Elder Sandbox (IC)

[Elurindel]

The people of New York are in a state of chaos. The Week of Nightmares has passed, and the Masquerade is hanging by a thread. The news is in uproar and wild speculation about nuclear weaponry detonated in India, and sightings of wild dogs roaming the city. Prominent criminal gangs have gone into uproar as leaders andmembers have gone on homicidal rampages and nobody save the most insane-sounding within the mortal communities claim to know what it all means.
You are among the few Elders within New York who lived through this week of Nightmares. It is time to pick up the pieces and carry on. A general call from other surviving Elders is to establish a place of Elysium to keep Kindred society spinning. So far The Flea has been settled on. A small, homey theatre, for a temporary Elysium until such time as a better one can be established. You know that among those going, there is a notorious drug dealer and fetish club runner simply known as Raith. A Toreador, notable for his propensity for occasionally getting his hands dirty and fawning more over states of bliss than can be reached with humans instead of art pieces. Beyond that, not every Elder has yet surfaced. The night is young, and you may wish to scout things out before heading there. However, what you do is up to you.

[james_steelhave]

Maximilian sat alone at his desk. Fingers crossed, leaning back in his chair, he looked out over the New York skyline. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, with rain splattering against the 10” bullet resistant glass window. High winds and a foot of rain the weather man on channel 7 said. It wasn’t the rain on Max’s mind.

The world going mad did, however. The past week saw nothing less than nuclear detonations over India. Stock markets reeled at the sudden impact of one of the world’s leading tech capitals now being evacuated under threat of radiation and fall out and the various kindred communities, primadonnas the whole lot, come unraveled at some old dooms day prophecy or another.

And through it all, Max simply slept. The start of the week saw him working a deal overseas, then once the Hurricane hit the markets where shut down. Once the nukes were detonated, all bets where off. Max simply didn’t notice anything amiss until the nukes went off. He then went into damage control mode, thinking that NYC may be a target again soon. World Trade 1, 9-11, the Times Square near miss, once the immediate threat passed, Max began to think. It wouldn’t be long until the Paki’s and the Indianans would seek revenge against whoever set off the nukes.

Max decided that now was as good a time as any to actively take a leading role in a city. He had spent the last 300 years working on Camarilla interests all over North America, starting right here in NYC. Now it’s time to actually enjoy the fruits of those labors started so long ago. A psychic call sent out an hour ago was about to pay off.

First, in walked Kristiana, Max’s tech specialist. A young thing (relatively speaking) just recently bound to Max with in the last 5 years. She began to set up and secure the network for the meeting. She was listening to some kind of noise that the youth of this country refer to as ‘music’, but to Max it was simply gibberish set to some kind of cacophonic tempest of thumps. No matter, it kept her focused on the task at hand, so much the better.

A short time later, Karl Probst, Max’s security chief entered the room, flanked by 2 mercenaries who served as room security. He quickly took a seat and linked his smartphone to the ad hoc network Kristiana set up.

“Complete security tonight, Herr Probst. There are big plans in the works tonight, and I want nothing interfering with them.” Max said to Karl, and somewhat to Kristiana, though it was unneeded, since she was a network security expert and this was standard issue for her.

“Ja, Herr Zoller.” Although Max was born ‘Maximilian I Hohenzollern’, he has since shortened it to ‘Zoller’ to avoid connections with that ancient Prussian house. Adapt to the modern times or get buried, as Max is fond of saying. “Radio silence.” Karl nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the secret, Max?” Kristiana said, typing away on her laptop. Max glowered in disappointment, but allowed certain laxities toward the youth of the group.

“All will be revealed in the meeting. You know I dislike repeating myself. Just know this, that a lot of events have ‘went down’ this last week, and I am taking steps to secure ourselves.”

“OK”, Kristiana nodded in agreement in her usual cheery self.

Max sat in quiet, looking out the window at the storm tossed sky of New York. He observed Det. Zimmerman, a long time NYPD homicide detective who was thoroughly corrupt, Max came in and saved his career with judicious use of Dominate. Now, he serves as Max’s eyes on the street during the day and occasional body puppet. He took a seat next to Kristiana. “What’s all the hubbub about?”

“Max is taking over the world,” Kristiana replied. The words brought a smile to Max’s face, but he said nothing. The thought was… amusing… to entertain, to say the least, but that would be for another time.

Finally, Yvonne, Max’s valet and bed warmer entered and had seat. Though she was dripping with sexuality and wasn’t afraid to use it, she was ultimately the most useless to the night’s operation. But she was required to attend. She would be bringing the car around later.

Once Yvonne was seated, Max turned around in his chair and approached the table.

“Excellent, you are all here,” he began.

“Yea boss, wha-“ Max cut off Zimmerman with a gesture.

“In due time, Herr Ermittler,” Max continued. “But first. As you may have known, there were several nuclear weapons detonated in India and Pakistan last week. What you may not know is that this was preceded with a massive, worldwide supernatural event now being referred to as the Week of Nightmares. The media is spinning this as a terrorist event, but I believe there may be more at work than I can figure out. Therefore, I have decided to take a leading hand in this cities affairs.”

