Logs:Hunters Strike Folsom
There are multiple cars at the Legion of Honor's parking lot. Those who arrive are escorted by Tsui, a security guard who those who have come to the Legion of Honor have seen before, but he is not alone: Camille LeFebvre's unimstakeable (and unfortunate) countenance also awaits at the door, alongside Zora Pavlova.
Camille's wearing her Mask. She has a tendency to wear many faces, but all of them are unfortunate, finished off by ever-present white gloves. Tonight her stringy grey hair makes its way to her shoulders in a blunt cut, and her bright blue eyes hide behind a pair of thick glasses whose heavy frames speak of the seventies.
Zora is there, with her aura of quiet intensity and too-observant eyes that fixate on things for just a moment too long. She's dressed business-casual in flats matched to the belt holding her dark slacks against her waist with a linen blouse and tasteful but simple jewelry. Her pale white-blonde hair is pulled back into a tight, braided bun.
Whether by their buzz-cut, mid-30s security guard, Tsui, or by the Sheriff or the Primogen, the members of the Praxis are welcomed and escorted through the austere, cathedralesque atrium, beyond the grand entrance and past thousands of artworks spanning millenniae: Rembrandt and Gainsborough, Renoir and Pisarro, Braque and Picasso, into the indulgent portal to Paris.
The rest of the Camarilla awaits here, in a tense sort of silence, among them of course Prince Winder, the Tremere Regent, and the seneschal.
Royce stands off by himself, wearing his Aggies hat, a white t-shirt, blue jeans with a silver belt buckle, and Timberland boots. His hideous orcish features likely don't endear him to many in the room. He's still here, all the same.
Phillip du Valmont enters the Elysium at an appointed time, about ten minutes before the actual Court is about to begin. Dressed in a fine, custom-tailored suit, the man's appearance is what might easily defined as impeccable or immaculate. Those who know him to be of Clan Brujah might be a bit shocked to see a member of the Rabble dressed in such a manner. His Clanmates most of all. One would also notice that he is not alone. Willow walks on his arm, the two of them the very picture of modern elegance. What someone might call a 'very handsome couple'. The Frenchman seems to be a natural in this Neo-Classical Parisian paradise. Like a fish in water, as the saying goes. There is art here, so he lingers with his partner to observe some of it with a careful eye and a smile. As Court moves to start, he escorts Willow to one if the seats near the rear of the layout. After all, both of them are very new to San Francisco and have no status or presumption to sit anywhere closer than nearer the back. He waits till she sits, then unbuttons his coat and joins her.
As the kindred get settled, a few extra faces are here: full of the blush of life, standing towards the back and by the doors, these must be ghouls who are to be seen, not heard, and they appear armed, numbering four total.
Toreadors Katy Cox and Charles Pang are here. Camille and Royce appear to be the only Nosferatu. Sergio is here, but of course he is, wearina smile that gives him an optimistic sort of energy despite the tension. Zora, Farhad, and Luna are in attendance.
"I declare Elysium," Prince Winder annouces. Despite the smoky eye and blush that compliments her face and lends her large, green eyes a girlish sense of innocence, that facade burns away when she moves: something about her simply cannot be softened.
"Ladies and gentlemen of my Court, I urge you to look to the security of your havens and petition me for any assistance you may need in seeing to it. Two nights ago, our Rack in Folsom was attacked." Her eyes move to strike Phillip with her scrutiny, her gaze reaching acroooooss the room (into his milkshake). "By vampire hunters ostensibly set out for one of the Anarchs."
Scarpia wears his neat suit and soft-soled moccasins that make his tread nearly silent. He's got that creepy Furby-caterpillar thing on his shoulders and carries a wooden boxy thing under his arm. When he takes a chair he sets it on the side-table and it becomes more clear what it is -- that little baby-sized toy piano. The pink paint is gone, though. Underneath it's inexpensive white birchwood, but it's got a high-sheen French-polished lacquer on it, giving it a honey-tinge. Along its legs and sides there are now vines of gold-leaf bearing tiny leaves of inlaid green aventurine and pink quartz rosebuds. It's beautiful. Scarpia starts to play it, making the little metal bar chimes inside produce a sparkling little arrangement of the Overture from 'The Marriage of Figaro.' He stops when Winder speaks.
