Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Lumiena Square

as written by Krysis

"All the surveillance footage is messed up? I count six shops that face this spot, and I can see at least two cameras from here." Celeste leaned her elbow on one knee as she looked up at Officer Yates. Even if she had been standing up, she would have been looking up at him, so it didn't really make that much difference to her to stay kneeling.

"If that many sources are fouled, it had to be the subject, not the tapes themselves. So we could follow the suspect by seeing what is messed up, even if we can't get a good image of him?" She wasn't Exactly sure though, and the edge of the question lilted up towards Savien.

One of the knives that Celeste almost always wore on her forearms would be tugged forth as she leaned over the blood spatter carefully. The blade was long enough to let her gingerly pull back Isabelle's-- The nearer victim's collar and reveal the glitter of an expensive silver necklace. "That is new. She couldn't have afforded that on her own, and if she had worn it yesterday, everyone would have noticed. So she probably got it here and we can retrace her steps too."
 
as written by Emperor Jester

The police officer would remove his uniform's hat, scratching at his head. "I don't know what to tell you two. I haven't seen it all, but the footage from the clothing store, the one with the broken window, and the candle shop all had the same, strange issue. I've viewed them myself already, and I was the first one to do so according to the owners. The three came up the street, to about where we stand and then the footage just...stops recording. The machines still runs, the clock keeps track of the time but, nothing on film."

The older man would look between the two of them, swallow painfully, before continuing. "Some of the witnesses say the perpetrator was tall. Some say he was handsome but then he wasn't and refuse to speak anymore. One woman said she thought he'd been dashing, dressed all in white with his long black hair but then she couldn't continue to talk about it. Got violently ill. No one got a look at his face, or if they did, they aren't saying anything..."
 
as written by Ronin

"Thank you, officer," Savien nodded, "we'll approach you if we have any more questions."

The paladin walked out of the wreckage and towards Celeste as she knelt by Isabelle's body.

"Hm. That's a find." Savien went to a knee by her side and opened the black box. He snapped on a pair of disposable gloves before offering a pair to Celeste. "Put these on. Don't touch the body with your knife."

He reached down and examined the necklace, before turning his eyes to Isabelle's wounds. A great gash chewed her shoulder and imploded into her body. It was as if she'd been shot from above with a cannon. Her entire left arm was missing.

"Three questions, rookie," he continued as he snapped a flashlight off his belt and shone a beam into the crater of gore tunneling into Isabelle's body. Should Celeste look as well, she would find the girl's shoulder bone pulverized. "What kind of suspect messes with video cameras and people's heads?" He ran a finger down the corpses' side where he found a trail of blood that was, for some reason, frozen to her clothes. "Two, how does a proselyte with an allowance of thirty crowns a month afford a necklace as nice as the one she's wearing?"

He leaned back, taking in the scene in its entirety. "...three, where the hell is her arm?"
 
as written by Krysis

Celeste gave Savien an angry look at his constant nitpicking at her every move, and the dagger trembled in her grip before she put it away, along with her anger at him. Mildly, she replied, "It is perfectly acceptable procedure to use a clean tool to move evidence around after it has been documented. Most cops use ink pens."

"Of course, all of this is compromised already, with the cops walking around shedding hair and fibers with every step, so the point is moot." She put on the gloves obediently though, already very tired of Savien's attitude.

"If it were just the damage, I would hazard a guess of werewolf, but this is not the work of a mere dog. You can see nail marks on the upper edge of the wound. Like he just grabbed her and pulled her arm off, and then ate it. However, the ice is of some concern. Whatever did this was cold enough to flash freeze blood as it spurted through the air. That is the most logical explanation for the blood spatter patterns." Celeste pointed near Savien's feet to draw his attention to the fine spray she had been kneeling beside when he came up beside her.

She glanced at Officer Yates and smiled at him blandly before leaning close enough to Savien to whisper to him, "Vampires can mess with people's heads, and used to have pawns in useful places. I'd like to examine those tapes myself. In the video lab. In case someone accidentally deleted the parts we want and they can be recovered."
 
as written by Ronin

"It's not the cleanliness, it's the tool," Savien replied, "if that thing is sharp - and it sure as Selene better be, if you're keeping it as a backup - then you could easily lacerate the corpse."