The room was silent, while the retainers exchanged glances with each other.

After a few moments, Max continued. “This means the subsidiaries will be granted more autonomy than before. I will allow them to chart their own courses and manage themselves appropriately. ‘Max Zoller’ will continue on as chairman of the various boards as normal, but no more direct control. Kristiana, you will monitor the backdoors and select various agents to serve as your eyes and ears in the various IT departments, like discussed before. Just on a larger scale.

Herr Probst, you will also do the same but for the physical side of things. Begin screening applicants for middle manager positions, who will report to you on the happenings of the company. You will then create an executive summary and forward it to me. Understood?”

“Ja, Herr Zoller.”

“You each have a week from tomorrow to present your proposals on how best to accomplish this.”

“Yes” “Ja” they said in near unison.

“Herr Zimmerman.” Max said next. “You will be responsible for being eyes and ears in the city law enforcement and government. Did you put in for that Lieutenant job I mentioned?”

“Yea, boss. I ain’t heard back from them though.”

“I will take care of that on my end. I need you to keep an eye out for anything supernatural related. I will be taking an active role in this city’s Kindred population soon, and I will be putting together a task force to deal with supernatural incursions. But I also need you to keep up to date on the feds as well. No doubt they will be using their Department of Homeland Security on the city.

While I do not want the NYPD interfering with DHS in any fashion, I do want to know what they are poking around on, so I can take the appropriate steps to mitigate. Understood?”

“Yea boss.” Zimmerman’s Jersey accent was thick. This would be a challenge for Zimmerman, as his distaste for politics was well known. No matter, he needed to adapt and overcome.

“What about the cities vampires, boss?” That question came from Zimmerman, who dealt with the cities younger kindred population from time to time.

“’Kindred’, Herr Ermittler, kindred. Learn to use the correct terminology, lest you annoy someone of import. But, your question is a valid one, none the less. I will be meeting with them tonight at some dismal club called…” Max went to look for the name on his smartphone.

Max’s brow furrowed up at the name. “’The Flea’, ran by a Rose, name not given.” Max paused. “I guess I will need to delouse my suit when I am done with it. Fraulein Vogner, would you be so kind as to bring the Land Rover around?”

Yvonne looked confused. “Not the limo?”

“No, not the limo. I wish to avoid attention this evening and paparazzi are drawn towards limos. Just I, you in a power suit, and these two,” indicating the two guards, “as a security detail. Formal dress, discreet Kevlar, shoulder holsters only,” the two guards nod in agreement.

“Excellent, sir.”

Max nodded, and addressed the assembled. “I will be assuming a leadership position in this city soon enough. I know this is new territory for you, what with traveling around the country these past few decades. However, I believe now is the time to consolidate and put down roots for the time being. We will be relocating Maxisecurities to New York instead of Flagstaff, that way I have access to the mercenary force close at hand. We will also be buying out a few low end security firms around town to consolidate power within the city and to protect it from incursions from without.”

The assembled nodded in agreement. “Good. I leave you to your tasks. Dismissed.”

The retainers got up from the table, all except Yvonne and the two guards.

“Gentlemen, your tuxes are on the coat rack over there. Fraulein Vogner and I need to get dressed.”

Sometime later, Yvonne was driving a steel grey Land Rover to the theater known as The Flea.

“So, you excited to being seeing others of your kind, tonight Max?”

Max rubbed his chin in annoyance. “Excited is hardly the word I would use, my dear. You know that other kindred are a cruel, petty, capricious lot. The neonates of this city are a loud boisterous bunch, and the elders think they are some kind of clever cunning spy masters, which is further from the truth. No, I am not ‘excited’ to be meeting these kinds of idiots.”

Yvonne sat in silence for a moment. “What about others of your clan?”

“Fellow Ventrue? That would be welcome, if there are any others. Hopefully I won’t be stepping on any other toes tonight. Though, if there were any others, I would think I would have heard from them by now, unless they are laying low for the time being. That’s a possibility. In which case, it’s not my problem if they haven’t moved for Praxis by now. They are being slow and slow will get you killed.”

The rain has petered off by now, and the traffic was moving slowly as normal for NYC down town.

On a whim, Max glanced down at a Fox news ticker that was on his smart phone. “Millions dead from Kashmir Nukes” “Millions displaced from torrential flooding from sudden Typhoon” “NRC hazmat teams mobilize for India cleanup” “USNS Mercy and Comfort steam to the Indian Ocean bringing relief” where just some of the tickers scrolling by. Nuclear weapons discharge in the 21st century. Has the world gone mad? Who would do such a thing and better yet, why would they need to use them?

The SUV pulled up to the Flea, and Max and his guards got out. The theater was listed as ‘homey’ but Max though ‘dilapidated’ would be a better term. Once Yvonne parked the SUV, thanks to the lack of Valets, Max, with Yvonne on his arm with 2 security guards behind him, walked into the Flea.

