[Sodium_noir] a snapshot in the night

[Spikey]

Come up and see me, make me smile
Or do what you want, run on wild

Saturday 25th of October


The sun set on Saturday night and sank behind the horizon with a guilty and sheepish manner. Gotham's sodium lights blinked and flickered into life where they still functioned and the city came alive as it always did after dark. While it was no less hectic and busy during the day, something about the city always appeared less dedicated while the sun shone, almost as if it were filling time until dusk. Now the Moon hung like a sickle in the sky and the clouds were painted a deep blue by her reflected light, Gotham took off its masque and got busy with its real business.

Deep in the basement of club Harlequin, behind the doors of what was once a bank safe, a Vampire awoke. Barely a man by today's standards when he died, Constantine had been undead for a very long time and the process of stolen life returning to his corpse was old hat these days. However the evening had been less than ideal and he had slumbered poorly, struggling to awaken from his death sleep more than once but failing. A vampire who still retained some of its Humanity, some of its link from the species it once belonged to, might have managed to tear itself free from the arms of Morpheus. The Harlequin had abandoned that frailty centuries before in favour of the most chaotic tenets of the Path of Paradox.

As he sat up, something fell into his lap. After several minutes of muttering under his breath and struggling to find the light he looked down to find two gold coins. That explained the odd feelings he had of weight on his eyes as he awoke. Some bastard, he already knew who, had placed them over his eyes while he slept. He glared at the doorway to his bedroom and saw it stood ajar. Then he turned to look at the pillow beside him and the empty place in his bed.

Tawny had left during the day and not closing the door was her last 'fuck you!'.

With a sigh he scooped up the coins and then swore loudly as he realised they were chocolate and they had begun to melt. How far had he fallen when a vagabond Werewolf could march openly into his haven and leave messy chocolate on his person while he slept without him even waking up and tearing the intruder limb from limb?
_______________________________

Montenegro sat alone in an unused room in the mansion. the new Chantry. His window looked out across the back garden and into the gardens of some of the other old money houses in the area, giving him a small degree of illicit thrill. Somewhere not to far away he could hear the pool party, the shrill voices of the younger guests carried on the wind and he strained to catch what he could of it. His Tremere blood and the gift of Auspex allowed him a much greater breadth of senses and he could spy on the Sinclair mansion even at a great distance.

The weight of his position at the Chantry was rarely one he could escape and this mundane piece of voyeurism granted him a short respite. His two new Apprentice were somewhat of a chore he felt, expecting some sort of traditional leadership and dull monotony in his mannerisms that really wasn't his way. He still saw Gotham as virgin territory for the Tremere, a place where they had failed so abysmally in the past and where his great leadership could forge a new path for the Clan. Not a path of the same old methods, but of his way.

The Regent's thoughts were split. Part of him was enjoying the pool party vicariously, looking forward to travelling their in person. Part of him was assessing the other Primogen of the city and their place in his plan. Trying to second guess the Prince and the Clans to see who would fill the empty seats at the table. He needed to know his opposite numbers if he were to succeed in this city. Most worrisome were the Brujah. The Brujah were always the largest thorn in the Tremere side in any city and he felt he'd be ahead of the game if he could influence who they gave that position to. 

The previous evenings round of presentations to the Prince had gone as well as he could expect. Nobody had embarrassed him, no mistakes were made. But he still felt very much like an outsider. What relationship he had with Montoya was nothing compared to the big three. Montoya the face of power, Ettienne St Claire the brains and Christopher Bennet the Banker. The first thing he needed to do was to be accepted by those men, for his age and for his weight in the game.  

And another part of his scheming mind wanted to see how far he could encourage Giger to return to the Club Harlequin. He needed a spy in that place ... bait for the beast. He'd heard the way older Tremere spoke about the harlequin, especially the German's. There was a small sub cell of warlocks to whom this Ravnos was a true Bogeyman, a nemesis. Taking down the harlequin would buy him allies to be proud of. And to that end he intended to .....

A sound in the doorway. .... Camille. 

His Childe stood in the light of the hallway dressed in the clothes of her mortal days. A expensive cocktail dress, designer shoes, a pearl necklace. One of the reasons he had chosen to embrace her was the ease with which she swam in these circles. Her familiarity with money and those who held it. She was of a world he so desperately wanted to be part of, and hopefully tonight would be the first step on that journey.

"shall we?" she asked. Trying her best to hide any taint of condescension in her voice. It didn't pay to push her superiority too far, he was still her master. But as he rose she couldn't help herself. "Oh, is that what you are wearing?"

His expression made it clear she had made a mistake.

"Its just that they are an old crowd, a bit stuffy. You wouldn't mind if we toned down our good taste and tried to fit in with the old fuddy duddy's do you? You did ask me to help you make the right impression ..." She led him down the hallway towards his own room in the hope she could find him a better tie at the very least.
___________________________

Hannibaal Kinkaid smelt food cooking. It had been so long since he could stomach mortal faire that it was an annoyance. Enough of one to stir him from the bed with more fury that usual, and without bothering to dress. The silk sheets made a perfectly good gown for now, reminding him perversely of a shroud. At least he didn't have to sleep in the earth like those dirty Gangrel. 

Thank the Darkness Shaitan had ditched that party.

Not that he would say no to a huge tower over a city to rule from like Ashur had. In fact, he really had a hard on for his own tower. He his eyes set on Dusk towers, the biggest and tallest building in Gotham. A modern day Ziggurat every bit as spectacular as Ashurs Ziggurat back in the day. 

Except things weren't going his way right now. His plans hadn't played out quite as he had hoped recently and he needed to catch up. He needed a big win. he needed to shaft Melcom too. Revenge was an important survival technique for vampires, it kept you sane. This was the gospel according to Hannibaal Kinkaid. 

  

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