Logs:Manuel Ward
Cast
PCs: Magnus, Irina, Mabel, Percy, Etienne, Azar, Scarpia, and Lilena
NPCs: Sergio DeSantis, Camile LeFebvre, Sarah Anne Winder, Katy Cox, Charles Pang, Camille LeFebvre, Zora Pavlova
Synopsis
May 6, 2021: At the Green Room in San Francisco, Prince Winder has the Praxis guess the identity of the guest that her Sheriff and Nosferatu Primogen drag before the Court. He is hauled off for interrogation.
Log
Contents
Magnus arrives punctually at the prescribed time. Dressed in his usual well tailored suit that probably costs most than a year's rent in most places, he navigates the various security checks, handing his coat off with a polite bow to Katy. Arriving in the main area, he pauses to give an aristocratic bow to the Prince, followed by one to his Primogen. He'll settle himself into an open seat near Luna, giving respectful nods to anyone who acknowledges his entry.
Azar is - predictably - dressed in her usual chador. Arms loosely crossed over her chest, she swings her gaze about with the sort of languid serenity she is known for, smiling and dipping her head to those members of the Court she recognises. She does not yet sit.
Irina arrives a bit after magnus, wearing a custom-fitted dress that costs exactly as much as Magnus' suit... plus one dollar. (Kidding!) No she's wearing a rather elegant one-shouldered black dress that whispers against the floor as she walks. She lacks a coat, however, ahving nothing to give to Katy. Instead she offers Winder a brief but respectful incline of her head and stands off to the side.
Lilena comes in wearing a beautifully multclolored sparkly dress that flows on the ground as she walks, one arm is hooked with Azar's as they both enter the room. She doesn't part from Azar's arm just yet. For the time being she is looking around.
As Kindred file in, Winder and three of her Primogen (Luna of clan Tremere, Sergio of Brujah, Charles of Toreador) are also at the table. Her Seneschal Farhad sits next to her, at the corner of the table, as she is seated at the head. The Green Room is a large space, sufficient for wedding banquets and other gatherings, and so there is an empty swath of floor opposite her, from where a chandelier hangs above.
"Magnus." Luna Demian addresses her contermporary. "Good of you to come." Winder keeps her eyes on the door. She watches it, fixated, like a cat tracking particularly interesting prey. Waiting on something she knows is comin.
"Madam Azar," Luna says, speaking again, as the woman flows in. Farhad receives her with a smile that indicates her welcome, and gestures to invite her to sit. "Please, thank you for coming."
"Ahh! Miss Rosu," Winder finally speaks. "Thank you for coming!" And yet the Prince's attention remains on that door, and her potential special guest.
A voice slinks in from the hall leading in. Clacking heels. Too many footsteps. Camille LeFebvre. "...We are going to come in here like the /good friends/ we are, darling, ad you're going to tell the nice lady who you are, and where you're from."
Lilena leans close to Azar and speaks softly to her. "So, this is court? I am a tad bit nervous? Is anything special expected out of me tonight? "
Magnus sits relaxed and yet somehow looking to be at attention at the same time. Those old Prussian mannerisms just never leave you. He gives a little nod and polite smile to Azar as he sees her arrive, then turning to Luna, speaking quietly, "Good to see you as always, Madame. All is well, I trust?" He vaguely wonders why several people seem to have shrunk or grown a few inches in a matter of minutes.
"Nothing unusual," Azar murmurs back to her ghoul. "Stand. Be respectful. Be polite. Follow any orders given." And with that said, she looks across at Luna, thanking her in turn, before sliding into a seat and turning so as to watch whatever commotion is starting up in the entrance hall.
Something Winder says has Irina's cheek twitching lightly and her brow raising but she doesn't comment on it. Instead she nods. Just so. Otherwise the woman is silent for the moment and standing off to the side, allowing others space to involve themselves.
Lilena stands beside Azar where ever she chooses to take a seat and she to does look at the commotion going on in the hall, being very observant of her surroundings.
Appearing out of thin air at the door arrives Mabel, giving Katy a small smile in greeting. She stands in all her half-dead glory. Each scalloped at the hems, she wears a purple velvet blouse and brown velvet shorts, brown suede boots adorning her feet and a black choker about her neck. This leaves the old scars, which look more akin to the death wounds of a corpse, encircling her left mid-shin, right elbow, and right mid-thigh. She doesn't have a coat or anything to give Katy, so she simply tilts her head and wanders in. She smiles upon sighting Azar, casually moving to stand beside the chador-clad woman. Cold gray eyes flicker to Lilena, giving her a brief once-over, brow arching lightly. A small bow is afforded the table of dignitaries, peeking momentarily at the Brujah Primogen.
A gold-masked entrant makes his way in just ahead of the commotion, the mask contoured - precisely - into the angles of Etienne's face, for those who might know him. Voluminous black curls hang in an obscenely dark spray out behind him, clearly scented (for those lucky enough to be close to him) with ambergris and myrrh - medicinal and astringent. His outfit looks to be made out of gold leaf, or at least plated in it, reflecting every hint of light in the room in a glittering, sparkly flutter of movement and eye-catching brilliance. Over the shirt and pants is a large, perfectly white mink coat - dozens of heads hanging in an organized line down from his left shoulder to his right hip, flapping gently with each over-done step. And lastly, on his feet, there are a pair of shiny gold Oxford dress shoes as eye catching as the rest of his ensemble. Upon arrival, his hand lifts to take the mask and tilt it aside, revealing that it is, in fact, Etienne - the golden mask tucked casually into one of the interior pockets in his decidedly-not-cruelty-free coat.
Lilena notices the other woman look at her breifly and she smiles to her a causal warm smile.
