The Masquerade An Offering

Lord_Deathstalker

Lord_Deathstalker

The bleeding nose perv
Salazar pulled the thumb drive out of his computer. As the screen flashed blue then went dark. It took him a while to get accurate log in info. From what he saw on that dark web form it was a network of information. Shipments Guard details and a few names. Leaning back from his dark wood desk he drummed his fingers. He had to make his friend that gave him the login disappear. But then again Salazar had the money to do such a thing. And a few connections that could get the papers. He picked up his cell phone and made a few calls. The man would be gone by midnight. “Amazing what can be done when bags of Spanish gold exchange hands.” Salazar said to himself.

When Salazar heard what was going on, he knew he could not stand idle. He did not know much of the political climate. But he had heard good things from his friends about The Prince. Whistling a tune he put on his leather trenchcoat. Fiddling with his lip ring with his upper lip he thought. He needed to get this to The Prince. He could burn another of his friends to get his number but that would have been a waste. So he would be seen publicly in the Territory. Sooner or later someone would make contact. So picking up his keys he headed to his bike. Kicking it to life he left The Hanged Man.

Soon he was in the Prince’s territory. After spending a few hours just riding he made sure to be seen doing it. Salazar found a spot he parked the bike. Removing his pistol and cutlass he left them on the bike. The gun in a saddle bag the sword in a sheath hanging on the gas tank. Looking around at the park for the first time he got the lay of the land. Open enough that if they were to try and kill him it would mean paying off a few people. Closed off enough that it would not cost much. Walking to a bench Salazar shook out a cigarette and lit it. Sitting on the bench his legs spaced apart out of habit. spending so much time on the rolling deck of a ship. His hands clasped behind the back of his head. He looked up at the night sky the cigarette dangling from his lips. Prepared to wait to close to dawn.
 
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Upon hearing the words of a purge, Alexander shook his head. No, no, that wouldn’t do. After hearing Marcus speak on the matter, Alex touched his fingers to his temple again; a horrible habit when he was trying to form the right words. “I cannot bring myself to issue a culling. They are misguided, and more often than not, disorganized. They have been misled from the path of the Camarilla and simply don’t know better. They’re like children, in need of correcting. Besides, I have to show them that the Camarilla aren’t as bad as they make us out to be. If I can spare one of them and set him on the right path, he may even convince others to follow. It would be our numbers that grow then, instead of theirs. That small act of mercy… it could change several things.”

Alexander’s eyes turned upward, once again taking in the sights of the dome before returning his thoughts to the matter at hand. “What of you, Marcus? How goes your OH SO NOBLE quest in your hunt?” His words weren’t necessarily shouted as Marcus’ would have been, but instead just a slight octave higher. It was in good fun, as opposed to mockery – odd sense of humor, that. “Have you started looking for anyone to bring into your tutelage?”
 
Kathryn sighed in relieved contentment when her chauffeur opened her door in front of the cathedral’s grand entrance. Here, there was peace and quiet.

This night, her beautiful Haven’s calm atmosphere was being desecrated by one of those awful modern rock bands, something that always left her with a massive headache - she had been so wrong when she'd thought being a vampire would save her from that!...

Her small heeled shoes clacked rhythmically on the stone floor, polished to a shine by age and thousands of mortal feet. Kathryn chuckled quietly when she spotted the inverted crucifix, an indulgent smile remaining on her lips as she approached the two men.

“Good eve, my Prince, and Sheriff.” Her soft contralto echoed through the ancient walls.
 
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Marcus raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer the Prince’s question Kathryn arrived in the Cathedral. “KEEPER.” He acknowledged her presence. “AS FOR MY SEARCH for Hounds... there are some PROSPECTS.” The sound of a ringtone began to play incredibly loudly.

“NERO.” He practically screamed down the microphone as he pulled the mobile from his pocket. The expression on his face was telling going from mild annoyance to a deep frown. “YOU’RE CERTAIN?” There was a note of agitation in his near shouting now, his right hand unconsciously reaching for the pistol in its shoulder-holster. “WE HAVE A MYSTERY VISITOR,” He reigned in his voice with great difficulty, “A ghoul of mine in Scotland Yard just phoned in, he’s planted himself in Hampstead Heath. Trying to be seen.”
 
