Ultimate New York By Night

The Flesh Trade

The Flesh Trade

::Al pokes his head out of Warehouse 9 and waves to Buchanan as he drives off for his “date”:: Goodnight my friend.

::As Albrecht turns from sealing the haven, he proceeds to his overflowing ward. SpYtte is sharing a room with Milan – being placed with the Tzimisce would be foolish considering tonight’s events and his fiery nature. This is the place Al proceeds to.::

::Dipping inside the curtain encircling SpYtte’s bed Al bends in and presses into the patient’s side with two fingers:: Evening SpYtte. I’m sorry I could not provide anything for the pain, Rutgar has been drained and is unable to serve as a medium for such at the moment. He wished me to assure you it would be his wish if it were within his capability. It looks like your bones are starting to regrow – you’re safe for now, but in only a few nights your life will be in danger again – without medical intervention. I have the Tzimisce here still and should be able to gain his assistance shortly. There is something you must know however – I do not need to explain to you that your unlife would be quite dreadful without me ::Al hangs on these words while looking deeply into Spytte’s pained gaze. Then, suddenly, Al brushes the curtain aside and leaves the room to the muffled cries of a young woman drifting weakly in the air.::

::Proceeding across the small hall to the other room – eerily silent by comparison::

Evening Tzimisce, you look dreadful. ::Examining the patient:: Your wounds should have long since healed.

::The cunning hunter eyes gleam back and the kindred speaks in a hoarse rasping tone:: I need my earth to rest. ::A weak smile curls on his lips:: I am sure your kind would not consider it a curse, but we find it difficult enough.

::Albrecht nods at the strange declaration – but continues unshaken::

I had a friend attacked tonight – his ribs curled inward to nearly strike his heart. You no doubt have heard the girl, she is a gift shared between you and I and it is because of her that you will aid me I hope. One of the Camerilla to meddle with in exchange for one of the Camerilla restored. What say you to this arrangement, I will no doubt seek out your dirt as a token of my appreciation.

::The Tzimisce looks back with naked hunger in his eyes, a good deal to extend a prisoner. How many prisoners get one of their own to play with?:: The name is Geert, I would appreciate if you called me by that Dr. Albrecht. An interesting deal for you to make considering your supposed allegiances, if you can get me my earth first I will accept. Seeing as the boy is not dead I can only assume you have discovered some stop gap to save him regardless. Get some paper and I’ll tell you where you can find some of my dirt, don’t worry, it’s safe. If you die I could only guess what twisted revenge your ghoul would take on me before I meet my final death.

::With paper in hand Al heads out into the night, driving towards Manhattan. When passing the Nos warrens the car slows and upon turning a corner, stops. Al steps out of the car and fades from view – the Nos would no doubt have thoughts on tonight’s events and they knew much of Milan’s true whereabouts. It is paramount that information remain buried – with this thought firmly in mind Al stalks towards the warrens.::

Dark Eternal Nights Abound
"I'm at a loss with you, Al"

Well, well, well, sh*t always gets more interesting.

Al had Milan this whole time. I was suspicious of that idea, and I wish I was wrong. I would go to hell with Al and Buch both, but not over this. Even I have scruples. I hope this doesn’t blow up in his face, because I’ve already told him that I will not save him from that mistake. And I know that Buch cannot know. He must remain clean, no matter what.

I am greatful that Al(with the help of Milan) has managed to mend me, but I cannot agree with his means. It just feels wrong. I would rather have died than know to what ends he has gone.

I pitty Milan. I do not know what he has done with her, but she sounds miserable. I don’t even know her very well, and although my music sounds like the point of view of the most sociopathic f*ck-head on earth, I cannot help but feel for her. I hope she doesn’t suffer for much longer. But I also hope Al doesn’t get caught. He is still needed, and I still think of him fondly.

This is all very troubling. I feel as if any chance of being admitted to any form of afterlife paradise may be lost for Al and I both.

May we share the same room in Hell.