The Guest
Winder's smoky eyes flit over to Etienne and the faintest smirk bleeds into her discerning expression. That smirk lingers just a moment longer, this time focused on the ghoul. Luna Demian also turns her attention to Lilena. Luna is a middle-aged woman, with frosty hair from grey flecks, her features square and stern, her manner of dress and the way she carries herself rather stiff and matronly. "Why don't you get us something to drink?" Luna gestures off towards a door, where the help probably is. "I'll have the merlot."
Of course, Luna means blood.
Etienne makes an entrance that captures the Toreador Primogen's eyes, which stir with the beauty of Etienne's mask and its craftsmanship. His lips part just a touch, stunned. "Good evening, Monsieur D'Orleans!" Sergio's bass-filled voice cuts through Charles's reverie to try to shake him. Sergio stands, radiating a charismatic, welcoming aura as he pushes back a seat to invite the Toreador to the table. "Wonderful to see you! Where DID you get that outfit!"
But the introductions are about to get interrupted: that voice that was down the hall comes closer, and with it, the shuffling of two or three pairs of footsteps. "Don't you worry darling," Camille's familiar voice says, louder this time from the proximity. "It's almost all over!"
The sets of footsteps scuttle to the doors. Quickly, the doors open, and Katy startles like she'd seen a mouse, biting back a look of disgust as Camille LeFebvre, the Nosferatu primogen, barges on in. Camille is an older woman who has made herself presentable and acceptable to the eye, even if her outfit is awkward, even if the gloves she wears feel more like hiding some horrible orangutan feethands than a fashion choice.
Regardless, Camille is accompanied by Zora Pavlova, Malkavian and Sheriff, who has a hold of some young, Hispanic man (he's probably 5'7", if you had to guess). Between Zora's zealotous death-grip and the garbage can lids that Camille LeFebvre calls hands, this ashen-faced stranger in his thirties is going nowhere but where these two ladies want him.
Winder's expression /delights/ as they drop in, and she rises fluidly to her feet. "Ladies and gentlemen! Monsieurs D'Orleans, Von Moltke," she says, with a fluid gesture toward the both of them. "Madames Rosu, Azar, Mousavi, arranged friends." She clasps her hands in front of her with a sharp smile. "Thank you so much for coming!" Zora and Camille (wo)manhandle the stranger into a chair at the opposite part of the table, shoved into a seat by an eager Pavlova. "We have a special guest tonight! Do any of you recognize this gentleman I see before me?"
Lilena looks to where she is directed to go and get the drinks from, she nods. "Yes, ma'am. Azar, what would you like to drink the same for you as well?" She asks before she is headed off to get the drinks.
The mask is touched through the mink coat as Etienne begins to make his way over toward the Toreador Primogen, his hand lifting in a modest wave, "Oh darling, I has one of the ghouls put on the Valentino show in Rome. Pierpaolo Piccioli put out a line of couture that blew me away. I just had to have it. So I had my tailor whip up something similar, and paired it with a new coat." he says, reaching up to tug at the neckline of his coat, causing the heads of the mink to jiggle once more.
He's distracted by Window and he dips his head, going quiet and listening with a faint smile.
As Etienne comes in, Mabel's face contorts in a mild form of revulsion. She coughs lightly, then turns to the intrusive presence. She peers at him a moment, appreciating the costume, then remarks, "you're positively...flamboyant tonight." She rubs at her nose, then grins at Lilena, "who might this be, Miss Azar?" She winces then, as Sergio lets out that shout, turning to watch him greet the gold-enameled man. Her eyes lid slightly, and she falls silent to observe the interaction. Or at least, that's what she expected to do, until Camille arrived. She smiles graciously and stoops into a respectful bow, "Primogen Lefebvre." She rises to look skeptically at the Hispanic man. A shake of her head, "can't say that I do..."
Minu Mousavi is here. She is here dressed in black. Oh, sure, it's a fine black. It's all very attractive and well done, but it's still very black, and in keeping with a degree of appropriate modesty. Her shoes are, perhaps, her one concession to vanity. Strappy heels, it would appear, absolutely not designed for running today. Then again, if she's running this evening, something has gone terribly wrong at the Court.
For her, anyway.
Still, she's been present, been quiet. Tight. Controlled. Her hands are folded together neatly in front of her as she observes the ongoing conversations, but she has yet to engage in them.
Irina frowns lightly at the sight of the man, looking from him then back to the Prince. "I can say that I recognize him." Irina begins with a soft, steady tone. "Though how this poor creature came into your possession is the more important story, is it not?" The woman asks towards Winder.
Azar waves a hand dismissively at Lilena: no, she would not like a drink just yet. "My ghoul, Lilena," she tells Mabel in an offhanded sort of manner, her attention very much upon the newcomer. At the Prince's question, she takes a moment to consider, then raises her voice to speak. "Manuel Ward. Caitiff. Rumoured to be Sabbat, Prince Winder."
Lilena soon comes back with a drink for Mabele and hands it off to her. "Here you are Ma'am. " She stands and waits to be given more intsructions.
Sergio listens in actual appreciation for ART, the work of art that is the Toreador! Charles Pang sucks in some air, centering himself. "It is a very fine, beautiful piece of work," Charles agrees. But that's about as far as he can get before the arrival of Camille, the Sheriff, and the dropping of this guy into the chair.
"Dearie," Camille says to Mabel in acknowledgement, but her focus is mostly on the man she brought in. She gives the stranger a look that dares him to try something, then takes a seat right next to him.
Zora remains standing, taking one step back, her arms crossing loosely before her. Taciturn as usual, the Slavic Malkavian puts on her resting slav face.
"I see!" Winder says to Azar. But her attention then turns to Irina. "And what do you know of this man?"
"That he likely joined the Anarchs or Sabbat some... 15 or 16 years ago when he and his kind were kicked out of the Camarilla and exterminated." From the sound of it Irina's not especially pleased about the incident.