“Let the games begin,” Max thought to himself as he walked in.

[james_steelhave]

Max is dressed in his very expensive formal ware.
Maximilian Hohenzollern (http://www1.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Josh+Lucas+Screening+Lionsgate+Lakeshore+Entertain ment+FuFzOWbI16nl.jpg)

Yvonne Wagner, the hot young thing on his arm.
Yvonne (http://www.hotphotosa.com/data/media/311/aaa_Rebecca_Romijn_hot_046_pics.jpg)

[Jallorn]

Arshad, that enigmatic assassin, had been first to the Elysium. That wasn't too astonishing, he had a history of getting to meetings earlier than he should. What was surprising was that he was there at all. Oh, he'd been taking part in Camarilla society more of late, but he had always been so rare at Elysium, rarer still when it mattered, that his presence after this last week was quite notable.

He still hadn't spoken to anyone, though he did seem to be saying things occassionally, perhaps to himself, up there on the catwalk. He only watched. Of course, he hadn't been greeted yet either, he wasn't that well known or liked, and with the exception of a few fledglings, it was rare that anyone spoke to him except on business, or if he spoke to them first.

His clothes were about as middle class as they could get, "form before fashion," he might have said if anyone asked. Navy blue cargo pants, probably military design, durable and flexible, a black shirt, and grey trenchcoat. The last was to conceal the short sword he wore at his side. He had taken the time to use the metal hooks on the scabbard to lock it in place, but it was more symbolic than meaningful; with his supernatural speed, the hooks were no real hindrence.

[Soras Teva Gee]

Warm flesh moaned and squirmed beneath him as he fed. Cool hands held steady and he allowed himself only the faintest of growls as pure ecstasy flowed into him. Yet it was ecstasy, the forbidden flower of life. Even after all these centuries the sensation was almost more then he could bear. Yet he did bear it, letting it wash into him, a river meeting the sea. Or so he visualized it at any rate.

Withdrawing he stood up. The woman let out a sigh at release and tension left her as she settled into the ample cushion beneath her, doubtless unconscious or soon to be. The small room was dominating by a ring of couches around a centered table. Its lighting was dim and yellow, just bright enough wall painted in an "Arabian Nights" theme, in the middle of the table a tall glass bottle contraption spewing hoses like a squid smoked quietly. The two were not alone, four more forms (two men, two women) slumped around the room, all similarly disheveled. Finally he'd had the chance to feed in earnest.

Shame it was but a stroke of luck, he'd come seeking two of his regulars that frequented this place and they had been with new friends. Like the woman he had saved for last, she said she was at Juiliard if he remembered correctly. Perhaps that musical talent explained the light sweetness of her blood. Maybe she would become a new part of his regulars, he would have to see. And learn her name for real. It had not been hard to arrange to talk the party into one of the club's private rooms, and from there what followed had been even easier to arrange.

Mikail's long tail thrashed in quiet satisfaction as he put his shirt and jacket back on, slipping feet that were not quite right back into custom shoes. Not that it was very likely any of the Kine would see either such inhumanity. Anymore then they'd seen his scarred face. Even his regulars did not know his true shape, only that he promised them a high purer then any drug they could buy or steal. A ware they paid for gladly with their blood. Putting his Armani back into place he slipped over his shoulders an even longer grey overcoat lined with fur in a lighter grey.

Exiting the room he willed himself to vanish entirely from unkeen eyes. He strolled invisibly through the rest of the club, which was also done out in what the owner no doubt fondly imagined was a true Arabic style. Which only made the hodgepodge of Ottoman and Arabic even worse. Still he could not help but like the nargile den, bad stereotype that it was, a little self mockery was good for the soul. Odd that it was rising here in the West while fools in Ankara deluding themselves on the Prophet had banned it from public display back home.

Exiting the club he climbed the steps up to the sidewalk. Lights bathed the city in a soft omnipresent glow. Especially here in his Lincoln Square, a center for performing arts its crowd was more well to do then other neighborhoods. A success in the City's new century of urban renewal. Mikail allowed himself a small moment to gloat, he'd spent a consider weight of his own coin in the area in addition to keeping out the riff-raff.

He spotted the girl waiting for him on the street at once. She was perched on a motorcyle all in black, something from the Japan as if that mattered. A more nimble way to get around the city then a motorized couch he supposed, small personal transport was not something he'd bothered to keep up beyond yet another commodity to trade.

"Such a dutiful girl," he purred in flowing Arabic as he approached, letting the words slip through the veil. "What message brings you here daughter mine?"

To her credit she only stiffened in surprise for the briefest of moment, a reaction yes but a controlled one. The reaction vanishing in but a moment the girl rose and took off her helmet. She was tall for her gender, slim with grace and athletic toned yet blessed with just enough flowing curves to draw the eye. Thick locks of dark red hair flowed out, framing dusky skin. Not only beauty but exotic beauty, it was almost a shame she'd never become a model. It had been that hair that first drawn her to him, and her pale grey eyes. He could remember her clearly still, the look of quiet desperation and mule stubborn will she had given him from across the orphanage. As if she known even then and was not afraid, sometimes that happened with young children he'd heard from a Malkavian once, too innocent to "know" what they should they went right to the truth. In such a brief time that child had blossomed into a woman, desperation slain and stubbornness tempered into cool self confidence. Farah had turned out more beautifully then he could have ever hoped.