Willow walks quietly along at Phillip's side, smiling softly as they stop and look to the pieces of art on their way in. As he picks their seats in the back she settles in and runs her hands over the back of her skirt to settle it into place as she sits down. Her hand rests comfortably on his leg as he gets 'comfortable' in his seat and her attention goes to the front to focus as Court is called to order. The news has her glancing to Phillip, and a soft frown creasing her brow.
Phillip settles into his seat and slides one leg over the over. His eyes drift to the Prince as she calls Elysium. The announcement about the hunters draws a slow nod from him. Winder's look toward him has the Brujah meet her gaze evenly for only a moment of acknowledgement, then a bow of his head and aversion of that gaze to show his respect for her station. A glance at Willow has him catching sight of that furrow of her brow. He shrugs his shoulders and smiles a bit to the Toreador.
Royce looks up at the Prince as she speaks, his unblinking, creepy eyes staring like a clammy wax doll. He unnaturally turns his body at the waist to look over to Scarpia for a moment, then back to Winder. The only other he seems to look at for more than a passing glance is Phillip.
A glance is exchanged between Farhad and Winder, in which Farhad nods to the other. She then looks back to Phillip and his accompaniment, before her eyes drift off toward Scarpia and his small piano. Finally, to Sergio, who jerks a thumb in Phillip's direction and flashes her a smile. "Him indeed, your Highness, I'll happily introduce you after business," he says.
Winder looks back to Phillip. "It is my understanding that these hunters were intercepted by some members of our Praxis." It's a question.
Scarpia softly closes the key cover on the lovely little piano and folds his hands one over the other.
Phillip waits until he has been directly addressed by the Prince and then pushes himself gracefully to his feet. There is a pause as he looks around the Court and the assembled, "Is is at you say, My Prince." He continues in a smooth, richly-accented voice, "I saw an individual come under attack by group of well-armed, well-organized individuals. When I saw the crossbow, my thought was that they might be hunters. I interceded into the conflict in the hopes of disrupting their attack and taking a prisoner that could later be interrogated for more information." The Frenchman looks toward Farhad, giving the Seneschal a nod, "I was able to capture one of these individuals, escape without being noticed, and turn them over to the Seneschal. We parted ways and I took extra precautions to ensure that I was not followed. I was also careful to restrict my usage of obvious abilities so that, in the dark, they might think me no more than a good Samaritan."
Of all people, the Nosferatu speaks next. "Uh, yeah, I was there too," Royce says, his low, slow North Texas drawl sounding entirely out of place here. "Happenstance, really. When I realized what was going on, I grabbed one of the hunters, subdued him, and brought him back for interrogation but uh, I believe he poisoned himself shortly after capture. I made sure no one got a good look at me when I jumped the guy."
Willow folds her hands in her lap and watches Phillip as he stands. She listens curiously, but keeps quiet, a rather somber look taking up residence on her face.
Scarpia stays quite still, silent.
Kyle Cooper has decided to finally dirty his wingtips in this establishment. A face largely unfamiliar to the Praxis, but one that rings bells to Winder and Zora, is Kyle Cooper's. Although Kyle Cooper is not very tall, he nevertheless commands a confident presence that lends him a different sort of height. A White man, of maybe some Italian descent, with his dark, straight hair trimmed to short back and sides. He's all business, and his Italian cut suits are the sort with hand-stitching tailored exactly for him.
He arrived late, and he doesn't interrupt, as he files in by the door to just stand, as Phillip gives his account.
Following is Gonzalo Lopez, the rarely seen Anarch baron, his long curly hair up in a ponytail, with black leather snakeskin boots and a blazer dressing up his jeans and button up. That, and Tiny Toe Tracy, who looks like a forty year old who looks like a fifty year old who looks good for her age, but more on her later: the point is, the Anarchs are here, fashionably late. Gonzalo and Tracy file in next to Kyle, and when they do, Winder lofts a half-annoyed brow, but elects not to comment on the tardiness of the Anarchs.
Winder looks now to Royce, when he speaks up. Listens. Files it away. She notably does not ask about the hunter that Phillip mentions capturing: she must be familiar with that detail, given how impassively she takes in the detail. Zora, however, seems to think that Royce's contribution is news, because she looks right at him.