Etienne stays quiet for now, though from time to time he shifts and preens just a touch beneath Sergio's attention. At the word caitiff he frowns suddenly and reaches into his coat to pull the mask out and slip it back on. As if to shield himself from the eyes of the Caitiff. It seems to not make any difference that the mask is, itself, a literal image of his face carved out of gold.
Mabel blinks at Lilena, then gives her a wide-mouthed grin. If her fangs were out, she'd look quite unnerving - as it is, being deathly pale, she's only slightly unnerving. She takes the drink and swirls it about, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "One more merlot, please." Then, with an idle shrug, she strolls towards Luna and cheerfully extends the beverage. "Your merlot, Primogen Demian." A tilt of her head, "what an interesting guest, don't you think?"
Lilena goes off to the drinks once more, this time she takes a little bit longer to come back. Perhpas she is asked to go away for privacy who knows. Soon she returns though with another drink. " Here you are. " She hands the drink to mabel once more.
Once more crossing her arms, Azar is utterly impassive as she listens to Irina's little report, notes Etienne's apparent surprise, and waits for the Prince to explain exactly what the meaning of this song and dance is.
Magnus remains quietly watching for the time being, allowing himself a fine German eyebrow arch as the identity of the esteemed 'guest' is announced.
The Guess
The man identified as Ward tenses in his chair, drawing in a psychosomatic breath. The eyes of the elders are on him, and Winder keeps her stare fixated on him, a hawk gauging precisely when to swoop in. Ward doesn't speak, but if looks could kill, he'd be turning Winder into a pillar of salt with Biblical fury. He levels that air slowly out.
"Thank you, Mabel." Luna takes the glass offered by Mabel with the easy recognition of the pallid woman, and she swirls it about to amuse herself in pantomime of an actual tasting. Being a glass of blood (nobody look too hard in that kitchen), the liquid stains the sides of the glass, and she takes her drink of the warm, fresh "wine".
Winder overlooks Lilena and the exchange of what is probably some poor ghoul's blood in the back. There's probably some dudes back there. Merlot, the type O vintage. Shiraz, the type B vintage. You get the picture. Some poor sonsabitches 'fulfilling drinks to order'.
Winder notes Irina's report, but she does not comment on the Progrom of 2006 of which Irina speaks (page me if you don't know what that is). "Pavlova and LeFebvre have been keping me apprised of some odd goings-on lately. Who wants to guess which is the truth? Who wants to guess why Ward is here? We shall find out soon, but let's find a way to spend our time, stimulate the mind. A Minor Boon given to the one who can accurately appraise just what this man is here for, and where his allegiances lie. And then we shall move on."
Irina folds her arms over her chest and steps back, leaning against the wall with the faintest of sighs. From the look of her she has no intention of saying anything else, merely keeping an idle eye on the proceedings.
Minu turns her gaze slowly towards Azar. Slowly. She stares at her for a long moment, as if something unspoken was passing between them. Actually, no 'as if' about it. There was totally something unspoken there! This is a room full of Vampires. Unspoken stuff happens all the time.
She neatly folds her hands together in front of her once more, but otherwise remains nearly motionless. Stillness, thy name is Minu.
When Winder mentions a 'Minor Boon', Luna Demian's expression shifts. Some gears are turning, and whatever it is, Luna doesn't like it. No sir. But besides a hint of tension in her lips, she makes no move to express her displeasure. She leans towards Magnus. "Is this a Jake?" she murmurs, as she nudges the glass Magnus's way. "I'm getting a Caucasian boquet with some floral notes."
Etienne's expression is unreadable, stuck behind that solid gold mask but the attention he shifts to focus on the ghoul remains firm. "I could have him singing within an hour, given the opportunity to.. fully express myself." he says. Notably he doesn't actually move to do so, he merely states his ability to do it.
Magnus leans over to Luna, taking the glass briefly to smell the blood as if it were a fine wine, taking a tiny sip (assuming that was her intent), saying just as softly, "Perhaps. Perhaps a Brady, I'm getting a definite hint of trust fund at the finish." He returns the glass, glancing around the room, curious as to who will speak up first. Something tells him this is a curious set-up, as he elects to remain quiet and not attempt an answer.
"Why thank you, sweetie. Lily, yes?" After handing off the glass to Luna, Mabel pats Lilena on the head and recieves the second red beverage. Glancing to the ghoul, she gestures vaguely and says, "you know what I could use? Another merlot." This time however, she takes a sip, humming lightly at the flavor. "This is an excellent batch. Delish." She licks her lips as Lilena ostensibly scurries off for more refreshments. She swirls her glass some more at the announcement of an offered boon, gray eyes practically coming to life at that opportunity. Wandering over to the Caitiff, she frowns thoughtfully. She extends her glass of red to the vampire, just out of reach, to see how he might respond. "You must be starving, Mister Ward." She extends the glass again, "don't you want a little sip?" Her drink hand comes up, nails of the other pressing to her wrist, "or would you rather a sweeter vintage?"
Pressing her lips together, thinking, Azar turns the Prince's query over in her mind in her own particularly unhurried way. "Is he, I wonder, particularly fond of..." it's something of a struggle to get the word right," ... ser-ver racks?" She only briefly meets Minu's gaze.
Scarpia slinks in. He pauses at the door, seeming to switch from some intensity to a more casual, relaxed stance. He rolls his shoulders a bit, then smiles a rather wry smile.
"I trust that you do, my dear D'Orleans," Winder assures her Toreador, "And at the same time, it is -such- a delight to shake a gift on the night before Christmas and just /guess/ what's inside."
As Scarpia slinks in, Katy gives him a silent smile and offers to take his coat.