He listened to her theory wordlessly. "So you think it's a vampire." Savien rose. He walked over to the destroyed wire chair and the head of the girl slumped next to it. "That's quite the theory, rookie. We haven't had a public vampire attack in a while." Not since the Caer Skirmishes had nosferatu engaged humans in open battle. Since that event, the vampire houses had done such a good job policing themselves that many wondered if they still existed.

He turned back to Celeste. "What about the necklace? How do you think that fits into all this?"
 
as written by Krysis

"Would you mind doing me the great favor of assuming I know what I am doing with my own tools?" Celeste hissed at Savien, almost ready to show him exactly how sharp her knives were. Especially since he just basically said that she would willingly slice up a friend's corpse.

She leaned back on her heels and took a deep breath to calm herself, which was a mistake with the raw flesh so near. At least the abrupt churning in her stomach cooled her rage enough that she could be reasonable again.

"The necklace had to be bait, or a lure. Something to get them to stand in this spot. Someone Wanted this to be seen, to be messy and public. Vampire is just the most common option that has the physical strength and mental prowess to fit the facts. After the suckheads, you have to get exotic. Demon, dragon, or something truly unfamiliar. So let's hope it was a vampire, or a group of them. Just the other night I was thinking--." Celeste rose from her crouch a little shakily as she spoke, pale and her eyes half closed as she focused on the academics of the situation without letting herself think about her friends.

Her eyes shot wide open when her gaze passed over the ambulance though and she bounced a little as the thought jolted her. "May I have permission to see the survivor? Alone? If it is who I think it is, he might be more willing to talk to me without you looming over us."
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Suddenly, a shout from one of the nearby stores. "Officer Yates, you better come see this! We got something on the book store's camera!"
 
as written by Ronin

Savien was rising to his feet as Celeste briefly lost her temper. He turned to face her, and opened his mouth to speak ... but closed it as he looked at her. He watched her expression, the faint tremor in her voice, the paleness etching across her cheeks...

He listened to her explanation silently, arms folded across his chest. Just as Celeste finished asking for permission to see the boy, one of the officers called for Yates. The paladin nodded to the proselyte.

"Your call, rookie," he said, "you can see the kid or you can review the tapes. Which first?"
 
as written by Krysis

"The living. Because that can always change." She answered briefly and with a sad look before she jogged towards the ambulance, ready to be away from Savien, at least for a few minutes.

She would take a moment to compose herself though, away from the smell of rotting blood and torn flesh. At least no organs had been punctured, so the smell was just raw meat. Which was a problem mostly because it smelled kinda good, just needed to be cooked. That was a thought she didn't need in her head when she confronted... Well, it had to be Eric, didn't it? He hung with the other two, and had been missing from class.

She knocked on the closed doors before trying to let herself in, not wanting to disturb the paramedics if they were in the middle of something delicate.
 
as written by Ronin

"-should give him something."

"Without his medical records? Do you want to lose your job?"

Celeste would round the opened back of the ambivalence to the sight of two paramedics stooped over a boy in a gurney.

"But look at him!" the shorter of the two with curly brown hair gestured to the body before them. "He hasn't moved! He's been catatonic since we arrived on scene. He's probably in shock. We should get some fluids into him..." He stooped down and lifted one of his eyelids, shining a light from his belt into his pupil.

Neither had seemed to notice Celeste.
 
as written by Krysis

Celeste had taken the required courses in battlefield medicine at least, so she peered at the pair of slightly bumbling paramedics before craning her neck to look at Eric. "You've got him well bandaged, so fluids would be good. If he doesn't seem to be in pain, don't give him anything for it yet. He might snap out of it long enough to tell us something important."

Then she would ease into the ambulance, pulling one of the standard vials of salve from her prepacked vest as she moved. "Use this on any deeper wounds please, but let me photograph him if you are going to unwrap them. How are his vitals? Pupils are responsive? I couldn't tell from back there."

She'd move to be close enough to slip her hand into his grip though, squeezing his fingers reassuringly in hopes that her fellow student would be comforted somehow. If the reports were good, she'd whisper near his ear, "Come back to us, Eric. You're safe and we need you.".