"Cyanide pills," Farhad volunteers, two fingers raised to petition the permission to speak while he says it. "Camille and I had gotten wind from the other Nosferatu that the Sabbat dealt with a hunter who had cyanide. It seems we have a large group of hunters, and they are likeliest to be the ones who kidnapped some of their own. We have not really been on the helm of that search party because it was never our concern to dig up missing Sabbat, but seems they are going nowhere, these hunters. Where is the body?" He asks Royce.
Royce sees the Anarchs enter, and noting their presence, he then turns back to Farhad. "Skeletonized by vermin," he says, "Deep in the Warrens. Soon there won't even be teeth left."
The Brujah looks toward Royce as the Nosferatu speaks up. He observes him for a long moment, then gives the Sewer Rat a nod of acknowledgement. Nice to put a face to the thing he saw skulking about that night out of the corner of his eye. Philip remains standing, his hands behind his back as his gaze drifts back toward the Seneschal and the Prince. Clearly he is waiting to be dismissed by them.
Those present file away Royce's report. Winder's face lets a faint frown escape her facade of nonexpression.
Zora objects to the notion that they're no t at the 'helm' of the search party. "I have asked for assistance in locating the missing vampires even though they are not our own because they will lead us to the threat that we share the burden of." She turns her attention to Scarpia. "Have you been able to find anything?"
Scarpia comes into motion to look at Zora, says, "Almost certain so. I look again, ees perhaps better some company." He offers a flicker of a smile.
"You were looking for a place for the monsieur to fit in," Zora prompts Farhad, her wielding of the word 'monsieur' rather uh, un-wieldy, but she tosses her gaze Phillip's way.
Winder speaks over the conversation, as fits her, and so Zora falls silent. She speaks to Royce: "Where are the bones, the remains? The things that he had on him."
Scarpia looks over to Farhad, then at Phillip, mild curiosity on his gaunt face.
"I stashed his equipment, as well as the medallion each of the Hunters seemed to have," Royce replies promptly, if unhurriedly. "I can go fish it all up, and the bones, too."
With a discipline that seems to reflect some kind of military or etiquette training, Phillip remains stark still, his posture erect, his eyes attentive. As he exchanges fly back and forth, he just listens, noting all the speakers, what they say, their body posture, and their tone. When Zora mentions Monsieur, his eyes move to the Sheriff and he offers her a bow, saying, "If I am needed, I am at the Praxis' disposal, Sheriff." He glances toward Willow, as if to give her that brief window to also interject her desire to 'fit in' someplace as well. The Brujah then grows quiet once again.
Scarpia looks at Royce, inquires, "Anytheeng good?" with raised brows, a friendly tone.
"We've got it," Gonzalo speaks up, from his spot at the door, on the subject of Royce 'fishing' up the bones. "I'll send the stuff to you." Gonzalo's dark eyes seek out Royce for a moment from across the room.
As Winder has gotten back to speaking, when Phillip puts himself to the Praxis's disposal, Zora simply nods, ostensibly to try to hook them up at a later time.
Willow tilts her head a little as she watches Phillip, a small smile as he looks her way. She nods and rises to stand briefly, bowing towards the seated Court, "As am I, as always, eager and willing to assist the Praxis how I may." Standing next to the Brujah to echo his offer of service.
Royce looks back to Gonzalo and nods, not contradicting him. He turns to Scarpia and grins a horrible, nasty orcish grin. "A kinda cool knife," he replies.
Winder's eyes follow the discussion between parties, deciding not to direct it, whether to rush it along or quiet anybody. It's uncharacteristic of her, but she does it. "Very well then. A new Rack is designated in the Castro, along Castro itself along Market Street, from Starbelly southwest towards Castro and Market, and then down as south as nineteenth," she announces. "If there are those who have amenities or services to volunteer, or questions to ask in light of these announcements, then let them be spoken here, or else we shall meet our two new members." She looks to Willow as she says the latter, and flashers her a tight, brief smile.
"I am wondering," says Scarpia, "Who ees paid a visit to some along San Bruno Avenue?" He looks around the room.