Ward's eyes flit to Mabel, his gaze striking her in an abrupt glare. "No. I'm not drinking any of your fucking blood." He narrows his eyes on Etienne. "Right, motherfucker," Ward goes on, and Winder would respond to Azar, but she's too busy watching Ward with a sort of Schadenfreude smirk, her teeth just a little too sharp as they show. "--Make me scream I dare you, I dare you to fucking blow open how much of a fuckup you are."
"God is kinder to the silent," Zora warns, which is about seven more words than the Russian woman has said all month.
"Well now! Did you have fun?" Winder asks. "Get it all out of your system?"
Magnus says idly, just loud enough to be heard across the table, to no one in particular, "The sheep bleats loudly."
Scarpia has left his hideous overcoat behind, and is dressed quite neatly in a charcoal suit, not fashionable enough to stand out, and not unfashionable enough to do so either. He shakes his head to Katy, smiles back in a friendly sort of way. He looks curiously towards the exchange between Etienne and Winder.
Etienne 's expression remains completely blank, the mask impassively staring across at the Caitiff as he rages. He's unmoving as he considers the man - and after a second those near him might hear a very faint chuckle emanating from him. It's cut off after that brief moment, and he's back to silent.
"So are we going to make him speak, or are we going to silence him? I may be getting mixed signals here." Irina says softly, to nobody in particular. She watches the man with dispassion, only briefly glancing elsewhere.
"What, ees making somebody talk zhe entertainment tonight?" asks Scarpia of nobody in particular.
Mabel shrugs her shoulders, not looking exactly displeased or even really surprised. She takes a sip of her drink and steps back, ignoring the Caitiff for the crowd. "Well, I tried." She stares dead-eyed at the vitriol-tossing captive, really more amused than anything. "I've heard you lot like to play games. It'll be fun watching you squeal some more. I'll be curious to see what the Ivory Tower comes up with." Sipping some more of her batch of human, she looks around and asks, "any other takers?" A shake of her head, "why silence him, when he has information to provide?" She purses her lips thoughtfully, "or is he more a practical lesson on how not to fuck with our Traditions?"
If Azar is amused at all by the goings on, she's doing a really good job of hiding it. Her attention drifts across from the caitiff, over to the Prince. Patient. Waiting. She feels no particular need to advertise how she would get information out of the pitiful Mr Ward.
"I like shaking boxes, Mister Scarpia," Winder informs the Elder. "I like shaking boxes before I open them. I like the little kick of suspense and the guess to spice up my long life. But I already have my guess, if no one else wants to submit one. We will not be silencing him, I assure you. He will talk. A Minor Boon is on the table for the correct guess of what this suspected Sabbat, and suspected /Caitiff/ has been dragged in here for. Then we will find out who is the lucky winner."
Being late is just like being early, except it's the exact opposite and it makes you look super cool and classy - being on time is for nerds. Percival Delafontaine, 2021's Most Humble Man runner-up and cover model for 'Why Are Toreador Like This?' magazine does his best to slink in quickly. He's been here the whole time.
Scarpia puts his hands in his trouser pockets and looks at Ward thoughtfully.
Magnus looks over Azar's way, "Madame, may I borrow your ghoul for a moment? I find a desire to sample the Malbec tonight." He continues to shift his attention around the room, sizing up the Caitiff with a thoughtful look on his face.
Ward's dark eyes appraise the room. They turn towards the loggia. He narrows his eyes, just ever so slightly, and seems to be perhaps calculating if he can get away with busting out through the glass panes of the loggia doors.
Etienne glances around as the rest of the room save Azar refuses to guess, reaching up to remove his golden Etienne mask once more as he does, shaking his black curls out for a moment. He seems surprised, his eyes rolling up toward the ceiling dramatically. Then he sets the mask down beside him on a platform and says, "He was snooping around one of your holdings, Prince. Potentially as some sort of Sabbat or Anarch spy." Etienne says, making his guess.
Mabel offers another shrug, finally moving fully away from the man. To Winder, she notes, "what other reason besides Tradition? Isn't he here because, whether they like it or not, whether Sabbat or Camarilla or some other sect and whatever clan, we all need to remain cautious of what kind of shit we step in, or else we all could pay the price? That is my guess, Prince Winder. He breached our Traditions." With that, she moves back to Azar, sparing the briefest of glances to Sergio again, before she settles into the background.
Looking from Caitiff to Etienne to Mabel to the ceiling to... ooh, 'wine'. Percy has very little comment to make, surprisingly.
"Ees off-key," mutters Scarpia, a bit irritable in tone.
"As you wish," Azar tells Magnus, eyes still on the Prince. She really hopes Ward doesn't try to run. Clean up will be troublesome if she has to involve herself personally.
Minu's eyes turn towards Mabel for a moment. She observes her a moment. Then Etienne. Then Azar. Then back to Winder. Her hands fold together neatly one atop the other on the table. She remains so very, very still.
It probably took a lot of practice and staring at herself in the mirror to get that down. Thankfully she's not Lasombra or something.
Magnus gets his glass of "Malbec" eventually, sipping ever so carefully on it. Poor type B positive guy in the back's luck finally ran out. He barely acknowledges the ghoul beyond the slightest nod, reserving his thanks for Azar instead. Resuming his all quiet-like observation of Ward and the rest of the gathered folks, he waits for the inevitable shoe to drop.
Sabbat Captive
"God is kinder to the still," Zora says to Ward, setting a new personal record for most words said by Zora at court. She says it with a certain, warning conviction, quiet, just quiet enough.
Meddling with the ser-vers. An example as a Breach of the Traditions. A Sabbat or Anarch Spy. The guesses roll in, and Winder leaves her station at the table. Zora's eyes follow the Prince, as do Camille's. Well, one of Camille's eyes follow the prince. #Nosferatu problems.
Click, click. Winder moves up towards Ward, her pace slow. "Oh, do try it. But first, /tell me who you report to/."