A Transatlantic Phonecall
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch

It’s 10pm and a dapper figure in an expensive Saville Row tailored suit and carrying an Italian leather briefcase strides easily through the drizzling rain, heading for the entry to the Stafford Clegg building on the Avenue of the Americas.

“Evening, Don. How’s the missus and ankle-biters?”

The security guard on duty laughs easily – he knows the eccentric Brit by sight.

“Oh, hi there Mr. Buchanan! They’re doing good. Working late again?”

“’Fraid so, old chap. Time and tide and all that tosh, what?”

The guard shakes his head, chuckling. He doesn’t understand what Buchanan says half the time but the guy is always polite and actually pays some attention to the lowest of the building staff – something a few of the other high-flyers could try to copy.

“You take care, Mr. B. Try to stay out of this shitty weather, you’ll catch a cold or sumthin’”

Oh I’m hardier than I look, Don. This dashed weather reminds me of home, quite. Toodly-pip.”

With that, Buchanan walks inside, nods to the desk clerk with an “Evening Jimmy” and gets into the express elevator. There he presses the lower of the two buttons, shooting him straight up to the 44th floor of the towering glass-and-steel temple to Mammon. The lift musak is an insipid orchestral arrangement of “Rock The Casbah” and he shakes his head ruefully. What has the world come to?

The man who exits the executive elevator has a very different demeanor from the man the security guard thinks he knows. Grim-faced and purposeful, he pauses by his secretary’s desk – she’ll be home with her family right now, he almost never sees her – and puts a smashed sat-phone in a large yellow envelope then scrawls on the outside: “Had an oopsie. Get a new phone for me, same model, and have the numbers from this POS transferred. Send it by courier to my place tomorrow evening. Thanks, B.”

Buchs office

This accomplished, he unlocks his own office, with its card and key locks, then slips inside. In the dark, wood-panelled sanctum, he sighs and slumps behind his fine mahogany desk before switching on a single desk lamp. A stack of files and memos sit in his in-tray but he ignores them.

“If it were done, it were best done quick,” he breathes and hit’s a transatlantic number on the secure landline, the one that bypasses the switchboard, from memory. It’s to a particular phone in a particular study in an expensive part of central London. One, forty-four, one-seven-one…

The phone at the other end rings twice, the ‘briining-bring’ of a British phone, and then clicks as it is picked up. Buchanan waits impatiently while the other end hisses and clicks, a sign of its encryption meshing with his own phone’s, and then speaks.

“Sire, your servant Buchanan here.”

A melodious voice, richly baritone, making the listener think of warmed brandy and fine cigars, answers him. The voice of the fabulously wealthy and powerful creature who made Buchanan what he is, grooming him from an early age. Vampire Strategoi of the Clan Ventrue, Sir Edward Stafford.

“Buchanan, dear boy. Report.”

“Yes Sire.” Buchanan visibly gathers himself, then begins. “I tried to take your advice to ‘hurry slowly’ but events here in New York have a pace all of their own. Since we last spoke I and my coterie have succeeded in bringing together the various Clans of the Camarilla – representatives of the Ventrue, Toreador, Tremere, Nosferatu, Gangrel and Brujah have all agreed to hold an Elysium at the Carnegie hall sometime in the near future. We have also made contact with the Giovanni Family, and they have sent us an emissary to work with our coterie. But the Sabbat have become aware of our work. Their ruler in the city, called Jaffar, became involved in our own attempts to end a feud between the Nosferatu and the Toreadors – and members of the Tzimsce have attacked my coterie twice.”

“Still, we have been successful in ending that feud – a small agreement after the manner of Persephone in Hell did the trick…

“Hah!” Interjects the old English powerbroker, “I knew your Classics would serve well, boy.”

“Yes, Sire. And I have become the…” Here Buchanan takes a deep breath. “’Special Arbiter for Sectarian Diplomacy for New York City‘, by order of both the Syndicate, current Camarilla Prince, and this Jaffar. Obviously Jaffar sees his own advantage in not having the boat rocked. No doubt you’d heard that the current Primogens and Prince had arranged a truce between the Sabbat and themselves?”