"San Bruno is not familiar," Farhad answers, after some quiet looking between one another on behalf of those snooty gathered en-pee-seas. "Why do ask, mister Scarpia?"
Phillip focuses on Prince Winder as she announces the new Rack in the Castro. A faint nod of his head that acknowledges it is then followed by a glance around to see if anyone has anything to add to the declaration. In preparation for stepping forward before the court properly, the Frenchman buttons his jacket and looks down to Willow. Clearly they are the two new members to be introduced. Scarpia's question draws a glance from Phillip, eyebrow arched curiously as he listens to him speak.
Scarpia shrugs, which wakes up his creepy Furby-pillar thing and makes it do a terrifying cute Furby yawn and blink. "Ees associated weeth theese fellows, and so I am curious what ees taken wheen, what have they say, house selectively robbed."
Willow remains standing, giving Phillip a smile as gets ready to go up in front of the Court. She murmurs softly, reaching up to run her hand across his shoulders to help settle his coat back into place, a gentle flick and tug of material. Then she waits, looking back as the conversation goes on.
It seems that Winder had mostly moved on to the matter of introductions, but the detail that Scarpia volunteers into the conversational space snags her attention, and that of her company. "What is the nature of the connection?"
Scarpia smiles, says, "I am no confirming zhees precise address, but ees seeming, mmm, synchronicity eef ees three doors down from where hunters are meeting from time to time, een ones and twos."
Winder arches a finely plucked brow at this, and Farhad and Luna are not the only ones to also look onto Scarpia with interest. "What is the nature of the connection?" She repeats. Then she clarifies: "What is the basis of this knowledge?"
Scarpia raises his brows, says, "I am a Knight of the Moon, my Prince. Deed no one of yours survive long enou' to answer questions?"
Zora's eyes turn to Scarpia, as does much of the attention of those gathered: Luna, Farhad, and so on. Kyle, Tracy, and Gonzalo are keeping quiet, just watching.
"Your clan is not an answer to my question," Winder informs Scarpia. "Inspiration that you get derives from a source, be it someone's mind, a particular psychic impression, and so on. Please do not make me ask a third time."
Scarpia bows his head, "I am given a chance to ask one of zhem," he replies, "So I am askeeng a few theengs before ees dead."
Phillip just sort of remains there as the Prince continues to speak to Scarpia. His face, normally fairly even and placid, has grown creased with some mild concern. He half looks stuck in that awkward state of wanting to remain standing for future introductions but clearly not having expected an exchange like this to have gone on so long and be of quite such a level of intensity.
Scarpia is clearly one of those people who just makes things go weird and wrong. This is confirmed when his Furby-thing says, "Dah-no-lah!" and waggles its fluffy ears up and down mechanically, wobbling in some spastic Furby dance of hidden electric motors and plastic gears.
Willow smiles softly, reaching out to rest her hand against his back again. She seems fine standing as long as it takes, looking to the Brujah next to her as the conversation goes on. A glance is cast over towards Scarpia, her head tilting a bit and a small furrow crossing her brow. Then she's leaning against Phillip's side lightly.
The weird furby starting to animate and make its childhood scarring noises causes Luna to straighten up in the face of such witchcraft. Winder too has her turn staring at the toy in some disdain, a touch of tension and mild disgust passing briefly over her features. She seems temporarily apeased by the answer, although it clearly raises further questions.
Nevertheless, she does not keep Willow and Phillip waiting. She looks over to the couple. "We have two new members of the Praxis, I see."
Such is Sergio's cue to animate, and he rises from his seat. "Yes, your Highness, these two here had asked me to arrange a meeting but circumstances made such an abrupt gathering here, that I had yet to write you." He moves over to get closer to the couple. "These are Mr. and Mrs. de Valmont."
Scarpia says quietly, "Gufo, sleep," and the creepy toy falls silent, eyes shutting and ears drooping. The little man turns quiet attention to the introductions.