Ward, arrested by Winder's gaze, tries to wrench his jaw shut, and yet the compulsion drags it out: "I report to my /brothers/ of blood and kinship," he says, a blood-sweat starting to pink hi sbrow. "I report to those who prepare us for the Final Judgement. You're not getting a NAME, PRINCE."
"It might be nice to know just what this madman is accusing our Prince of. It might help track down his fellows... yes?" Irina says with an almost disinterested shrug of her shoulders, reaching into her matching clutch to fish around for something. A pack of cigarettes comes out, and a lighter. "Before we set him on fire at least. Am I allowed to smoke in here?"
"Brothers of blood and kinship," Percy says, finally sidling up beside Etienne, "Sounds like my last weekend in Manitoba." He bobs his eyebrows and folds his arms in front of himself after a moment and tilting a glance towards Irina, "Well, at least his wording will give us an indication of whether he's Sabbat. They're almost lyrical in the way they frame their bullshit."
"Mon Dieux." Etienne says quietly with a small shake of his head as the man finally speaks. He's watching the blood-sweat with a hawklike stare, his golden outfit reflecting the light with the small shifts in his posture. He looks aside at Percy and smirks faintly, offering a mild nod. "Sounds like he drank from a hippy early some evening." Then he looks back to Winder, Zora, and Ward.
Mabel stares intently at their 'guest', frowning deeply. She crosses one arm to hold the elbow of the other, swirling that blood wine. Now that Winder has risen to face the man, she doesn't dare intervene with even the distraction of an exhale. This is clearly an important matter, enough to draw the attention of the Court, enough to provoke Winder into action. Still, her nose wiggles, the scent of that blood-sweat wafting.
"Mm. It appears the rumours are to be believed," Azar comments. Across to Minu she glances, checking that the mere hint of blood-sweat hasn't set off the stoic warrior.
"So what?" says Scarpia, quietly. "What ees zhe bugger doing?" His gaze is sour.
Were it possible, Minu might even grown even *more* still at the blood-sweat. She is now staring directly at him, on the beads of sweat forming on his brow. Eyes locked. She remains ever so still beyond that shift, though.
...but the shift was there. She is absolutely locked in.
"My guess," Percy says with a small shrug, "our Prince suspects he works with turncoats among us. Wants him to expose them." He sniffs gently, doing his level best not to get all weird by the blood sweats. It happens to the best of us.
Magnus hmms to himself, allowing a mild amused smile at the man's fanaticism. "Huh. It has the voice of a fanatic. I wonder if it is our mysterious man behind the video camera who enjoys torturing and killing Kindred on live video."
"He was in the Haight, he burnt the shit, security breach." Camille offers, her owlish eyes (well, one of them, anyway?) swiveling over to the Prince, but maybe (?) she's looking at Scarpia. Which eye is the dominant one? Who knows. If Camille yells 'pick that up' in those warrens, three sewer rats are probably gonna bend over.
"Yes, Miss Rosu, tracking down his fellows is the next step," Winder says. She lifts a staying hand: "I would ask that you do not smoke indoors."
Her attention remains on Ward. "If you are Sabbat, then you will show me the mark left by your Creation Rites," she says, with the same gravity as before. Ward doesn't really need any supernatural wheel-greasing, there. He's spitefully happy, and he bears a tattoo an his bottom lip, pulling it down, showing the ink of the Sword of Caine. He sticks out his tongue to flick it around in obscenity, forking his fingers. "Go on, kill me, cunt. You don't have the fucking balls."
"How gauche, Caitiff. It is simply neither the time, nor the place. I have servants for business like that."
At Magnus's speculation, Ward scoffs. "You fucking idiots are still wondering about that?!"
Interrogation
"Easily faked." Irina says dispassionately as she puts her cigarettes away, though her expression is one of clear displeasure. "I believe this requires a more traditional interrogation. Perhaps with multiple participants, to ensure accuracy. I'm sure we have several experts at getting the truth from an unwilling subject in this very room." @emit "Ugh. Tatouage." Etienne says with a wrinkle of his nose and a small shake of his head. He glances to Irina and squints briefly then looks back over to Ward and the Prince. He's silent, one hand lifting up to rest atop his golden Etienne mask.
Magnus gives an amused smile at Ward at the response, glancing over at Luna, "I do not believe the party invitation mentioned live entertainment. What a lovely bonus."
"I am satisfied, but by all means. Your due diligence is welcome, Elder." Winder relents, although she stands by. Zora turns her dead Slavic eyes over to the Prince, and then she about-faces, to head dutifully to Katy. Katy has been watching over a glass of the Malbec (poor Malbec). She frowns at it, about to reach in to pluck some lint from her glass, when she registers the unsettling presence of Zora looming. The eye contact is awkward on one end, and painfully intense on the other. Katy sets down her glass, and moves off to disappear into her little wheeled in coat-check rack.
Luna shakes her head, a look of dissatisfaction haunting her features. She looks to Winder for a moment, then to Etienne, eyes on the gold-clad Toreador. Charles seems to read some note of the room and prods the woman with a questioning look that may bear a hint of amusement at her expense, for something that will inevitably come up given his expression, but hasn't yet. After weighing her words, she asides quietly to Magnus. "For some perspectives of lovely."
"He 'burnt the shit'," Azar inquires after Camille speaks, "I cannot say I am familiar. Would you enlighten me? There was a fire? Or is this another modern phrase I have yet to encounter?"
Mabel blinks over at Irina, bemused at the remark. "Are you suggesting he could be a scapegoat to get us all riled up at the wrong target?" Glancing at Camille, she says over to Azar, "so...it would appear this might indeed have something to do with these server racks?" There's a mixture of disappointment on her face to have seemingly got the guess wrong, and great interest to hear more about this breach.
Scarpia casts his glance to Azar, nods slightly, then moves to lean against a wall, not quite grimacing. "What about zhem?" he asks, looking at Mabel, voice still soft.