Sir Edward pauses a second, then says, “I had, boy, and it stinks of rank defeatism if you ask me. Still, I wasn’t on the spot and just maybe a Justiciar would consider that they saved the Camarilla remnant in the city rather than betrayed it. I wouldn’t count on that, though, if I were them.”

Buchanan gasps. The possibility of a visit from a Justiciar sent by the Inner Circle hadn’t occurred to him. Is the old and wily vampire trying to hint one is in the offing? The Elder breaks his chain of thought, though.

“Now, boy, tell me about your own good self. I hear tell you’re set on climbing the tree to the very top.”

There’s no getting away from it, the old bastard knows already.

“Yes, my Sire. With your permission, of course, I feel that this city needs a Prince who can strengthen the Camarilla, one who has a vision. I see no-one else capable of the task.”

“Hmmph. Well, I wouldn’t have Embraced you if you didn’t have ambition worthy of a Ventrue. If you can do it, boy, then all the best to you. You’ll be a credit to the Clan and to me if you can. Just be careful you don’t fall from a great height.”

Buchanan, visibly sagging from relief, responds, “I will do my best not to fall, my Lord, and to bring you credit. For now, things are chaotic but going in the right direction. I should be able to cement my position if I can entice enough of the powerful Camarilla to back my plans – and much there depends on finding a missing Toreador girl.”

“Oh, and Sire, I took the liberty of giving your number to the current Ventrue Primogen’s lieutenant, one Caulinn McManus by name. The current Primogen is distracted and vulnerable, too interested in kine affairs and not attentive enough to those of the Kindred. His second would be a far better representative of our Clan in this city, someone who knows how to get things done. I’d appreciate your talking to him.”

“Ah, you mean the Primogen who has been so lax as to bring his business adventures to the attention of the kine authorities?” He chuckles. “I’ll speak to your man McManus, if he calls. Rest assured, m’boy, he’ll know which side his bread is buttered by the time I’m done.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I am indebted to you.”

“Yes you are, Buchanan my childe. Don’t forget that in your rise. Oh, and I’ve decided that the Stafford Trust, one of my vehicles, will be buying a 20 percent share in that medical research thingy of yours. You have my confidence, for now. Don’t make me regret that. Now bugger off, there’s a good lad, and remember ‘Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it’, my son.

And the line goes abruptly dead.

Thinking furiously, brow furrowed distractedly, Buchanan turns to more mundane matters and the pile of paperwork on his desk.

Recent Twitter Feed of SpYttE

The crowd is really going for it tonigjhkjhk,- -about an hour ago via DROID

Press talk. Chit-chat chit-chat, and boob signing/tasting. Might have her for later loool!-Mood: Thirsty but horny -about an hour ago via DROID

F-cking hell, Buch! What did I do to you to deserve a swarming?-Mood: Rushed and pissed -about 2 hours ago via DROID

Playing at the Wylde Zebra tonite! I hope their ready to have their asses kicked back to their black sheeted beds! trololol-Mood: Ass-kicker -about 3 hours ago via DROID

Sheesh, Buch! I can say whatever I want to to those pricks! I could take them down any night of the week!-Mood: Pissed -about 3 hours ago via DROID

Waiting for the show to start. Time can’t move any slooooooooower!-Mood: Impatient/Sober -about 3 hours ago via DROID

Phone Call between Arturo and Tino Giovanni

Tino: Nephew Come stai? and how goes the business you’re doing for the family?

Arturo:Bene Signore-I am slowly gaining the trust of some of the members of the family Camarilla.

Tino:Good what can you tell me,so I can tell the bosses at the next sit down?

Arturo: I could tell you more if I didn’t have so many other things to do,you know?

Tino: Hey family business interests come before our dealings with the Camarilla.You should know that!

Arturo:I know I know.

Tino: So give me what you have.

Arturo:Ok I met three members of the family Camarilla so far. There is Buchanan-The guy is loaded and he has ambitions.

Tino: Oh yeah-How so?

Arturo: I think he wants to solidify this family Camarilla somehow and became boss of this family.Now this family tree has lots of branches and they don’t work together so good.