She waited for him to fully appear before speaking. "Michelle couldn't reach your phone father. You didn't leave it in airplane mode again did you?"

Chuckling softly Mikael withdrew a smartphone from a pocket inside his voluminous coat. Farah had given it too him as his "greeting card" last New Years. As a tool it was truely invaluable and not his first, but he didn't understand this century's obsession with keeping it close at every single moment. Punching the touchpad he saw that his daughter had been right. He showed her the screen with a shrug. This was not the first time, he indulged his subordinates by refusing to rise to their chiding, glad he could take such liberties. His daughter sighed and shook her head.

"Right Cophenhagen will be waking up soon to email from their Indian offices. An Arleigh Burke happened upon some of Maersk's containers floating, but there's no sign of the crew. The destroyer lashed them to the boat to check them but opening let them sink. Bombay is doesn't think anything more is likely to turn up at this point." She reported.

"All the goods washed overboard were insured anyways. The lost seamen will look bad though. Still that should be everything then. Tell Michelle that the Maritime Group will take the position that it will see no need to moderate its support in light of these events, with all appropriate sympathies as well. Have the message sent by the time Copenhagen gets into work later tonight. And some quiet messages to other players in the industry. A storm is the time to tighten ties between crew, not flee the ship to unsettled waters. I will keep watch for good buys, others will be in a panic to sell but we have the footing to eat up marketshare from this." He said after a moment's thought.

"Okay then I will do that father. Would you like a ride to your meeting? Aren't you going to be late?"

"Only fashionably at worst and only a Tremere would worship the clock so. Remember stay away this night, my blood will make you an elder one day but this is beyond you for the nonce. No one expects our clan to arrive with escort anyways. We'll plan our response after I see the terrain. And I just fed, I shall fly I think."

The whole conversation passed in switching Arabic and Turkish making it unlikely anyone would pick up on it on pure chance in this city. But nothing had been said that couldn't be said anyways. Cupping Farah's chin he gave his daughter a quick kiss to show his affection and then strode away, resuming his veil. Less then a minute later he was airborne.


---------------------------

Landing and resuming his human form in an alley Mikail approached and entered alone. He'd dispensed with veils upon landing save for concealing the mark of his clan's curse until in Elysium proper. To any passerby he would doubtless still cut an imposing figure. The grey suit was impeccably tailored, respectable but still managing to hint at the power of the physical form beneath it. His long coat hung like a cape from his shoulders, the fur had something of a barbarian warlord too it perhaps. Something helped by the long scar stretching across Mikail's face, and the mix between one fierce eye and one a pale blind white worn without concealment. His movements sent a clear message, one of effortless purposeful movement.

It was in all the attitude of a common creature of New York City, the predator wrapped in man's skin. A shark escaped from Wall Street or a lion down from its sky scraping perch.

Appropriate for a gathering of elder Kindred, Mikail mused to himself as he entered.

[Elurindel]

The Flee doesn't look like much from the outside, but it's clear that a love of love has gone into its construction within. The bank of seats within the main stage has been well-maintained, and the stage itself has been set up to receive the main players of tonight's unscripted drama no doubt soon to unfold. Various Kindred seem to have made it to tonight's gathering. A number of Toreador, perhaps older than Raith, and his collection of sycophants, have gathered around the lobby where the posters of recent performances and those yet to come are posted and are talking excitedly about how Sigourney Weaver might be present for this or that event. Raith himself is in the seats, sipping from a flask.

A couple of Gangrel and Brujah neonates have gathered around the concessions desk, and are eyeing everybody who enters with caution, though there is no official security to speak of.

The Ventrue and Tremere have largely gathered around the Orchestra seats and are discussing things in hushed whispers. Those familiar with the city will recognise that a Primogen from each of the two Clans has survived, and are rapidly talking to one another while their lessers record their words on paper or their smartphones.

The Nosferatu are nowhere to be seen, yet everybody has at some point claimed to have seen them here.

The remaining four Malkavians that bothered to show up are up on stage. At some point they seem to have gotten into the props and are acting out a scene from The Omen amongst themselves, though their voices are loud enough to carry throughout the room.

[james_steelhave]

Max took a mental stock of each of the assembled cities Kindred, taking note of who looked like someone with some pull, and who looked like they had talents better suited to field work. He was going to need their assistance in getting the city back on track.

Max had Yvonne (the hot young thing that was with him) discreetly get pictures of the assembled kindred, so as to better gather useful information on them for future endeavors.

To his surprise, he did not know that many here. He has been gone too long from Kindred politics. He began to wonder if any assembled here might know him or know of him or if any fellow Ventrue where here as well.