Magnus sips more of the delicious and nutritous Malbec, giving a slight nod of agreement to Luna, returning his attention to the Prince and Ward, watching and waiting. Always watching, always watching.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly." Irina says, raising her now empty hands in a 'oh no, not me' gesture. "I haven't gotten my hands dirty in well over a century. However, if you'd like a witness to the interrogation, I suppose I may be able to fill that role." Irina remarks to Winder with a faint nod before she turns her attention to Mabel. "The Sabbat, crude as they are, wouldn't bother with intrigue. They would have attacked us directly. Perhaps we could capture a few members of the Sabbat and see if they know him? It may be an excellent diversion for some of our more martially minded Kindred."
"This already beats court in San Diego," Percy says with a shake of his head, "Three hours of canasta." He tilts a glance Mabel's way and chuckles, "Thankfully we have enough indignation to spread around." Though when Irina speaks, he simply shakes his head and looks away. In a very disparaging manner, muttering, "Anyone that says 'our enemies wouldn't bother' doesn't get to tell us what our enemies are doing."
Mabel glances between Irina and Percy, listening to their opinions on the matter of a Sabbat machination. "Well, wherever his loyalties lie, it's clearly not to decency, with that squealing mouth of his." A small shrug, "I could assist in the interrogation, but I'm nowhere near the ideal torturer. Nevermind going out and turning the town red." A shake of her head, "no. If you want me finding information, I'm your woman, but I'm no fighter. Too messy." A snort at Percy, "I'm so sorry for you. Thankfully, we have yet to play canasta. On the other hand, I'm sure we could come up with more creative house rules..." She glances towards Ward with a hungry glimmer in her dead eyes.
Pulling Station
"I am not certain that you understand what you've witnessed." Etienne replies as Irina finishes speaking. "You're looking for more when there's already a big enough plot here. The Sabbat use guile as frequently as any other group." He just shakes his head again and says. "We have no need to kidnap any Sabbat and try to pump them for information, we have one of them here. If you're incapable of making him talk, drop the pretension and allow the Prince to continue her work."
- is still staring at the Caitiff.
There's the very, very slightest twitch of an eyebrow.
She then, *FINALLY* tears her gaze away to observe the interaction between Etienne and Irina. There is a pause, but she again says nothing. Nothing at all. You were all warned she was fun at parties. Well, some of you were, anyway.
"While you are not required to follow my commands, you would be advised to at the very least hold to the minimum of decorum and restraint required by the Camarilla. Consider yourself warned." And then Etienne is speaking and Irina manages the faintest of frowns. "Or perhaps this isn't Prince Winder's Court? Because I do not believe you would speak so vulgarly to an Elder in her presence." The woman replies to Etienne.
Etienne's posture straightens a touch as he listens to Irina speak, shaking his head once sharply. His eyes narrow a touch as he watches her. Then he lifts his mask carefully and slips it onto his face. He straightens even further and then stills, that faintly smiling golden mask of his own face somehow still radiating displeasure.
Percy's quip draws the attention of the old guard. That is, the primogen. His elders. Irina, however, apparently needs no help asserting her station over the witful man in the ivory tower, and the Ancilla receives his public reproach.
"Percy," Toreador Primogen Charles Pang finally speaks (he's pretty wrapped up in that gold mask). "Represent your Clan as one with couth." It seems he has seconded the motion of the Elder.
Ward starts laughing as Etienne contradicts Irina in defense of the Prince. Absolutely laughing. "Ahhh! I'm so glad I left this bullshit behind! Are you gonna put a bullet in my head or WHAT, you pussies!?" He lifts his hands, and starts wiggling his fingers. "Ooh, but it's ELYSIUM, isn't it! Can't Break The RULES!"
Scarpia says, in response to Ward, "I theenk no." He doesn't seem to expect the fellow to be listening to him, though. He jerks his head to the left sharply, a little tic movement.
"If this was not the Camarilla I would have lit you on fire already. You're welcome." Irina says capriciously towards Ward, the normally recalcitrant Elder already far more talkative tonight than she has been known to be. "However, should Prince Winder wish it?" She looks towards Winder then, expectantly, giving a faint wiggle of her fingers.
Tilting a look towards Charlie P, Percy offers a small incline of the head, "Of course, my Primogen. I apologise, to you, for bringing such shame." Pause. "My eagerness leaps ahead of my sense." Note that he didn't apologise to Irina for being a dick. He casts a side-long look at the Golden Mask, but falls silent.
"I believe this will be the part where he tells us he does not fear the flame," remarks Minu, quietly, her first words all night, undercutting, hopefully, the bravado she seems to suspect that will be next on offer.
And then she's back to staring at Ward.
Magnus watches the back and forth with an expression of mild curiosity, glancing over at Luna, nudging his own glass, "If you care to sample ... the Malbec tonight has a definite note of hospitality service. A hotel concierge, I would venture." He hasn't budged from the original chair he sat down in all night.
Ward may very well have heard Scarpia, because his laugh seems to shift in tone, invigorated or encouraged. In fact, he starts to get up.
"/Shut up/ boy!" Winder hisses at Ward, and with that icy gaze she wills him back into his seat. Her voice carries the same power when she tells him, "/You will speak when you are spoken to/!"
She relents, once he quiets, amid the sound of Percy's ambiguous apology. Pang does not look pleased. "And you will apologize to Miss Irina Rosu, your elder, unless you believe perhaps that demonstrating your regret through action is a better path forward, Ancilla."
Luna takes that Malbec and she fuckign samples it, alright. "Ask Miss Rosu if she could bring it to the Floor, would you?" She asks Magnus.
As for what 'burnt' meant, that question seems to have been missed, for now, in the momentary chaos.