Tino: Hmmmm-Who else is there?

Arturo:There is this “Nos” named Alberecht,but we call him Al. I guess he don’t get along so good with his branch of the family-I don’t know what’s up with that. He’s a good guy-sort of weird.He reminds me of the Bosses somehow.

Tino: Oh yeah?

Arturo: I think there is a lot more going on under the surface.

Tino: You mean……?

Arturo: No no I don’t think he is doing necromancy exactly,but something like it maybe.I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.

Tino:And the last?

Arturo: He goes by the name of Spytte. I guess he is some sort of rock star and sleeps late because of it.I only met him briefly once.He’s good to have in a fight,but he causes trouble from all accounts.He hates the “Nos” Twat.

Tino: What have you done for these members of the Camarilla?

Arturo: Well I pistol whipped this kindred called Tzimice-He fucked up my gun with a quickness.I’m glad I used my gun on him and not my fists.

Tino: What’s it got to do with anything?

Arturo:I don’t know,but I thought it would be useful to show them that their enemies are my enemies. Nothing like a good pistol whipping to get the blood boiling.

Tino:Well you just watch your back.

Arturo:Oh yeah,sure.

Tino:What else?

Arturo:I don’t know exactly. I guess that there is this babe called Milan everyone is looking for. She is in the branch of the Camarilla family called the roses.Anyway I guess she must be some piece of ass-Everyone wants her.I heard maybe the “Nos” have her over some vendetta or something like that.

Tino: Is that it?

Arturo: Well yeah-like I said I haven’t spent a whole lot of time with them due to other family business I need to take care of.

Tino: Ok I will tell the Bosses what’s going on. Keep at it and continue to gain their trust.If anything changes we’ll let you know. Ciao

Arturo:Ciao Signore.

Missed the Meeting, Caught My Show

I had to miss another meaning with Buchannan and his interesting groups, for a big and interesting show opportunity. I heard of a beaten up but popular strip-bar called The Wylde Zebra looking for a good dance or industrial act. I laughed and thought “I’M a good dance or Industrial act” and had a talk with the manager. Soon enough, Stripped Cog Nightmare had a gig at a strip-bar. But this was an important opportunity, as word on the night was that a few big shots in music hung around here: engineers, artists, producers, etc. Any chance counts, and this was the most likely I’ve come to.

I made sure that the set list was upbeat: songs about ass-kicking, drinking, and f*cking do the trick. I cleaned my bass-guitar ’til it shined and replaced that wonky speaker cabinet that stands next to slEDGe. I was excited, to say the least.

But the show wasn’t easy. I was fortunate to not run into technical difficulties, but audience participation was not as cool. A drunken spectator tried to feel up on one of the girls, which led into a scuffle with the security, which led into a stray bottle hitting Scott Hemato(new guitarist) right in his Jackson Flying-V’s body, setting him off, and putting a pause to the show. I let Scott sit out the next few songs to check his guitar while we played “Unearthing Coffins”, which had a small enough guitar role to be played by slEDGe’s right hand(His Kurzweil keyboard with a B.C. Rich Warlock Guitar sampling) while his left played the synth melody on his Roland primary keyboard. Scott joins back in for “Dusk Before Lust” and he played exceptionally well.

And that, sadly wasn’t the end of the problems. As I move into the bass bridge of “Swallowing White, Bleeding Red”, I begin to hear a man screaming his bullsh*t at me. I play through the song, and right as I finish, I kick Scott’s budweiser bottle right into his face. That was when his buddies tried to get a hold of me. I knew I could take them, but I wasn’t sure if the Masquerade would survive a scrawny goth-rocker beating the crap out of a couple of drunken assholes. I played it cool, told them like it was, and bought them a round of drinks.

Then I offered to play a request, which I immediately regretted, as it was “Walk” by Pantera. I have no problem with the song, but it wouldn’t fit the venue very well. But we played on and held our breaths as to hope that we didn’t ruin the atmosphere of the bar (Strippers have to dance to SOMETHING, and I find “Walk” hardly danceable). Luckily, nothing really changed. The strippers adapted well, and everything kept flowing.