[Soras Teva Gee]

Mikail moved about the room casually observing those that had arrived and making cordial overtures to those he knew or greeted him. He'd been in the city primarily for several decades now, and been a in and out of every major port on the Eastern Seaboard since they'd come into existence. Even for keeping to his own affairs that amounted to considerable presence in Kindred terms. Many in his clan didn't care for these affairs, but Mikail had always fount them useful. Not that he valued these gatherings for their own sake like the Toreador who thought the world ended when the party did, but social gatherings he had learned long ago staved off the Beast and that control was beyond price.

"Its good to see you this evening," he said as he sauntered by the group of his fellow Gangrel clansmen and their rabble hangers on, "Someone has to keep the shall we say... less martially capable... clans in line in times like this. Are we it or is anyone else expected?"

While listening to the reply Mikail took a position on the wall and casually looked about again. The turn out was quite high and some new faces too that suggested many shared the same concerns he did. Still it was what he wasn't seeing that was the real concern. It was the missing faces, particularly certain ugly ones. Which meant... there was a fair chance they were still here.

Silently Mikail opened his senses. Dull sounds became clear ringing tones, sights sharpened as colors grew intense, vibrations filtered up from his feet, and even the air gained a taste. This was his secret trick, for Gangrel were not known for their abilities with Auspex, but he was a master. It had seemed obvious to him even as a neonate, far for a predator senses were more important then speed or strength With all his senses now enhanced he scanned the room once more hunting for information

Heightened Senses of course.

Checking for both Obfuscating parties or anything else supernatural and more mundane information like interesting tibits people think they are being too quiet for anyone to overhear:

Perception + Awareness:
[roll0]

Perception + Alertness:
[roll1]

Edit: Oh and that's Auspex 6 for the rating.

[Elurindel]

"Hey." an older Gangrel looks you over with deep brown eyes, holding himself confidently. "We're doin' what we can, but nobody's submitted to weapons checks yet. Can't convince anybody that the Camarilla still has power here yet."

You catch the sightings of a couple of Nosferatu up in the rafters, pouring over tablets. You can also see a Malkavian up on stage Obfuscated behind his fellows, dressed in rags and shaking his head at the capering of his sons. He looks up, and realises you can see you, and gives you a knowing wink.

[Soras Teva Gee]

"Hmm..." Mikail mumbled in response as if in response to his clansmen, but in truth from the expected but still annoying revelation of hidden parties. And what was the Malkavian playing at, no way to know there. Probably just coincidence. He was increasingly glad he'd kept Farah away. "This seems to be Elysium in name only this night."

"Damn weapons check be waste of time tonight anyways. Too many crazies this week, and not the normal ones, I'd rather someone pull a damn gun out at this point. Would have said someone's running the show though, that'd be nice. What's it they say about if you want something done right..."

[Elurindel]

"I hear ya." he replies. Each of them reaches inside various jackets and displays their own collection of heavy pistols or submachine guns. "We're ready to keep the peace if necessary. I have a feeling tonight. Something don't smell right, and few people showin' up. Not much trust in Cammy law anymore. One Kindred was just some wanderin' bum. Not even sure what clan he's from."

[james_steelhave]

Max continues to scan the crowd, and notices a group of rough looking kindred congregating together. They seemed too controlled for typical Brujah, Max guessed, so he figured some other clan with strong unity, Gangrel perhaps. Either way, he figured that now would be as good a time as any to make introductions.

He made his way over to the group, and waited for the current speaker to finish.

"Then perhaps we should start by referring it to it's correct name instead of stupid euphemisms. Why should any kindred fear something called 'Cammy' law?"

With the following annoyed looks on the assembled faces, Max followed up rather quickly.

"Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce myself. Maximilian Hohenzollern, of Clan Ventrue."

[Jallorn]

From up in the catwalk, Arshad scanned the assembled vampires. He briefly considered evesdropping on the Ventrue and Tremere Primogens, but it was too public, there would be information of real value. Plus, he could probably buy the information from the Nosferatu later. Of the rest, well, the Toreador still obsessed themselves with a world that was in more danger than the world of the Vampires, the Gangrel and Bruja were concerned with security apparently, as if such a thing existed when there were Elders around, and the Malkavians, they were as inscrutable as ever. Actually, they might be rather interesting.

Cloaking himself in Obfuscate, so as to not distract the others from their oh so important conversations, and more to keep them from being too interested in him, Arshad leapt from the catwalk, landing with superhuman grave upon the stage, albeit with some impact. He moved behind the curtains before dropping his concealment, and approached the Malkavians unhurriedly, remaining a polite distance while he watched their antics. There would be time for questions soon.

[Elurindel]

The assorted Brujah and Gangrel tighten fists or snarl with disapproving looks.

"Coming down from your ivory ****in' tower to tell us how to run things?" one of the younger Burjah sneers. "You Cammies are all the same. Nothin' in it for the little vamp, but oh when you want somethin' or to get your rocks off shovin' the laws down our throats, there ya ****in' are! ****, things have gone to hell in a handbasket already. Why the hell are we supposed to follow some crusty old bastard's words because he finally thought to stop sleepin' while the world moved on without him, huh?"