Not that she expected it to do any good, of course, but sometimes, with the way the proselytes were raised, a little comfort and contact was a powerful lure.
 
as written by Emperor Jester and Krysis

The paramedics followed Celeste's instructions, though she was a little alarmed that they were taking the advice of a teenager instead of knowing their jobs already. Since she was the closest thing they had to a family member on hand, they seemed to think it was acceptable. The sight of the symbol that Eric had cut on himself made her catch her breath though. She had just been thinking about the Caeruleum, and how she would be planning if she were-- Well, that had lead to looking over the history books to make sure she had it right.

When Celeste showed Savien the pictures of the crest carved into Eric's chest, she couldn't tell what he was thinking, but that seemed to be par for the course. He strode off purposefully though, and Celeste was left to deal with the video on her own. The athletic young proselyte was still wiping smears of Eric's blood off of her hands as she walked into the bookstore, deep in thought.

Normally, such a shop would have both thrilled and intimidated the girl, but today she has no love of books. Not with the grief for her friends still foremost in her mind, and the slow burn of new vengeance on top of the grim older need of justice. Dodging among the shelves and the uniforms, she was in search of the man that had called out before.

Yates would be found, looking deep in thought, stroking his break red mustache disturbingly fast. He'd look up from the video, pausing it with a curse before turning around, noticing his company. "Oh. Pardons, madam. Johnson said he had the perp in the video but...well, take a look for yourself."

The video, reset for her benefit, would catch the horrible scene from behind, somewhat at an angle. From start to finish, it captured it all. The three proselytes and their encounter with a large man, jet black hair, wearing all white, who walked with an air of power. It showed the girls, especially the smaller, bookish one, practically latch on to him, begging for his attention. It showed how Eric never once stopped shaking with fear. It showed the carnage. However, despite the promise of a face, whenever the assailant would turn his face at an angle, what was shown wasn't human. Something dark, grey, almost blue, with blazing eyes, and even that was barely noticeable, the camera feed seeming to struggle as it displayed the video, filling with static and violent shakes if it focused on that spot for too long during its back and forth swivel.

"Nothing to go off of. Like he was wearing some kind of mask or something. But, we got a decent look at him, I suppose...How...How do you suppose he...did all that?" The officer looked like he was about to be sick.

Celeste only gave a few glances to the face, after she knew it would be unidentifiable, paying more attention to the clothes and the hair as her face went pale. She looked up at Yates and shook her head, "Not a mask. That is the true face of-- of what he is. I know those clothes. I saw him before and he was hiding his nature, so he can appear just as human as you or I. Naturally, I don't have to tell you how dangerous this particular supernatural beast is, but something you might not know is that he attended an illegal rave night before last."

The video gave Celeste something more to worry about as well. It was clear that 'Malcolm', as she remembered him, had no fear of walking about in daylight, though it seemed to have been overcast when the deed had been done. It was unspeakably ballsy for a vampire, since clouds might break at any moment, and this one seemed not to even glance at the sky.

"If there were any suspicious deaths linked to the party in Merveilleux night before last, you might want to compare them to this fellow and then send the information over to the church. We're better equipped to deal with something like this than you are." She added, grim but helpful.

"If that is your command, miss, I'll pass it along to my superiors...And...Well, miss, there was something...It just came to my head...About a month or so ago, there was an incident in the poorer section of Merveilleux, about half a block of houses being broken, literally broken into in the middle of the night. A few people got hurt, and a few got killed, but the people who arrived on the scene said it was a trail that led to a young woman who looked to have been...well, for lack of a better word...exploded...We couldn't even identify her, and the case went cold quick, because there was no evidence. But...do you think that could've been our guy as well?"

"Probably. If you would send that case over to us, that would be very helpful. Thank you, Officer Yates." Celeste believed that cordial relations with the standard police would be more effective, and it pleased her to test that theory, without Savien looming over everything. She'd wait for the tape, though if the other law enforcement wanted a copy, she would wait for that too before going off to find her 'supervisor' or 'partner'.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

The Moonlit Lady was open for its first day of business since the...incident. It may have been insensitive for Maric to think it, but the middle aged man had wished, more than once, that the poor children had died somewhere else. It was a terrible thing to think of, but three days of having police and church officials wondering around, demanding so much space and time, had cut deep into his profit margins for the month. This would be a tight month. Not to mention his two servers had complained as well. But they all knew how things worked. This was Lutetia, in what appeared to be the start of another...bad time.