Winder turns to speak to Etienne, and in that moment, Ward finds his opportunity. Can't speak? Fine! His body lurches, and he starts to lunge out of that chair. Zora had left his side, and while Camille is nearby, who knows where she's looking. Mabel is in his way.
Mabel rolls her eyes at Ward, gesturing with her near-empty glass of Malbec, "there he goes off again with his desperate inanities. Perhaps we should just stuff his mouth with an apple to complete the picture?" Finishing her drink, she hands it off to the nearest servant and waves for another. By then however, Ward rises from his seat and seems ready to flee. She snaps in a shriek, "Manuel Ward, you sniveling pig!" She steps in front of him and stares into his eyes, as her own suddenly go golden. Any whom look into those aureate orbs still and freeze, suddenly incapable of movement. The mesmerizing mystique of her gaze demands attention, and grips onlookers in a paralyzing hold. Still, she tries to level her stare at Ward alone, hoping not to cause any kind of friendly fire in her efforts to keep their guest in place. Striding forward, she presses gently at his chest, urging him back to his chair so she might climb on his lap and keep him locked right there. "You're not going anywhere, sweet thing."
Magnus starts to attempt to get Irina's attention, pausing for a moment to see if Ward's attempt to be an idiot succeeded. Seeing things well under control, he returns his attention back to Irina, "Your pardon, Miss Rosu. Might we trouble you to retrieve the Malbec from the storeroom? Madame Demian wishes to inspect the bottle."
Etienne's masked face has been locked on the Prince and Ward, and as the man lunges Etienne's chin lifts like he's about to speak. And then Mabel is sliding in between his view of Ward and flashing her eyes gold and snakey. His expression remains unreadable - because, you know, gleaming golden mask - but he leans slightly forward to watch and see where this goes.
Momentarily... put off by the outburst from Sabbatical Sam over there, Percy furrows his brow but soon returns to his regular level of composure. Or at least composed enough to return his attention to Charles Pang, "Actions do speak louder than words, Primogen. And I fear that I may be too easily misunderstood were I to simply offer apology..." His smile is that of a person that knows better, but isn't smart enough to care. "Thus I hereby and henceforth, et cetera, et cetera, offer a minor boon to Miss Rosu."
Magnus glances over at Irina once the mild commotion is over. For really reals this time. He'd still probably rather just bring the Malbec out, but, hey, orders are orders. "Pardon, Madame Rosu. Now that it is more settled, might you bring ... that ... (he nods to Ward) over to the floor, please? I believe Madame Demian wishes to inspect the thing."
- sighs, says, "Ees anybody e'en remembering to /bring/ a bullet?" He looks around the room.
Irina fingers her clutch idly, no doubt thinking about the pack of cigarettes within before she steps away from the wall, towards the middle of the room. "It looks as though someone else already has the matter in hand." She remarks towards Magnus with a polite nod before she continues over to Ward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Come, bring him to the center of the room. It is time for him to meet the flame." She says it softly, for both the prisoner and Mabel to hear. "A curious night, when the Roses prove to be the most vulgar and... nontraditional clans show the most loyalty."
Azar doesn't move a muscle when Ward makes his little escape attempt. And as everyone else bends over backwards to show off how much fire they can produce, how respectable they are, how terrifying they can be, how willing they are to kill Ward or show off their powers she just sits there, looking across at the Prince. "Now what?"
Magnus will stand and offer to go all 19th century politeness and pull back Luna's seat, if she decides to get up and head over to It (tm).
Those eyes! Ward gets a front row seat, and from one moment he goes from trying to tear his way through Mabel, to freezing in hypnotized horror. He is easily pushed back into his seat, and he remains in a spell, staring at the pallid woman.
As he calms, Percy delivers his ... interestingly worded, boon before those here. "This boon you will owe," Pang says, annoyance and warning in his tone. He looks to Irina. "Miss Rosu, Mister DeLafontaine is finding new ways to express himself. He will one day age out of this phase. In the meantime, I'm sure he understands that doubling down will only incur more debts. He does have his pride, but he also has his sense, and he will extend another gesture of courtesy to you soon."
"Miss Rosu," Luna says, inclining her head, "I appreciate your swiftness. I would ask that we perhaps do it in a less esteemed location. I have a place tempered for such a task, I would happily invite you."
Mabel still remains on Ward's lap while people talk around her, eyes hypnotic in all their golden glory. "It would be best nobody meets my gaze, if it pleases. Sorry for the intrusion. I didn't much care for him to leave so early. Not before we learned everything we could, and then had him join in on one final game..." She gingerly takes his hand and slides off his lap, urging him to his feet with as gentle a firmness as possible. If she can manage this, she does as Irina asks, holding his hand as she brings him to the room's center. "Not to impose my opinion or anything, but should we really set him alight? My Beast is already squirming at the prospect, and I wouldn't want to risk burning down the building for such a man..."
"Perhaps I was hasty." Irina says to Mabel with a light nod before she looks towards Luna and the other assembled leaders of the Praxis. "Apologies, I did not wish to make a mess." Then she looks to Percy and... "I would not accept a boon delivered with vulgarity otherwise, however Primogen Pang is a Kindred worthy of respect. So I do it as a gesture of trust that his guidance of you will prove fruitful. I accept the boon." She says rather blandly, releasing her grip on Ward's shoulder. "If you wish for me to dispose of him later, I can. However it may be more suitable to allow one of the others the opportunity to show their backbone. Perhaps our gilded friend and Mister... DeLaFontaine, was it? Perhaps they could be supplied with weapons and given the honor of disposing of the Caitiff."
Off For Interrogation
"Not here." Winder's voice makes that executive decision. No fire in the war memorial. "Farhad, if you would." Farhad takes point and gets up. He calls toward the back. "Gene!" Where Lilena had vanished. Maybe Lilena became the Shiraz. who knows! But Gene appears from the back where the blood wine had come from, looking a little pallid, but he's here, in his business casual, with the keys.