[Soras Teva Gee]

Still watching his surroundings with keen interest, Mikail let his youngers vent themselves for a moment. He noted one of the shapes above detach itself from its perch and head down. Fascinating, that one was not a greyface by any means. By his actions he didn't seem aware of them either. That was truly of interest. But first he needed to deal with the situation in front of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen... do shut up," Mikail said in an even tone. His voice not particularly loud, but brooking no disagreement.

Truly his clan and the rabble as well deserved their reputation for being uncultured and it was always problematic. The name Hohenzollern rang several bells. Antagonizing an elder was always stupid, as was someone with standing in what passed for the overarching government of the Kindred in the West. Still he didn't really disagree with their sentiment, and the much higher chance of it being honest was welcome. The two together though provided an excellent chance though. He met the Ventrue's eyes steadily and continued.

"Mikail Arslan, Primogen of Clan Gangrel in these most recent nights. Of late almost everywhere." He said by way of introduction, "And formality always seems to be of least concern in the end. I seem to recall witty nicknames for the 'Cammy' practically the night after it formed. Only then it was Princes making them. They laughed but joined in the end, words are wind."

"I do not believe we have met Maximilian, or I've forgotten the meeting. Is there some particular reason you approached us and are not with your own clan's representative. It cannot be simply to discuss a lack of decorum."

There a touch of emphasis on his age and a show of authority, with a test to see what this blue blood might have heard of him. If the other rose too it.

[james_steelhave]

The assorted Brujah and Gangrel tighten fists or snarl with disapproving looks.

"Coming down from your ivory ****in' tower to tell us how to run things?" one of the younger Brujah sneers. "You Cammies are all the same. Nothin' in it for the little vamp, but oh when you want somethin' or to get your rocks off shovin' the laws down our throats, there ya ****in' are! ****, things have gone to hell in a hand basket already. Why the hell are we supposed to follow some crusty old bastard's words because he finally thought to stop sleepin' while the world moved on without him, huh?"

*Max simply takes the tirade in stride, letting the young rabble vent. When he was finished, he turned to regard the elder Gangrel as the Gangrel spoke with an air of authority and one of grace.*


Still watching his surroundings with keen interest, Mikail let his youngers vent themselves for a moment. He noted one of the shapes above detach itself from its perch and head down. Fascinating, that one was not a greyface by any means. By his actions he didn't seem aware of them either. That was truly of interest. But first he needed to deal with the situation in front of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen... do shut up," Mikail said in an even tone. His voice not particularly loud, but brooking no disagreement.

Truly his clan and the rabble as well deserved their reputation for being uncultured and it was always problematic. The name Hohenzollern rang several bells. Antagonizing an elder was always stupid, as was someone with standing in what passed for the overarching government of the Kindred in the West. Still he didn't really disagree with their sentiment, and the much higher chance of it being honest was welcome. The two together though provided an excellent chance though. He met the Ventrue's eyes steadily and continued.

"Mikail Arslan, Primogen of Clan Gangrel in these most recent nights. Of late almost everywhere." He said by way of introduction, "And formality always seems to be of least concern in the end. I seem to recall witty nicknames for the 'Cammy' practically the night after it formed. Only then it was Princes making them. They laughed but joined in the end, words are wind."

"I do not believe we have met Maximilian, or I've forgotten the meeting. Is there some particular reason you approached us and are not with your own clan's representative. It cannot be simply to discuss a lack of decorum."

There a touch of emphasis on his age and a show of authority, with a test to see what this blue blood might have heard of him. If the other rose too it.

*The 'do shut up' remark brought a smirk to Max's face.*

"A pleasure to meet you, Primogen Arslan. And the young Brujah is correct. The leadership shown as of late has been rather... pathetic. That is the reason for my not being with "my clan representative", I do not see any of my clan that are of note and if they were, they certainly don't deserve to be in my presence for allowing such chaos to descend on this city. I seek to redress such an abysmal state of things, especially in this city."

*He turns to regard the 'young' Brujah personally.* "I admit that I have been very absent as of late, attending to my own affairs for the past few decades. *sighs in despair* I leave for a few decades and everything turns to '****', to use the current vernacular.

This latest bit of chaos in the world has brought me back into local events for the time being. You seem to have a good ear to the ground, Mr <insert name here>. You are right to be pissed at the current state of affairs, improper discourse not withstanding.

No one here at this meeting has to do anything I suggest. But unlike most of the street rabble assembled here, I have something they do not. A plan."

[McStabbington]

A hand gently fell on the Brujah's shoulder. Artorius shrugged back the blanket that he had used as a cloak since God had guided him to what used to be Londinium with the other, revealing his face, before clasping it about himself again to cover the thin rags he was dressed in.

"Peace, brother. This is Elysium," Artorius said, his Latin still as flawless as his voice was deep and resonant.