A silent curse in a foul tongue as the greying man's eyes turned a neon green for the slightest fraction of a second, milling about getting general chores done with his employees. Brewing fresh coffee, cleaning all the waterspots from the glass and table ware, dusting the corners, baking the scones and biscuits and such in the back kitchen. The cafe was small, maybe able to fit in twenty or thirty people at a time, and the latter might be pushing it. The interior was designed in such a fashion to appear both rustic and modern, blending the architectures and decor styles perfectly.

The walls were lined with antiques, authentic ones, each one marked with a very small For Sale sign, with the items accompanying price. The coffee was imported. The food was house made, all of it. Overall, Maric was proud of his Lady. With an approving nod, he'd finally speak to his staff, calling the servers and the single chef out into the dining room proper.

With a voice like smooth, polished wood, both hard and elegant, the slightest of accents on his tongue, he'd say. "This is our first day open since the...unpleasantness. I don't expect us to be busy, but lets hope we are. Lets make the Lady proud, and do our best today. I've decided if the till isn't up to snuff at the end of the pay cycle, I'll...dip into my own funds to make sure you all get payed what you're used to. I won't make you all suffer for the tragedies and violence in this city, if I can help it, especially if it is not your fault. Now, look busy, smile, and nod. I already see one of our regulars coming down the street."

Maric would wait a short moment before clapping, signaling them all to get back to their duties. Another pause to dust his fine, red and white pinstripe suit, check his teeth in a pocket mirror, comb back his hair, flip the neon OPEN sign on, and unlock the door.

The Moonlit Lady had opened her home to all, and was now ready for business.
 
as written by Script and Emperor Jester

It was less than thirty minutes after the Moonlit Lady opened, that one of her regular patrons stepped through the doors. Dressed modestly in a black pea coat with a fur-lined hood, Katherine swept inside, her heeled boots clicking on the floor with each step.

She cast her eyes briefly over the establishment - to the casual observer merely a cursory glance, but to one that knew what to look for her steely gaze was hawk-like in its attentiveness - and without pausing, made her way over to a vacant table. She set her leather handbag down before she seated herself, setting about shedding her coat as she awaited the arrival of service.

____

Immediately, Maric would recognize the woman. This was her fourth time in the cafe this month, and she'd come plenty of times before then. A distant, cold woman, like ice and steel. Before the woman even took her seat, the owner would snap softly to get the attention of the young college student in the corner, the twenty year old blonde girl. Somewhat pretty, very smart, very polite, very attentive, but not overly so. His better server of the two.

He'd be wordless. With a gaze, the girl understood. Maric wanted perfection today and he meant it. If she messed up, it could cost her her job. "Perfection In Service" was the model and motto of the Lady, and the older man could not bring himself to ever disappoint his clients. Once she was comfortable, and her order was taken, watching with eagle eyes the entire time to take in every detail of Margret's went as planned, Maric would approach Katherine, arms behind his back, looking the definition of prim and proper.

"Good afternoon, madam. It is good to see you returning to us again."

____

Katherine looked up at Maric with a pleasant smile, one of practised ease. "Good afternoon, Maric. I wasn't planning on stopping by today," a lie, but a flawless one, "but when I heard you were re-opening after that horrible incident in the square, I just had to, to show my support. Too many places around here still have their doors closed."

She shook her head sadly, "It's very disappointing. I wish there were more like you, who weren't allowing this garish show of force to freeze them with fear. To give into that sort of fear is letting the villain behind the act win, is it not?"

Katherine Lessard, as she was known, was a devout woman. She was a financial supporter of the church, and an influential member of high society. By all accounts, with news of the recent massacre at the Nuvellon estate and speculation about a campaign against the church, she had more to fear than most.

And yet, here she was - out, and apparently alone - displaying not the barest hint of worry.

