[Sodium_noir] Listen to the Night

[Spikey]

Warren and Titus walk back towards Little Italy, skirting the northern edge of Darktown. The Nosferatu semed edgy at times, uncomfortable to be 'up top' or perhaps being so close tot he Setites territory. On the other hand, he wanted to impress Titus and the Templar could sense that. An automatic belief in his capabilities matched with a certain degree of hero worship. He had forgotten that he had risen to his place on the top of the heap and that others had observed it. 

Delbourne street came up and they walked past rows of identicle brownstones. Faces at the windows peered out, groups of mixed ethnicity stood on the stoops and watched them pass. They came closer tot he haven and there were no longer people on the street. curtains no longer twitched. The signs were there for those who knew how to look. A sword like Ankh hidden in the grapphitti, ideograms of scales and others that neither knew as Bushido symbols. 

Warren stopped at a a brownstone with a solid black door. It, like the windows, was barred and reinforced. A Fire hydrant stood right outisde in surprisingly good repair. None of the windows had extrenuous decoration, no window boxes or nicnaks. An old Ford sat in the alley to the side beneath the fire escape.

"This is it!" Waren says needlessly, nodding skywards.

The sound on the edge of Titus hearing is unclear at first, traffic and noise here is still loud. But every now and then he hears the clang of metal on metal. Melle practice he figures. Mercia is clearly at home tonight. 

Dredging up his memories of the Tzimisce, Titus recalls that Mercia and his pack were not inclined to hang around Casa Giovanni like many of the braves. They came when called, when ritual and ceremony demanded but not just for the sake of lounging by the pool. They were loyal, fanatacally so, but clearly had thier own ideas about what a True sabbat ought to do when not at war. 

"I'll give 'em a call!" Warren said producing a cell phone. "Caine alone knows what the knights think is ample security and I don't fancy loosing a layer of flesh tonight because I didn't know the secret club knock!" The Nosferatu grins from ear to ear, showing far too many teeth in great need of being kept hidden.

"Yo ... Dresden? Dude its Warren from the Trogs ... yeah its all good. Look, I am downstairs with the Templar and ... yeah no shit. That OK? Cool!" he looks to Titus and runs up the stairs to grab the door before the buzzing ceases. Door entry system apparently works, probably the only one on the street that does. Pulling hard on the door to reveal its thick steel plate reinforcement he holds it open for Titus. By the time the Lasombra reaches the lobby there are three Sabbat braves waiting for him, hanging on the stairs. 

More hero worship.

"Guys, you know the Templar." Warren says. "Wants to rap with your number one."

The Sabbat part in response. Making way for somebody descending the stairs behind them, the sound of several footfalls. Mercia comes into view, walking with measured grace and assuredness. A beast at home in its lair. 

Yeah Titus remembers him now, Suave mother fucker. He really did have a touch of the Clint Eastwood about him too. If Clint Eastwood ever had long black hair. Leather trousers, silk shirt open at the neck, clack strangler gloves, cowboy bots, even a damn sword at his hip. Remarkably human looking for a Fiend however, no icky flaps or horns or anything. 

"You honour us Sir!" he says in a voice more cultured and European than Eastwood could manage and the Illsuion is dispelled somewhat. "I bid you welcome you to our haven and our company. Enter freely and be at rest here!" Tzimisce hospitality, not even the ravages of the sword of Caine could douse it in the older ones. They could wax formal and lyrical even while warpping you in your own intestines and gelding you with a touch.

Mercia steps aside to invite Titus up the stairs, less fawning than the younger braves. More the act of an equal. 
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