Charles is next to have Winder's attention. "Luna. Michelle D'Orleans was right."
Oh, but how she rues this. She procrastinates, her attention on Irina instead. She gives the woman a gracious smile as she rises. "A brilliant idea, Miss Rosu. I believe Gene is getting the car around?" Indeed, Gene The Ghoul is, regardless of how fit he is to drive, because off he goes.
Now. Luna turns her eyes to Etienne. Oh, but those few seconds just weren't even a blink of an eye in the eternal timeline of those damned to immortality. A little click sound escapes her as she parts her lips, and then she says to Winder, "Go ahead."
"D'Orleans," Winder says. "It seems you win tonight's prize. Miss Luna was in my debt, and now I transfer it to you.
Etienne's mask is removed once more so that he can smile, beatifically, at Winder. A small tilt of his head his given to the woman before he looks aside and over to Luna. "A pleasure, Madamoiselle Demian." And his eyes shift back to Winder, "Very gracious of you, Prince." His mask is, once again, tucked into his overwrought mink-cemetary coat. Then he's approached by a thin hispanic man who speaks to him quietly and he lowers his head into a small nod before turning to go.
Furrowing her brow slightly when Irina uses the word 'backbone', Azar continues her campaign of inaction, only breaking form to offer Etienne a congratulatory nod of her head.
Magnus remains stoic throughout the remainder of the goings on, certainly not appearing to have any interest goingng all fire and shotguns to Ward. He gives a little Look with a capital L to Luna, but says nothing.
Mabel nods briefly to Irina, "I am happy to lead our little cattle wherever we wish it. I would only humbly advise waiting to harm him when we locate the proper time and place. I can keep him docile until then. Perhaps the two you refer to could do the honors of disposal in the back with the rest of our vintage?" She still holds the Caitiff's hand like they were close friends. Her golden gaze gleams with anticipation, slowly bringing Ward around to follow where directed. Thankfully, she apparently doesn't even need to look where she's going, as her preternatural senses allow for weaving through the Green Room and its occupants with ease.
When Ward made his move, Minu was ready -- but even as speedy as she might be, she doesn't beat a mere *look* from someone else. She was up out of her seat, but then she stops to slowly return to it, observing Mabel, observing ward. She says nothing else, yet agaiun, and then she's back down.
Once again still, hands folded on her lap, a sword back in its sheath so to speak. Is that an almost look of disappointment on her face? Almost.
It seems Percy is learning. He says nothing, looks at nobody, doesn't even roll his eyes. He certainly looks like he *wants* to, but he doesn't. He's a good boy.
Luna departs with Magnus and Mabel, out of the Green Room and to the Memorial Court. "I have to have someone sort this nonsense out," Winder says, to the room. "Thank you all for coming. The Green Room is shut down into the early hours, you should be able to speak here for the rest of the night, unimpeded." She, too, is out, with Farhad.
- stays right where he is, at least for a time, smiling very faintly.
With others filtering out, Azar leans back in her chair and looks up at the ceiling for several long moments. "Any thoughts on that, you would share?" The question is directed at Scarpia and anyone else left in the room.
Scarpia makes a wry face, says, "On our guest? I am wondering why anybody ees wanting to make thees trouble een such a way."
Irina is already making for the door once people have been released. She stops there and nods politely to those present before she too disappears into the night.
"Mm. It all seems rather purposeless, does it not?" Azar unfolds her crossed arms and rests them on the table, idly tapping with one finger. "I suppose these things do happen, however."
There's a subtle shrug of Minu's shoulders in Scarpia's directions, as if to say 'who knows'. "The usual, I presume," she addresses him. She rises up to her feet and moves to stand behind Azar, directly. No doubt for her protection... not that she likely needs it. Still, it's the thought that counts.
"Eh, si," says Scarpia. "Eet does. But what am I knowing? I am mad as a spoon, or whatever ees people are mad as now. I am no entirely certain any evidence was presented, eh?"
Soon after, Percy also departs. He's gonna go sit in his room to think about what he's done. By room I mean mansion. And by 'think about what he's done' I mean get blitzed out of his mind on all the drugs. Maybe.
"If Etienne was correct, and they found him at the scene of the crime, that in itself is a certain degree of evidence, I should think. Not that such things strictly matter to many," Azar replies.
"What, zhey are keeping him so long?" asks Scarpia. He stops leaning on the wall and starts to look around the place as things clear out.
"Showmanship," Azar comments. "Showmanship that was clearly appreciated." Her voice is steady, neutral. It isn't clear from her tone alone how she feels at the minute.
Scarpia makes a disgusted face. It's brief, and soundless.
"Have you heard anything of note or interest lately," Azar asks, shifting the topic. "Especially if it pertains to the ser-vers I mentioned earlier in the night. I cannot help but think that matter was suspicious."
"What are zhey?" asks Scarpia, looking at her consideringly.
Azar shakes her head, shrugging. "I cannot say, save for the fact some were apparently stolen from Lucky Boar Studio lately. The same Lucky Boar Studio of that one cyber video."
Scarpia smiles at that. He says, "That ees seeming fortunate. I am no understanding theengs cyber at all, zhough. What would you do weeth such a thing?"
"With a ser-ver? That question is best directed at Qurabi, I am as enlightened as yourself when it comes to such things. Were I to make a mere guess, I would say that it may be some manner of machine to very politely provide an item or service-" Azar pauses - "however I loathe guessing."
Scarpia shrugs, "Maybe I am better ask heem about eet, then," he says. "I am no seeing heem in some time now. Ees all well?"
"Mm. Indeed. I saw him at the usual Salon just recently. He seemed to be in good spirits there, at least. Busy with work and enjoying every minute of it, as ever," Azar replies.