When he heard the woman speak, Alexander’s demeanor changed from a look of annoyance, to a slight sign of relief. “Ah, Lady Keeper,” he began, ever-so- formally, “I hope your night is filled with less irritants than my own.” The words seemed to be in conjunction with the ring-tone now echoing within the previously quieted halls. Then again, it could be the way Marcus yelled every so often—fucking Malkavian and their insanity. Insanity, which to be fair, had its uses. Defeating the Purpose of Elysium, however, would not be counted among them. “Put it away, Marcus. I’m sure the Lady wouldn’t want us giving her reason to throw us out… and I would be remissed in saying that it would not be embarrassing for the both of us.” In truth, Alex hadn’t listened to the phone call, though senses would have surely picked up the voice on the other end of the receiver. Instead, he gave privacy. Ever the gentleman. Marcus’ words did seem to strike a chord, however.

An intruder? In Alexander’s Domain? Being biased and judging this information purely on the recent conversation the Prince and Sheriff had, Alexander’s demeanor once more changed—his attention shifting back to his Sheriff. “That said… contact Marcey. See if she’s heard anything. I somehow managed to piss the Nosferatu Primogen off again , so I highly doubt they will be of any aid. If the Anarchs have found their way into my city, Marcus, MY FUCKING CITY, I will string them along the walls of my manor like Christmas ornaments.” Alexander took a moment to regain his composure; at this point, he wasn’t completely sure if it was the fact that a potential Anarch was within his Domain, or the fact that he had still yet to feed that stirred such agitation. “My Lady Keeper, might you have a stock within these halls? A brunette woman, perhaps? My thirst rages, and I fear I may succumb like the God awful Brujah if I do not satisfy it.”
 
Several minutes after Salazar had taken his seat in the park, he would notice a rather burly man in a suit step out of a luxury SUV and approach him. As the man grew closer it would become fairly obvious that this man was a ghoul sent by some other vampire. When the man was but a few feet away, a phone in his jacket pocket would begin to ring. He reached in and pulled out a small disposable flip phone and placed it on the bench next to Salazar, where it would continue to ring.

The man would take a few steps back before saying, “It’s for you.”
 
The Keeper’s frown, which had replaced her warm smile when the Sheriff’s phone rang, deepened with Alex’s words. “Not within, my Prince, for the church is still annoyingly nosy.” She informed with regret. “However, some of the caretakers live in the houses to the right of this sanctuary. Two of them happen to fit your specifications, and I have the keys to their homes.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Would you prefer a dour woman whose drunkard of a husband spends his nights and money on whore houses? Or perhaps a lovely virgin, so very young, and so very pious?”
 
In the third floor of an apartment, one building behind the caretaker's home, James scratched at a patchy stubble on his chin as he watched the text flow by on the screen. He sat in a small apartment, smelling of energy drinks, mildew, and instant ramen. He yawned and crouched down, opening an old mini fridge on the floor, and pulled out another energy drink from the barely functional device. He cracked the top and took a drink, mind and eyes already focused once more on the screen as the nearly room temperature drink reached his lips. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down on the shabby wooden chair he found at a yardsale. He set the drink down on his desk, cluttered by an array of sticky notes covered in unintelligible handwriting. The process running counted out its completetion.
>98%... 99%... 100%... Done: Total Process runtime 1:00:13

James sighed contentedly and leaned back in the chair. He moved the process to the side and took a look at the clock. 1:38 A.M., the clock read. He furrowed his brow, at odds with the answer, and clicked the calendar open. He grimaced, then sighed once more, dejectedly, and set his forehead in his palm. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around as if it were his first time seeing the room. He had mixed expression on his face, torn somewhere between amusement, disgust, and crying. He settled on the foremost. He looked down at himself though, and frowned again. Striped grey blue boxers and a threadbare and stained white tank top. He moved to the window and opened it, sticking his head outside to get out of the closed and stuffy confines of his apartment.

The city was beautiful at night, building towering on the horizon glowingly softly in yellow and whites, headlined in neon. Cars whispered by in the distance, echoing down the quiet streets. The moon was in halves, shining down on the world below in a gentle light, leaving the world veiled in black and silver. Scattered clouds up above glowed dimly on their bellies from the light of the city. The church, half a block away in its empty plaza, was always beautiful in the night. A long green lawn stretched out, lights shining inward onto the towering minarets of the cathedral. Something was off, though. Two people stood outside the church, too distant to make out much about them. One sat on a bench, and one placed something on it then backed off. He heard some shout, barely distinguishable, muffled from the inside of the church. "WE HAVE A MYSTERY VISITOR!" A short moment later. "...MY FUCKING CITY..."

James shrugged and stuck his head back inside. There were more pressing matters than watching some weirdos in a church in the morning. Namely, eating. He was starving.
 