In the end, the show was great. We finished off with “Twilit Embrace in the Back of an Alley of Insert-Town-Here” with Scott and slEDGe trading off their solos perfectly, and SLyMe not missing the crescendo after the first chorus. I have no clue as to if Scott wants to keep playing with us, nor if any stuffed suits were informed of our bad-assery, but we were payed well and sounded awesome, so any other factor can suck-it, with no pun intended on my nature.

Buchanan's Journal #5
"If all men count with you, but none too much"

An interesting night. As in the old Chinese curse, “may you live in interesting times”. I see now why it’s a curse. This journal is turning into more of a “dear diary” than the aid to memory I intended, but you never know what little detail might turn out to be important later in this city so that’s the way it will have to be. If I start sparkling, or worse looking for a writer to tell my angsty-but-romantic story to, I’m walking into the f-ing sunrise, I swear!

The night began oddly enough – Albrecht, Arturo and myself received a fax from the Gangrel liaison Orion setting up a meeting at the Bronx Zoo for midnight. Then Arturo taught me Poker – which I seem to have some luck at – and we talked over our hopes and plans for the future while we waited for an appointment I’d set up with the Ventrue Primogen’s lieutenant. But when we set out to see McManus we discovered a couple of thugs vandalizing Al’s ambulance, which was parked out back of my apartment. When challenged, they said they were leaving a message for me that the Nosferatu were in the right at the coming big meeting – and then ran despite my attempt to pin them in place with my dominating will. So much for that, eh?

Arturo chased one down and Albrecht almost caught the other, but after Artie had frenziedly subdued his target and I’d calmed Artie down some we got rather a shock to discover he was one of the Tzimisce and thus a Sabbat member. If they knew where to find Al’s van then they also know where my haven is. Damn, time to move I guess. “Nemo Me Impune Lacessit“, though. Since the thug destroyed Al’s property, Al got to keep him as compensation. I’m sure I don’t want to know the details, but I’m also sure Rutger will get some information from the guy. I told Artie to split in case any kine police showed up and Al bundled the Tzim into his ambulance, then I called Twit and told him and Kumquat in no uncertain terms to get the Tzim off our backs. As far as I’m concerned it’s the fhaighean who needs to fix this one.

Onwards, anyway, to our appointment with Caulinn McManus, with Al joining me just in time from dropping of the Tzim back at his place (I think his mother was one of those pretend-Irish – Coileán or Cailean surely – although he appears to speak at least some of the Gaelic.) The man could be a mover and shaker if he wasn’t under Vienatti’s uncaring shadow but on the Milan abduction he’s utterly blinkered. No bloody use at all as he simply repeated the Toreador line uncritically, even though Milan isn’t exactly Accounted. Yelling at me about how the Nos are a bunch of “Sabbat loving fucks” and they have to get Milan back even if it means war, yet they made a truce with the Grand Vizier himself when it suited them to safeguard their own arses. A bunch of Nevilles, the lot of them. The Nos, Gangrel and Brujah will be at Elysium if we get this right. We cannot throw all that away for any one life. I gave him Sir Edward’s number in London and told him to call my Sire. Maybe the Strategoi can talk some sense of Clan honor back into the man – I hope so because he could be very useful if so. The Ventrue in New York need a Primogen who will look out for the whole Camarilla and for the Ventrue, not just their own coterie of old buddies or their partying with the kine.

Finally, Al and I headed to the Bronx Zoo and our appointment with Orion. Once there, we got a graphic demonstration of the Gangrel’s affinity for wild animals and finally found out what that code the Nos had given us was for – a back door into the Zoo. Orion wants Milan back too – again, he’s part of the Group Of Nevilles who arranged the truce with the Sabbat, and thinks about the Nevilles ahead of anything else it seems. But he agreed to bring the Gangrel to the Elysium when it happens, so that means the Brujah and Nos will turn out too. With the Ventrue already in and the Roses agreeing to show, we have a show if we can get the venue. At last! Orion was a bit odd with Albrecht and I’ve a horrible suspicion why. I hope I’m wrong and don’t really want to know if I’m right but – cac – we need Milan to still be alive otherwise tomorrow night will be a bloodbath, I fear.