Phillip is already standing with Willow, so it is easy for him to step out of his seat and then, with her, approach the Prince of San Francisco. The Frenchman settles into place before her with Willow and then offers the Ventrue a deep bow of respect. A glance to Sergio and he gives a nod as well, of thanks. To Prince Winder, he says, "I am Phillip du Valmont, My Prince, of Clan Brujah. I am most recently arrived from San Diego and am known to Prince Kearney. Before that, I was a member of Prince Francois Villon's Court in Paris for many years. I have been a loyal and remain a loyal servant of the Camarilla." There is a faint pause as he rises, continuing to speak clearly and confidently, "In accordance with the Fifth Tradition, I formally request permission to feed and make a residence in your Domain." His words over, the European grows quiet and awaits the Prince's reply.
Willow follows up with Phillip, waiting at his side as he introduces himself. She lowers into a curtsy, then back up to introduce herself as well. Her accent is less European and more good ol' New Orleans French Creole. "I am Willow du Valmont, of Clan Toreador and the Camarilla, Your Grace. I am also most recently from San Diego and Prince Kearney's Court, and seek permission to remain and call San Francisco my home." She folds her hands in front of her and smiles, looking back towards the Prince.
Winder stands where she is by the hearth, tall in those Louboutins stilettos which could stab a man. Her eyes appraise Phillip and Willow in methodical turn. She dips her head a touch as she hears the Brujah's name, listening, a spark in her eyes when she hears Prince Villon. "Are you truly, now," she comments.
Next is Willow, and a sharp smile bleeds across her maraschino red lips. "Willow du Valmont," she repeats. "And please," she says, a hand waving as she hears 'your Grace', its arc nearly cutting, "Your Highness is just fine." That smile remains firmly in place: the title, apparently, is no suggestion.
"Permission granted, I heard about Phillip from Farhad and in passing from Mr. DeSantis, it seems that it may be fitting for you two to speak to Mr. Scarpia about this house."
"Merci, Your Highness," Phillip bows his head to the Ventrue Prince. The comment on Villon is left on the table as, well, a spark can be a good or a bad thing and curiosity in Court can be fatal. The Brujah looks over his shoulder back in Scarpia's direction. He stares at him for a few moments. Him that that plush mechanical worm on his shoulder. Still, he manages to smile, albeit thinly, and then look back to Winder, where he nods, "It shall be done as you command, My Prince." One thing that anyone who observes him would notice is that, for a Brujah, he is quite polite and, even more interesting, compliant. Perhaps it is a European thing. There are always rumors of the savagery of the Elder Princes there and that many have an incredibly low tolerance for the bullshit that so many American Brujah, particularly Californian Brujah, tend to spill in Court.
Scarpia smiles back at Phillip, agreeably.
Willow inclines her head to Winder, "Of course Your Highness." Taking to the prefered title without batting an eyelash. She looks over towards Scarpia again, then back, nodding. "As you wish." But she means it, not like that Westley fellow as he rolled down the cliff.
That wormy Furby... Thing, is still getting a stare from the likes of Luna and Camille, the both of which regard it like Jack Chic might blanch at Volo's Guide To Monsters.
Winder keeps her eyes and attention on Willow and Phillip as she acknowledges the two as a part of her Praxis. "Welcome to the Praxis," she says. "When it comes to Progeny, I additionally require permission to ghoul, and the rest of the Traditions should speak for themselves beyond that." Sergio gives Willow in particular a smile, a comment behind it, but it's left unsaid.
Back to Scarpia, however: "Scarpia, you said you were granted an opportunity to speak to one of these hunters." That statement is laid out flat on the table, a question, and Winder's gaze locks onto the Malkavian with a quiet intensity not unlike a cat tracking a juicy bird in its nest.
Scarpia doesn't seem concerned, keeps his agreeable smile and nods to Winder, "Si, my Prince," he says.
"And the details?" Winder asks, her eyebrows drawing downward in the faintest tell of tested patience.
"He tells me he has met anozher een this house," says Scarpia. "Ees the fellow who has given to him thees medallion theeng. Ees interesting, for three were caught, no? So who ees hit thees house, eef ees not our noble selves? And your one ees no saying anything of thees place?"
As they are dismissed, Phillip gestures for Willow to lead ahead of him. As Winder's voice takes on that tone, the Brujah is quick to find himself out of her line of fire and returned to his seat.
Willow gives another brief curtsy, then picks up on what Phillip is putting down, turning around to head back towards their seats. She sits down and folds her hands in her lap again, going back to the quiet observer as she leans in her seat a little to rest her shoulder against the Brujah's.