Salazar turned his head watching as a wall of meat got out of an S.U.V. He looked at the scattered cigarette butts around him. As he opened a flip phone and set it next to Salazar. Salazar smiled flashing both his fangs and his dimples. "Why thank you," Salazar said to the man. Ignoring the human mountain of flesh. Salazar picked up the phone and said into the open line. " Greetings, My name is Salazar Grim former Captain of The Blood Moon. And I have some information you may find interesting. And I would very much like to become your friend."
As Salazar spoke he shook out yet another smoke. Lighting it he exhaled and dropped the pack back into his pocket. His hand disappearing into another pocket. He pulled out a hip flask unscrewing the cap he took a long pull. Smacking his lips he closed the flask and replaced it in the pocket.
 
The look of mischief on the face of Kathryn caused Alexander himself to grin. How odd was it, that the one who maintained the balance—so to speak—was the one who was the most mischievous. To answer her question, he simply stated “Virgins lost my interest centuries ago, my Lady.” It was exact; it was true. Why show interest in that which you cannot have, save for the taking of their essence? Alexander’s weight shifted as he slowly walked toward the podium of the cathedral. If he were to make a new acquaintance, it would be here. “Marcus, what have you learned?”
 
Seeing Alexander's grin, Kathryn congratulated herself on a job well done. She would do anything to see him happy, for he was the first to show respect and appreciation for her nature, giving her a title and a responsibility she loved.

Reaching into her small hand purse, she took out the right key and approached the Prince at the podium. Looking him in the eyes while pressing the key into his hand, she sent him the image of the door to the caretaker's home then, with a wink and a mouthed "Bon appétit!", she took her place to his left and one step behind.
 
As Salazar raised the phone to his ear, he would hear the rhythmic thump of dance music, and then a voice. Sweet and soft, with a rather distinct French accent. "Well, then you are doing a rather poor job of it. Salazar, what where you thinking walking into a Prince's domain without even making an attempt at an introduction?" And audible sigh would be heard on the other end of the phone. "Well then, either way you really should be making your way to somewhere safe. If Marcus knows where you are, and I'll bet he does, he very well could be coming to get you. You'd probably prefer he didn't. So, come meet me at my club, Bastille. Its not too far from you. My man can take you. Then we can talk business, face to face." She seemed to pause, as if she was about to hang up the phone before coming back on. "Oh, and Mister Grim. You can call me Marcey." With that, Marcey hung up.
 
Salazar laughed and shook his head. If he had been wanting to kill or hurt anyone here. He would not have driven around trying to be spotted. Sighing he stood and offered the phone back to The Mountain Of Meat that had given it to him. "Take me to her," Salazar said as he climbed into the S.U.V. This was shaping to be a long night. He took another long pull of the steel flask at his hip and replaced it as the driver to Salazar to his destination.
On the ride, Salazar thought about his brief interaction with Marcey she seemed both condescending and like she was dealing with a dullard. 'well this is gonna be fun' Salazar thought as he lit yet another smoke rolling down the window to let it vent out the smoke.
 
Chewing a mouthful of nearly scalding ramen, James peered through the blinds. He swallowed and shoved another large forkful of ramen into his mouth before sitting back down at the computer. Fork still in his mouth, he cracked his knuckles.
"I wonder what they're up to..." He half murmured, half mumbled with a mouthful of food.

The cathedral had a large network, one able to cover its grounds as well as the surrounding buildings, such as the groundskeeper's homes and the other church buildings. It happened to extent just into the apartment complex James lived in before dropping off sharply. He entered the password and logged onto the network. The Reverend gave out the wifi password on Sundays after the sermon, and James went a few weeks ago just to get it. He looked at the attached devices for a moment, looking for anything he could use to see or hear what was happening. Some of his fascination was what they were doing in a church that should be closed at 1AM, but some of it was morbid curiosity, plain and simple.

Recording equipment used on the choir? James paused to take another fork of ramen and down a slug of energy drink in the same mouthful. He blinked twice, long and hard, fatigue evidently wearing on him. He rubbed the side of his desktop, almost as if it were some kind of pet, and not a piece of hardware. He opened up the recording equipment, and started to play the sound through his headset.

The camera, focused on the choir's stands, held nothing but a still picture. The audio, a bit muffled from the source being in the wrong place, was still clearly audible in the quiet night. A jangling of keys echoed through the tall chapel, followed by a few footsteps. A woman, in a young, mischievous voice spoke two words.

"Bon appétit!"
 