Entertaining Guests

Entertaining Guests

::Albrecht to Warehouse 9 after dropping Buchanan off – still shaken by the encounter with Orion but eager to check on his guest.::

::Al strides into his haven, giving Rutgar a cheery smile:: Rutgar, how is our new quest acclimating to life here?

::Rutgar returns his master’s smile, his barely contained excitement held in check only through decades of observing social decorum at all times:: Master, he was angry at first and struggled against the chains – in time though, and after a small meal, he calmed. ::Excitement starts to creep in the edges of his voice:: He asked questions about you, master. He asked about this crafting you spoke of before – I told him of your faces. ::Rutgar’s voice drops to a whisper:: He seemed to understand what I spoke of and became quiet.

::Albrecht nods throughout Rutgar’s report, a grin spreading across his face once more at the bit about understanding:: That is excellent Rutgar – we may have much to learn from this guest. ::Albrecht makes towards the lab – humming A Lonesome Night:: Humm – Milan, is our Rose regaining her bloom? I should like to introduce our guests to one another tonight.

::The pair stand silently together as the hatch opens to the lower levels – when the last bolt slides into place Rutgar responds:: She has recovered her wits – though she is crying out for blood. I am sorry to say that after providing for the young man I am at critical levels. I fear she will slide back into that ‘torpor’ business soon if you don’t hunt for her master. ::Rutgar takes a moment to put his words into order:: As far as the tissue samples – they appear to be dead yet are not decomposing. That is a good sign – when Milan and yourself have found the time to feed, phase two will be ready for you.

::Albrecht takes in this lukewarm news and proceeds straight towards the fiends ward:: Evening Sharpbone, I am sorry it has taken me so long to see you but other patients. You understand I’m sure. Either way, you were going on earlier about the issues of Milan and the blame falling on the Nosferatu. I would like to clear the water for you in that regard.

::The Tzimisce opens his eyes – a cold analytical mind seeps from behind the orbs as he silently takes in Al’s words:: First I am a Nosferatu ::Al warns the patient and takes off his mask for a brief moment – the Fiend is completely unfazed by what he sees:: I have taken extreme measures to combat our curse. The other Nosferatu do not appreciate my research or effort yet, but in time they will. Milan issue relates to them ::The man stiffens at this remark – as though his worries are coming to life:: Calm – the Nosferatu asked me to, well its best if I just show you. ::With a gesture – Rutgar begins wheeling the bed across the hall – the door opening to what could only be called a mirror image save one difference. With the barrier removed the pained breaths of Milan can be heard in the sterile air.:: The Nos do not have her, I do, at their request. ::The Fiends eyes widen – his situation has shifted to the unexpected:: You however, you are a gift. I sadly can not allow you to leave until my obligations to the Nos are fulfilled, but in time I trust we will come to understand one another. At that time you will be free to go – in the mean time Milan is a major focus of my research. If my sires stories are true – I could share her. ::Al lets the suggestion linger in the air::

::Sharpbone lies motionless on the bed – strapped down by chains. Time seems to pass by ever so slowly, then he speaks:: Interesting – the Nos do have Milan. Granted the situation is a complex and strange one. You are right to study and work to better your vampiric condition – though working with ::Sharpbone gestures as best he can with his bound hands at Al’s face:: human flesh is a step in the wrong direction. ::The fiend lies back on the bed and speaks no more – but the interest is clear in his voice::

::Rutgar and Al wheel Sharpbone back to his room and lock both patients in – Albrecht is clearly thinking and looks at his watch ((1:00)):: Humm the night is still young – Rutgar the meeting with the Nos and Roses is tomorrow. I don’t need to tell you that they have dirt enough to bury us all ::gestures to Milan’s room:: I’m going to head out and keep an eye on them again – see that they are not double crossing us. I’ll be home before five – see if you can get Sharpbone to loosen up.