"I believe that her Highness might wish to know how you came across this particular opportunity," chimes in Pang, breaking a silence he'd indulged in since the very start of the meeting. He leans forward from his seat, a small, if catty, smile curling his lips. "Was it a result from the attack on Folsom? It sounded like Du Valmont and the gentlemen," gesturing at Royce, "Did not mention your presence."
Scarpia smiles at Pang, says, "Surely you are already aware who zhey are after on zhat occasion, and who ees running off weeth third hunter. I was no zhere."
Farhad draws in a psychosomatic breath, his eyebrows climbing a touch as he watches the exchange. Gonzalo quirks a half smile at what appears to be a little game, although his own brows frown as he tries to figure out what to make of it. He turns his attention to Winder, who looks thoroughly unimpressed.
"Malkavian," she states, her patience for Scarpia apparently causing her to forget or refuse his actual name. "There are hunters in the city. You have information. You are with-holding how you can verify your claim, and getting you to state anything has been like pulling teeth. What do you gain out of playing a game with the safety of the members of my Praxis?" Her frosty tone looms as she goes on: "You wish to have accompaniment on your next venture, but will it be with peers who cooperate with you, or with an escort who has to monitor someone who likes to play cat and mouse with SIMPLE questions?"
Phillip arches a brow as he regards Scarpia. As the Malkavian continues to defy the Prince and other members of the Court, his face just more and more incredulous with every passing moment.
Willow silently watches the conversation, though each time her eyes land on Scarpia her expression becomes more puzzled. A glance up to Phillip to gauge his reaction, then back, a small frown turning down one corner of her mouth.
Scarpia raises his eyebrows at Winder, says, "I am beg your pardon, my Prince, but what do you want to know?" He looks genuinely puzzled, "Zhey are come along shooting at Walter, no? Nobody ees see him make off weeth one? And I am happen on heem some time later, so, I make questions to heem. Hunter, no Walter-zhe-Bloodletter. And thees hunter he ees telling me he meets his mentor on thees house on San Bruno. What part ees missing of how I might verify thees? I command the fellow to reply weeth truth." He shrugs, "I suppose I prove I saw heem, I am taking cyanide pill off him and still have eet, but I am no having any way prove to you he says what I say he has said."
The response and the information seems to calm Winder, but as she speaks, she continues with a profoundly bland tone, her composure corseted together.
"I wanted to know how you came across the opportunity, which you now have explained, as Walter. If I am to understand you grammatically, your statements contradict, but if I am to understand you pragmatically, you are telling me that Walter brought you a hunter and you had an interrogation. If you had stated earlier that the reason why you know this is due to a hunter being brought to you by Walter, then I missed it, and up until now, it had been as if you were dangling some mysteriously manifested information."
As Walter's name bounces back and forth, the Anarchs -- Tracy, Kyle, and Gonzalo -- look among themselves. Gonzalo frowns, but makes no comment.
And so Winder relents. "And so you wish to go to this house on San Bruno, this is the place you want accompaniment with?"
Scarpia smiles faintly. He says, "No, my prince, ees another. Thees one San Bruno, ees a leel late, I theenk. And so I wonder, nobody else ees hear of thees house?" He looks around the room again. "I am no mentioning eet?"
"That might be that house that got hit by the cartel," volunteers Tracy, her voice as smooth as an asbestos-wrapped clove cigarette carton.
"Have not discussed it, or factored it in," Farhad admits, his green gaze moving to consider Winder.
Winder, for her part, mulls on the tidbit. "Then we shall pay this location a visit. Volunteers, if any, are to petition Miss Pavlova." A gesture towards the woman in question.
"Zhat ees house I mean," says Scarpia to Tracy. "Ees real cartel?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I mean, maybe?" Tracy asks. "I remember reading about it in the news."
As the night continues, the kindred assembled are able to mingle, gossip, and so on, until ultimately they return to their nightly (un)lives.
Scarpia nods, "So deed I," he tells Tracy. "I theenk ees no cartel." He smiles, opens the key cover on the now elegant little toy piano and makes it chime out Papageno's 'Madchen oder Wiebchen' song.