Salazar would find that, as Marcey had said, the club wasn't far from the where he had set up. After the short trip, he would find himself in front of an older brick building with a bright neon sign hanging above the door reading, "Bastille". A pair of bouncer stood at the door managing two short lines. The music could be heard from outside.

The driver parked the car and leaned back to Salazar. "Go in. Someone will show you where you need to go.

If Salazar would choose to enter, the bouncers would move others aside to let him pass through. Inside he would find that the bottom floor was split into two distinct sections a large central dance floor and then the large area around it. The dance floor was packed, and along the walls were several full bars, all tending to customers. The only lights to be found on were around the bars, and the light show illuminating the dance floor. Salazar would also see one more thing, a rather stunning young blonde woman approaching him.

"Her red painted lips parted in to reveal a captivating smile and she spoke, "Welcome Mr. Grim. Welcome to Bastille. Ms. Monette is waiting for you in her office." She would then grab his hand and begin to lead him along the side of the dance floor to a staircase towards the back of the club.
 
Salazar entered the club, as an owner of such an establishment himself. He found that the place was run well if not in the same style of his. As a Stunning blond greeted him. He smiled as this was clearly a test. Either to see if he would give into his base desires or to gauge how he would react. Pulling out a tarot card that read The Hanged man. Salazar said " Darling I prefer Captin Grim or Salazar. And a beauty such as you just have to come by and pay me a visit, The hanged man is not nearly as pedestrian" Salazar said looking around pointedly. He knew he was laying on the flamboyant playboy rather thickly. His sense of smell he could pick up the smell of sweat from the dance floor. And his guides perfume that oddly enough made him a little light-headed. Though he had chalked that up to the fact he was a little hungry
 
The young woman giggled and take the card, "Why thank you Captain." With a sly smile she would pull him towards the stairs. When he got there, he would learn that the stairwell was exposed to the open air, but with a sheet metal wall around it. Several club goer's could be found smoking, and a security guard was keeping a keen eye out on the patrons. The blonde girl would then lead Salazar up the the fourth floor, passing the other two which each appeared to have their own dance floors each playing a different genre of music. All packed with patrons. The fourth floor however seemed to be set as a VIP section. A bouncer at the door would move a red velvet rope to allow Salazar and his guide in.

The woman would then guide him towards the front of the building and to a closed door labeled, "Marceline Monette". The young woman would knock once before a familiar French voice answered, "Enter."

Upon entering the room, Salazar would find it lavishly decorated. A large Redwood desk sat in front of a large window overlooking the street below. A large leather office chair sat behind it, and two smaller chairs in front of it. Art hung on all the walls, and several small sculptures sat on shelves. It all looked rather expensive, and exceptionally old. If Salazar followed such things, he would recognize what could very well be an original Monet on the wall. A small redheaded woman sat on the opposite end of the desk from Salazar.

"Please. Sit Salazar." Marcey spoke as she gestured to a chair across from her, her accent distinctly French. As Salazar neared he would start to notice how incredibly attractive she was. Her red hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, and the red dress she wore was more than flattering to her petite body. And while her smile felt as though it could warm the hearts of millions, her gaze nearly sent a chill down Salazar's spine.
 
Salazar smiled and thank the host. Salazar lifted a pierced brow and spoke in flawless french "Do you prefer french or the queen's English ?" Salazar sat like a cat all but sprawling. Salazar's Brujah nature shown when he was around women. And he was pleased with the things is mind was showing him he could do with this woman. Shaking his head as more a show for her. He was here on business and he found that things might go easier if they thought he was another passionate Brujah
Clearing his throat " I have some information I wish to sell. " He continued in French than looking around " But first i could use a drink " Salazar looked around pointedly. He was playing a role here one of arrogant salesmen if they thought more of him like that. Then maybe his true goal would be unsuspected.
 
"I thought you might be a tad parched. That's why I sent you a little snack." She replied in French, gesturing the young blonde over. The woman smiled at Salazar and offered her arm to him.

After Salazar's snack, Marcey would return to the matter at hand. "So, you say you have some information to sell? I am sure you have a price, so please, what is it you want?"
 
Salazar smiled at the woman and quickly cut her filling up a small cup. Making sure to lick her wound to close it he sat back in his chair. "Well you see" Salazar produced a thumb drive setting it on her desk. "what I want is a small thing i want Sutten declared a free state under Camarilla law" Taking a sip he looked at her " Essentially paper work. I am trading this for you and The Prince to do some paperwork. " Salazar said as he shook out a cigarette and offered his host one. And lit up inhaling sharply. His Sharp blue eyes not missing anything.
 
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