::Rutgar nods but worry is written on his face as well:: Master, the Milan girl is quiet malnourished now and Sharpbone is still healing as well. When do you think the next opportunity to hunt will be? ::Al shakes his head:: I don’t know friend, but I will see to it as soon as matters cool down for a moment. The Nos at too much of a threat now to just ignore them and see to our baser needs. ::The two give their goodbyes and Al heads off into the night::

((It is not too much later that Albrecht has worked his way into a empty room in a small apartment complex nearby to the Nosferatu Warrens entrance))

Log Entry – XX/XX/XXXXNYC Firefighter Museum

1:45 A.M. – The streets are still and no movement as yet – the fire station doors have remain closed.

2:12 A.M. – Slight movement behind the building – muffled metallic clang.

2:29 A.M. – The gate keeper crosses the street and seeing no one heads off into the night.

2:45 A.M. – Hard to tell features, but it appears some shovel heads have approached the warrens. Perhaps fiends asking the Nos if they have any info about the disappearance of a clan mate.

3:02 A.M. – “Homeless” kindred comes back around and after some discussion a small light flares to life briefly. The light glints off the shovelheads faces oddly – probably fiends or ferals.

3:27 A.M. – The doors open to darkness and the three shovelheads head back down the street without pause.

3:36 A.M. – Doorman comes by again, cocks his head strangely like Twat sometimes does.

((A large gap appears in the records as this point – stained deeply in red))

4:32 A.M – Surveying the scene all seems clear, doorman is gone. Need to get out of here.

Buchanan's Journal #4
“If you can dream - and not make dreams your master”

What a difference a day can make – or in this case 48 hours. Although I still think we’re being led by the nose by others instead of leading.

We’d been told to stay together and stay near the phone, which we did for a tense two days. Then finally Victor Cadiz called and summoned us over to the Rose’s Haven. When we got there the place was crawling with security – kine security at that – in slick suits, shades and earpieces. Feeling like extras in a Matrix knock-off, we headed inside only to be informed that one of Cristophe’s favorites, Milan, was missing and that the Nos were the favorites as kidnappers.

Now, since we need her Old Man on our side to smooth the path for an Elysium at Carnegie hall, this wasn’t good news. Nor was Cristophe’s foaming at the mouth and readying for war with the Fugly Clan. Still, I talked him out of having us snatch a Nos as revenge and into having a sit-down meeting with their representative to see if the feud between their Clans could be resolved in a more civilized fashion. At that point, we left and went back to my Haven to regroup and ready for talking to the Nosferatu.

(Seems that feud traces back to his predecessor, Veronica, who was a right Thatcher and no mistake. Seems she had a Nos “put down” as Cris so indelicately put it. A Nos who had been his girl Eleven’s lover and thought he’d be a Rose until Veronica started playing the usual back-stabbing games that keeps our Kindred in the dark ages while the kine go to the Moon. My word, what a sorry bunch we are.)

Next thing we knew, we’d been summoned to the Faustian Syndicate with a hurry-up-and-pronto. When we got there it was to find still more heavy kine security – in sharper suits and with even more heavily armored SUVs. The reason for their presence soon became apparent as Victor introduced us to none other than bloody Jaffar himself, the very Grand Vizier to George Senior’sAladdin and current Sabbat prince of New York!

I thought we were “properly f-ked, Tommy” but no – old Jaffar ups and congratulates us on helping preserve the peace and tells us that I have been given the title of “Special Arbiter for Sectarian Diplomacy for New York City”. Apparently the Syndicate thought that mouthful up. Meandering, magical, multi-minded morons.

Still, a title with both Prince’s names behind it – so of we jolly well trot back to the Nos warren and relate the glad tidings to their liaison Twat. He was pretty sarcastic at first, calling me out for abandoning my integrity and doing a deal with the Sabbat. But I explained that Jaffar’s involvement was Cadiz’ doing rather than mine and he agreed to the meeting, while denying that his Clan had Milan.