____

"Ah, madam, it gladdens my heart to hear your kind, supportive words. Alas, I feel you have misunderstood something. I am very afraid. But, as someone most likely very famous and misquoted said, we can only be brave when we are afraid. Though I am glad to see you of all people grace us with your patronage."

With perfect timing, Maric would look over his shoulder to see Margret bringing Katherine's beverage. Impeccable timing. A good steal, that girl. Finding her at that poor, run down bar on the other side of the city had proven a very fruitful night of head-hunting. Maric was no stranger to the hospitality industry, and he, above almost anyone in this city, knew how to play that cutthroat game.

"I see your server approaching. I trust the service so far as been what you expect of my establishment." He'd say the last part loud enough for the approaching youth to hear.

____

"But of course," Katherine smiled once again. "It's impeccable as ever. Were that my house staff a fraction as professional as your boys and girls, I doubt I'd ever set foot outside."

She laughed lightly, though without heart. "And you're right, of course. But that is what I meant by not giving into fear. There is no weakness in acknowledging it, but we must not allow it to command us. Elueu's light protects us, so long as we walk in it - if we simper and hide in the shadows from our enemies, we hide also from God."

Taking a sip of her tea, Katherine let out an appreciative sigh. "I can always rely on you and your staff for a wonderfully brewed beverage, Maric."

____

Maric would allow himself to smile, every slightly. "Thank you, once more, for your kind words. And you speak the truth. God does indeed protect us, as long as we do not flee from his divine light." Just like her, Maric had practiced his speeches over and over and over, until they felt more real than the truth.

The truth being that the cafe owner cared little for the Church, its God, its Light, or even its existence. He was a many of business and contracts and service, and if the Church knew his real ideals and occupation, he'd be drawn and quartered, at the very least.

"Did you order anything else, ma'am? If so, I am sure it will be along shortly." Of all his staff, the gentleman had the greatest pride in his chief baker. The man did not speak a lick of Lutetian, but could read it, and his skill was unrivaled in Maric's eyes.

____

"But of course," Katherine nodded her head, "I could never visit without sampling one of the Lady's delightful pastries." Indeed, that was no falsification. There was a reason she frequently chose the Moonlit Lady to meet with one of her more regular contacts. That reason was the cafe's baker - there wasn't anything more behind it.

After all, one had to allow oneself a few indulgences.

____

She was on a roll today. A liar could spot a liar, especially those near or on equal playing fields of experience. "Will anyone be joining you today, or are you dining in alone? I merely wish to know, so I can inform Ricard of any more impending guests."

Everything here was house made, and more importantly, made as close to order as possible. Ultimate freshness. It was one of the main reasons that all food orders were stalled exactly three minutes after the drink orders were completed. "And you are not the only one with a love for our delicacies, Katherine. A young lad has been ordering a box a week for the past month. On a proselyte's allowance, no less."

____

"I'm expecting company," Katherine said, nodding her head. "Just the one friend. And is that so? He can't spend much on anything else."

She gave a demure chuckle. "I suppose even the Order's flock need a little luxury, in one form or another. And as far as from where to source them goes, I'd say your kitchens are an excellent choice."

____

Perfect. Inside the enclosed kitchen, a pen would lift itself and jot down a quick, short-handed note. 'Katherine's Friend. Soon. Be ready.' Of all the people in the city who knew Maric, only Ricard had an inkling of an idea about what the man was, and there was a reason for that. Maric trusted him, and Ricard trusted Maric. So he'd always keep his silence about his employer's parlor tricks.

"I see. It is good you let me know. Sadly, my baker isn't doing so well today. Nothing medical or health related, just some unfortunate news from his family. It seems no one is safe from tragedies these days."

While it wasn't an exact lie, it was close enough to it. His niece had gone missing weeks ago. The cops, and the proprietor of the Lady had both given up hope, but the culinarian and his family still had hope. A futile effort. Maric had been in the shop that day.

He'd recognized what had committed such a heinous act.

He'd recognized the man himself. He could never forget, or forgive, that foul creature. But. The cafe owner had kept his silence. As he always had.

____

Katherine allowed an appropriate frown to cross her features, one of sympathy. "Oh, how awful. You must give him my condolences when you see him next."

