average Lone Star response time for this area of town would be appreciated. Are the doors run by mag lock?"

[The Walox]

“Stretches?” Ruby asks, a little confounded. She gives a bewildered shrug and moves off to a corner to begin her exercises. Mr. Elf works in mysterious ways, sometimes it’s better not to ask.

Wizard grabs her black trench coat off of a dilapidated sofa; Duncan catches a slight glimpse of some of the weapons stowed within. They all gleam in the peculiar malevolent manner that usually accompanies illegality. From a deep inside pocket Wizard produces a small glossy photograph and hands it to Duncan.

“Renault Germaine” ,she says, her voice has a dark, warm, seductive quality,” He is the brains behind this and hundreds of similar operations across the globe. He has murdered countless innocents for use as “cows”. Once he is dead most of these “feeding grounds” will simply fall apart. Germaine is doubtless the most dangerous individual in this room and he is MINE. Its personal.”, as she finishes her sentence her voice grows icy cold, deadly, though an observant man could detect just the slightest undertone of pain.

Wizard slides the black coat over her bare shoulders; its hemline falling nearly mid-thigh. “He has about ten goons for security and they are none too subtle, expect them to stay near him at all times. Being the ringleader of this organization-if one can call it that- Germaine will most certainly want to be the center of attention; expect to find him in high visibility areas. ”

Once finished Wizard sits down in the nearest sturdy arm chair. The photograph in Duncan’s hand is of man, average height, with a short trendy haircut, he is of slight build and wearing a fashionably tailored suit; without the jacket. His face is unremarkable and it is impossible to determine his age. At Wizard’s silence Amelio makes a polite bow and begins his briefing.

“Senior,” His voice is rich and cultured; if crushed velvet, harlequin romances and chocolate bon-bons could speak this is what they would sound like,"As anyone can plainly see we are at a slight advantage,” smiling he continues,” The monstrosities are as yet unaware of our presence and we are much better armed.”

He opens his black duster, the insides covered with pistols of every sort, “Most important are these,” He produces two ancient flintlocks, “Sacred, the pistols of St. Sergio, patron of thieves and plunders. Vampires have a strange allergy to sacred things, be it magic or divine providence I know not. As for you my comrade I recommend that you use the biggest guns you can; once in position of course. I would suggest hiding in the rafters and spaying leaden death from above. The guards are of an unimaginative sort and pack ether pistols or the occasional submachine gun.”

He flashes his dazzling smile as he rests his back against a wall and begins to pray. Ruby continues her stretches, flexing and bending in ways that her short shorts make a joy to behold. She takes Amelio’s prayers as her queue and still stretching, begins.

“I can feel the magic here, but I suspect it’s mostly for keeping other kinds of infected -and the like- out and mundanes in.” Ruby pauses, stretching her arms over her head and letting out a slight groan of pleasure, satisfied with her warm-ups she pulls a pair of black and white fingerless gloves out of her jacket pocket and slips them on.

“That’s actually the problem; the wards here won’t let the mundanes free until their conjurer, what’s his face, Gerome? Gerard?”

“Germaine” Wizard interjects.

“Yeah that guy; has called them off or he has died, wouldn’t want the cattle getting away would we?”Ruby pauses looking thoughtful,” that means you guys won’t be able to leave until sunrise or we kill Gary,”

“Germaine,” Wizard buts in, slightly agitated,” his name is Germaine, please take this seriously.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. Anyway as for auras I can only feel out two I think; one of them is defiantly this vampire guy and the other, urrr I can’t really tell.”She shrugs,”Sorry that’s all I got.”

Ruby stands by the door looking sheepish, she always hated being the bearer of bad news, and she knew that the others wouldn’t take the whole “trapped” thing very well.

Sometime during the proceedings Duncan gets a text from violet.
“Hey, Duncan I did some digging and this is what I came up with. The nightclub is off the grid -probably has a separate power supply, try the basement- nobody has ever bothered to connect it to the matrix so I can’t access the locks -they arent mags - or lights but I did find some old blueprints in the city archives. The duct work runs all over the building, if somebody was small and light enough I’m betting that it would take them through the entire building; as long as duct work was still in one piece. The only large windows are thoughs at street level however there are a few smaller windows against the back wall and at the front on the second floor; they are high up and let’s just say you couldn’t frequent Stuffer Shack and still get through. The building seems to have been fitted with a fire sprinkler system in the nineteen fifties. I doubt it works but a skilled set of hands could probably fix it. There are also service doors hidden throughout the structure, there is one straight down the hall from your location. Each one contains a ladder or passage way to some other part of the building. One might even have a passage to the third level or roof. Lone Star response time is one hour, providing that THIS address isn’t used, Lone Star doesn’t like messing with infected like this.”

Attached are the buildings blue prints and a P.S. “Hey boss, careful of the new chick, Wizard, she is packing some major ware’ I can’t id any of it."