He drew himself up to his full commanding height, which as it had in life meant he stood half a head taller than most of the others. His piercing blue eyes locked with the softer blue eyes of the man wearing . . . well, Artorius was not exactly sure what he was wearing. But from the bearing and casual manner of command, Artorius would have known a Ventrue if he were stark naked.

"On behalf of my Clan, I apologize for his words. He is young, and a Zealot. I have no doubt such a momentary lapse might be forgiven," Artorius continued in Latin, his eyebrow cocking upward ever so slightly as he took the measure of the Patrician.


I can't find such a picture, but basically envision this guy with a beard and a long black braid down his back and you've got him.

http://alextrenoweth.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/paul-newman1.jpg

[james_steelhave]

On behalf of my Clan, I apologize for his words. He is young, and a Zealot. I have no doubt such a momentary lapse might be forgiven," Artorius continued in Latin, his eyebrow cocking upward ever so slightly as he took the measure of the Patrician.

"No apologizes needed, especially when one's words ring true. I see that the fire of the learned clan still beats strong this night. I did not catch your name, Mr..?"

[McStabbington]

Artorius squinted, trying to follow the tongue the man spoke. It had the feel and played in his mouth like Old Saxon, but the words were strange, some from the Latin, some perhaps from the Saxon tongue and some foreign altogether.

"I must apologize again, but I do not understand your words. I have slept long, and only recently awoken," Artorius said in the Latin tongue. "In the days of old Latin and the ancient Greek were the common tongues of the Clans." He switched seamlessly to the ancient Greek. "Mayhap you are familiar with one of those. If so, I would gladly parlay with you."

[james_steelhave]

"Sorry friend, but Ich spreche Deutsch (I speak German), Ya govoryu na russkom (I speak Russian), Je parle le français (I speak French), en ik spreek Nederlands (I speak dutch), and of course, ze King's English. Latin is a fine tongue, to be sure, but not much spoken these days."

(German (N), Russian, Dutch, French, and English. Max does have a strong German accent)

[McStabbington]

Artorius' mouth crinkled in frustration. What are sires teaching their children? He breathed in once, out again. His eyes closed as he called on other languages Gersakkun had known. He could remember many of them right off the top of his head, but most of them were far too old for the Patrician to know if he was too young to know Latin. He picked out about ten of them, all tied to languages that his sire had known in the Roman days, as well as the Vulgar Latinate he had heard in Breton before the end. His eyes opened.

"If you, or anyone else can understand this, please let me know," he said, in his best Gaulic. Then he spoke the same sentence again in Gothic. Then Punic. Then Aramaic. Then Brittonic. Then Old North Arabian. Then Coptic. Then Dacian. Then Thracian. Then Parthian.

(OOC Note: If Arshad is Muslim, he might recognize Old North Arabian as a very archaic form of the Classical Arabian in which Mohammed wrote the Koran. Pronunciation and some of the wording had changed, but it would be roughly like the difference between Shakespeare's Middle English and the modern).

[Elurindel]

A man in a scruffy overcoat with a wild, unkempt beard and long greasy hair makes his way over, exuding the odor of too much coffee and whiskey meant to keep out the cold. His eyes betray the rest of his appearance however, and look very old, very focused and intelligent.
"It's been a long time since I heard some of the older dialects." he says in slightly slurred Latin. "But the wheel turns onward, and only leaves behind those that do not move." He turns to translate to the others what Artorius was saying.
"But hey, it's rude to just barge in unun...an...without bein' invited." he slurrs again. "Name's Abraham. And I'm mostly jus' passin' through."

[McStabbington]

Relief washed over Artorius. "No apologies necessary, my friend," his resonant baritone switching back to Latin. "You have spared me a great indignity, to be at Elysium and not contribute, and for that you have my thanks. Please extend my sincerest apologies to the Patrician and the others for not knowing the . . . local tongue. Might I know your Clan, brother Abraham, that I may know to whom my thanks have gone to? I have apparently missed much, and would rather not offend by guessing."

[Elurindel]

Abraham takes a swig of something from a brown paper bag. You can smell potent alcohol mixed with blood in there. "Brujah, for what it's worth." he shrugs. "I'm mos'ly passin' through, but I heard there was gonna be an entertainin' performance here. Looks like they were right."

[james_steelhave]

*Max nods his head in approval.*
(Eng): Sounds like we have a connection here. Mind if I ask what is being said?" *Max said to the scruffy looking, yet well spoken Brujah.

[McStabbington]

"Brother Abraham, I have no domain, but have you need in the future, you shall always be welcome in mine." He nodded deeply at the man, then continued. "If you would be so kind, I have two further indulgences to ask of you. Since the Patrician is doubtless curious, please tell him that he has the pleasure of addressing Artorius, he who was long ago known as the grandchilde of Troile. I have awoken from long slumber, and come forth to present myself in honor of our Traditions." At this, he paused to nod respectfully to the smaller man in front of him before continuing.