She shook her head sadly. "Indeed, I know next to no one who hasn't suffered at the hands of Tenebre at some point in their lives. It's a sad state of affairs. One that must be changed."

____

"I share your beliefs and your wishes for the state of things, my dear, but I am depressed to say I don't believe they ever will. I put no doubt or blame on our Lord, but I am of mind that there is a balance. It tips every once in awhile, but they always tip back. And sometimes, they even tip in our favor. Those are the times we must cherish and remember most."

Maric's smile had often been described as infectious when it was genuine and full. Something about the way the corners of his mouth crease his cheeks, or maybe the way his eyes become smoldering, half-lidded and full of confidence.

Unbeknownst to Katherine, the minorest of chores were be accomplished all throughout the shop. Dust being brushed off into nothingness by invisible hands as soon as it settled. With the open windows and entryway, it would seem like a the gentlest of breezes wafting in from outdoors. Subtlety at its finest.

____

"Perhaps I am naive," Katherine stated, sipping at her tea, "but I believe that change is within our grasp. It is in the times of greatest strife that human innovation shines, after all."

She smiled. "I have confidence that humanity will prosper in the years to come."

____

"Of course it will. Humanity always finds a way. Just take this city for example. How many times has it almost fallen to its darker elements, only to be brought back at the brink?"

He'd place his hand on her table, never making physical contact without an invitation.

"I do not believe you are naive, madam. Just hopeful. And that is important in times such as these."
 
as written by glmstr, Script, and Emperor Jester

The Lumiena Square incident kept Camille away from his favorite bakery for quite some time. His father was more than mortified at the news, but he was (for now) confident that such an incident wouldn't happen again for a little while. He still checked whenever he could to see if the Moonlit Lady was open again.

This time, it actually was.

The proselyte made his way into the door, his stride a a refined one with the hints of childlike joy. His proselyte's uniform was adorned with an ornate bronze-colored shoulder cord on his right shoulder, indicating his affiliation with the Lacroix Fencing Academy. He also carried a sheathed saber on his left hip, the ornate hilt reminding that it was largely for show. additionally, around the midsection of the sheath lay an L engraved into the metal. He didn't want to have to walk around carrying a weapon all day, but his father insisted that he be armed for his own safety.

Maric, the owner of the store, seemed busy with some woman that looked kind of familiar, so he simply moved out of the way of the door to wait until he was ready for a new customer.

____

"Hope is the poor man's confidence, Maric," Katherine replied, her smile unchanging. "I deal in the latter."

Her and Maric's relationship - if it could be called that - was an odd one. Anyone listening to their conversations would wonder at the almost total lack of any real substance, despite the regularity of their meetings. And yet, more could be said with idle small-talk than in the lengthiest of political speeches, if one knew what to listen for.

Katherine considered Maric something of an intellectual equal - a rarity, insofar as she was concerned. She was quite aware that there was more to the man than met the eye, but had yet to decide on exactly what that was. No doubt he was equally aware of the same truth about her. It was something of a game. She would not invest any of her resources into learning more of him - there was little to be gained from it, no doubt - but the intrigue had become entertaining in its own right.

Her eyes flicked towards the door when Camille entered, before they went back to Maric. "Would that be the proselyte to which you were referring earlier? The young Lacroix boy; Camille, I believe?"

Katherine had never met this particular scion of the Lacroix family, but of course she knew of him. His age, mannerisms, attire and ornamentation made deducing his identity a matter that scarcely crossed into conscious thought.

____

"I believe you are correct. If you would excuse me, dear. Please, enjoy the rest of your stay. Margret will help you wish anything you wish her to." He'd bow, just in the slightest, before moving away from the noblewoman.

Shoulders straight, back straight, eyes forward, only the thinnest of smiles on his face as he acknowledged Cam. Already a note was being "delivered" to the Ricard. Pastries again no doubt, but another note would be delivered depending on the number and the variety. A waiter would deliver that message. The tiniest steps to dissolve suspicion.

Centuries had taught him that trick.

And though he regretted cutting his conversation with Katherine Lessard short, he could not deny that the boy was a treat he looked forward to every week. Maric would click his tongue, simultaneously giving a sharp, quick whistle. "At ease, boy. I appreciate the Church's show of force, but when I expected a heavier Church presence, I didn't expect them to be sending the Square their greenest of leaves on the Holy tree."