So…I decided to “risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss” and offered the Nos a new deal: back my play when it came and if I rose high enough I’d make sure they were given a new Elder position: Elder of the Underground. It would only be acknowledging what everyone already knows, after all – but people, being people, do like the obvious of their accomplishments acknowledged. He didn’t quite agree – but then he didn’t utterly disagree either.

Which leaves us on the proverbial cusp, waiting for this parlay to take place in the back storage area at one of SpYttE’s gigs in a couple of nights. Darwin’s beard, I hope it goes well. And I’m hoping against hope that the daft lass Milan went off on a shopping spree or something and will wander back unharmed on her own, because while if she turns up the meeting still has to happen on the orders of the two Princes, if she turns up dead I’ve a feeling everything will go to hell in a hand basket.

To pluck a Rose - ::slice:: She loves me. ::slice:: She loves me not.

To pluck a Rose – ::slice:: She loves me. ::slice:: She loves me not.

((The night after Milan’s abduction – Warehouse 9))

Rutgar: ::Shaking Albrecht:: It’s time to wake master – I have the girl tied down but she is starting to come too.

Albrecht: ::Rising stiffly from his mortuary chamber:: So Milan is up then – you did not let her get in your head? Good good. Lets see what I have to work with them – set up the camera for me if you would.

((The pair start to create a drastic change in the lab: The lights are turned off and a bloody red glow radiates from a eerie lantern, Albretch is quickly disguising his identity – putting on rugged leathers strapped down with blades, and Rutgar is dutifully setting up the recording apparatus.))

Albrecht: ::Striding across the room with scalpel in hand:: Dear sweet Milan, do you know who I am?

Milan: ::Bloody tears streak the face of the Rose – her words coming out a whimper:: You-You’re that doctor who follows Buchanan around. Why are you doing this to me?!

Albrecht: ::Gently stroking the red tears from her face, before licking them from his finger tips:: Sweetling – I assure you it is not my wish to harm you. Yet the fates conspired and made this an opportunity not to be missed. You see your sire has angered some very powerful kindred – and I have yet to have the rare chance to experiment upon -

Milan: NO! Please, I did what you asked. Daddy is going to help – I can get you more money! Let me go please, I won’t say anything to anyone! Don’t kill me please ::ends in senseless sobs::

Albrecht: I do not plan to kill you – Christophe perhaps in time. No, you are precious. ::Al takes the scalpel and slices away at the base of her throat, expertly avoiding major veins:: Your face will grow back in a ::pauses a moment:: I have no idea for a Rose, weeks perhaps or faster? In the mean time ::Al continues to cut away the muscles and skin as the young girl screams and struggles:: I can work with a new medium. Will your flesh be able to live on as human flesh can – longer perhaps? Will vatae nourish your tissues – must it be yours or will mine suffice. If my blood works will it taint your flesh with our curse? So many questions.

((Though Al’s skills are formidable – the loss of blood has driven Milan to torpor. A small boon, she should be less threat to Rutgar until her feeding must begin again. She must be strong to provide further material))

Albrecht: ::Bahh:: We do not have time for this, Rutgar provide the young miss so blood. Then we must begin rolling tape. The Nos will want their proof and Christophe is so stubborn ::tisk::

((As Milan starts to revive new horror draws of the ruin of her face. A thin red sheen shines in the ruddy light as Albretch begins a wholly different procedure – one lacking any purpose than to horrify and disturb.))

Albretch: ::Lying on a couch with his eyes closed and rubbing his temples:: Dear god – that last bit was not medicine. Rutgar, I wish you to understand, that was not of the craft. ::Long drawn out sigh:: Keep the girl under watch – I need to deliver this tape to the Nos and see that they distribute it through the proper channels.

((Rutgar’s face shows his pleasure at the events that have recently transpired, despite his masters warnings. He numbly nods as he mills over to the Rose’s bedside))

Rutgar: ::Turning his head slowly:: As you wish master – thank you.

((After dropping off the package with Twat – Al spends some time observing the Nosferatu. If they should betray him – he must be ready to flee NYC))


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