"The second is to give voice to the rest of the Zealots. I am likely one of the eldest, but we are Brujah, and our way has never been to assume power without asking. I am an outlander in this city, and if I were to speak with any authority, I must first have it. Education seems to have grown somewhat lapse in my long torpor, and I expect few of the Zealots would understand my words." He nodded again and looked down at the young Zealot he had shielded from the Patrician and the Animal.

[Elurindel]

Abraham effortlessly fills in everybody for what is being said. He looks over the Brujah who had spoken up.

"Kid, it's ok. The Ventrue are a bunch of *******s, but let them have the headache of runnin' the place. That way if it burns to the ground it's their fault." he chuckles uproariously, which is joined in, though with somewhat less volume by the younger Brujah. He then puts a hairy arm around the outspoken Kindred's tattooed shoulders, effortlessly making himself personable without violating the clearly twitchy man's sense of personal space.
"It's like this: Your Elders know it best. You really wanna change things in this dusty ol' system, you gotta do it from within. Now, can anybody spot me some of the good stuff? I'm fixin' to bite my own arm here."

[james_steelhave]

"More truth from Mr. Abraham. Both valid points. Where do you come from, Mr. Abraham?"

[Elurindel]

"Ugh, around." he gestures in a shrug that encompasses most of the room. "I don't like to talk about it. People ask too many questions."

[McStabbington]

Artorius nodded respectfully again at the Animal and the Patrician, and then quietly sat near Abraham, briefly removing the blanket to reveal the rags beneath. He still did not know exactly who had dressed him after his final battle, but it had been sumptuous brocade, silk and sable garments. For his time, there were no finer, and were certainly more than his typical leather, linen and steel. But that had been an age past, and in the interim they had decayed to rags that barely hung on his powerful frame. The sword he had in his hands had rusted to nothing, leaving a stain down the front. With a flick of his hand and a pull of his neck muscles, he drew free the long black braid of hair that trailed down his back, making sure he didn't sit on the end.

He watched the other Zealots. Most seemed young. All seemed agitated. And isolated. He thought back to the dismissive tone the Animal had taken with the neonate of his Clan. He had thought that it might have been a youthful mistake, but as he watched the others circle but not mingle, he considered that there might be something deeper. That the Zealots of this city might have let their rage completely isolate them.

When there was a break in the conversation between Abraham and the other Kindred, he leaned over and spoke softly to Abraham in Latin. "What was our young friend objecting to, anyway? I know not the politics of this city."

[james_steelhave]

"Ugh, around." he gestures in a shrug that encompasses most of the room. "I don't like to talk about it. People ask too many questions."

*Max nodded.* "I can understand keeping your secrets close. Though your friend there seems to be rather out of touch. I would advise teaching him the King's English and bring him up to date on Kindred laws."

*Max turned back to Arslan.*

"As I mentioned, I have a plan to reorganize the city in light of recent troubles. I would love to discuss this in further detail, in a more secure environment."

[Elurindel]

Artorius nodded respectfully again at the Animal and the Patrician, and then quietly sat near Abraham, briefly removing the blanket to reveal the rags beneath. He still did not know exactly who had dressed him after his final battle, but it had been sumptuous brocade, silk and sable garments. For his time, there were no finer, and were certainly more than his typical leather, linen and steel. But that had been an age past, and in the interim they had decayed to rags that barely hung on his powerful frame. The sword he had in his hands had rusted to nothing, leaving a stain down the front. With a flick of his hand and a pull of his neck muscles, he drew free the long black braid of hair that trailed down his back, making sure he didn't sit on the end.

He watched the other Zealots. Most seemed young. All seemed agitated. And isolated. He thought back to the dismissive tone the Animal had taken with the neonate of his Clan. He had thought that it might have been a youthful mistake, but as he watched the others circle but not mingle, he considered that there might be something deeper. That the Zealots of this city might have let their rage completely isolate them.

When there was a break in the conversation between Abraham and the other Kindred, he leaned over and spoke softly to Abraham in Latin. "What was our young friend objecting to, anyway? I know not the politics of this city."

Abraham belches, but he looks around, a bit of an uneasy edge to them. "Oh, you know. Believing the ivory tower has more power than it should, takes everything and gives nothing...excuse me." he detaches for a minute or two, and returns with a handful of freshly-killed rats, and begins slurping on them, tossing them into a garbage bag he must have found from somewhere.
"Ahhh, that's better." he gasps. "Was ready to bite my arm then."

[McStabbington]

Artorius

Artorius frowned, his brow creased as he puzzled over the meaning of "ivory tower." From the expression, it was clearly negative, and the visual clearly tracked what the Ventrue typically thought of themselves as being compared with . . . well, everyone. Like most idioms, he'd have to hear it used in more contexts to decipher its meaning. As Abraham finished his rats, Artorius leaned over once more. "What would the neonates prefer from their leader? How have the Prince and Primogen failed the city?"

[Jallorn]

Finally tired of watching the crazies acting, Arshad steps forward, Pardon the interruption, but I was hoping that one of you might be a seer. I know the propensity of those of your clan to see things others don't, and I consider it undervalued. More than that, if you can convince me of your ability, I pay quite well.