Dryly stated, but meant to be humorous none the less. The mirthful smirk on Maric's lips were enough of an indication of that.

____

Camille let out a little giggle and brushed a lock of bluish hair out of his face.
"Pff, if I could walk about unarmed, I would. Father insists I carry at least something, so I'm here to extort you for pastries," the proselyte was beaming, and he fished out a few bills and a handful of coins from his pocket.

"The batch you had for me last time was heavenly, I'd like those again. I don't think I'd have chosen the coffee croissants if you didn't recommend them."

His eyes kept wandering to that other customer Maric was speaking to. He recognized her as someone important, but he couldn't remember her name. He'd seen her at a few gatherings at the Lacroix manor, but he was drawing blanks as to who she was.

____

"Of course, of course. We can't be too careful now." His eyes would soften, just enough to get the point across. "I empathize with your, and the Church's, loss, young man. I am sad to say I couldn't help them. If it had been in my power, in anyway, I would have at least tried." Another lie, but one spoken with such conviction and seemingly real emotion.

"On to a happier subject, you'll be glad to know I'm running a special today." A note to Ricard, just the single word "Special". And then another. "Church Boy. Order of Twelve. Half chocolate. Half coffee. Hold Off For Brent. Be Ready."

"It is a savory dish. Prosciutto and gruyere danish, seasoned with saffron, truffle oil, and a small dash fresh oregano. I am proud to take credit for this recipe, instead of my chef." The pride in Maric's words were the first genuine emotion he'd expressed all day.
 
as written by glmstr and Emperor Jester

"That sounds delicious, I'd love one," Camille seated himself at a table nearby. He brushed away the same lock of hair again, the one with the ribbon tied around it, and began to think about something.

"Say, Maric, did you ever know my uncle Jaime? I overheard my father talking about him again after this recent tragedy."

____

His smile would be replaced by a sullen frown. "Personally? No, I did not. I did not own the Lady a decade ago, but I still worked in the area. I saw him from time to time. Idle chats. I was saddened when I heard of his passing all those years ago. I am sorry I don't have more to tell you, but he seemed like a good man. Proud to serve your...our...Holy Church."

Time had taught him to remember every tiny detail. No matter how mind wracking it became. No matter how much of a struggle it was to keep everything in check. The constant strain of generations of memory. SometimesitmadeMaricwanttosnap.

Despite his intense, internal dialog, the gentleman remained calm and poised on the outside, a false smile worming its way back to his features. "I'll fetch you a drink, boy, on the house, while Brent takes your order. I will return very shortly. Please, have a seat."

____

"Why thank you, sir," Camille nodded and made himself comfortable in the seat, which meant his posture was ever so slightly less taut than usual. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers together, a position he learned from imitating his mother when he was younger.

"Proud to serve our Holy Church", it felt like a sick joke, one being played on his family by fate itself. He was sure that Maric didn't intend his words to be cruel, but the timing gave a much more venomous tint to the man's polite condolences.
Eleu, what do you have against us? Uncle Jaime did his best to follow your teachings, and this is how you repay him?

____

Maric would return quickly, placing a warm cup of creamed hot chocolate in front of the proselyte, with the smallest addition of espresso for the cold early morning. "I took the liberty of giving this cup an extra ounce of...pep. I do hope you enjoy it. And like I said, this will be on the house. You are a repeat customer, and a regular. Its the least I could do."

The chocolate would have been made with half-and-half, and real coco powder, in addition to raw sugar and cinnamon. None of that whipped cream garbage on top. It would only take up more room in the cup that could be used for the beverage itself, become a spill factor, and dilute the flavor of the sweet drink. It was a well known policy that the Lady believed in zero culinary compromise. The menu was the menu. Absolutely no deviations or tweaks. If you didn't like it, the door was clearly marked.

"Your order has been taken to the kitchen. Ricard is making it now. Tell me...how have things been at the church? You mentioned you'd been sharing your pastries last you visited."

____

"Things have been, erm, tense to say the least," Camille took a sip of the drink in front of him. The beverage was exactly what he expected: incredible.

He paused, as if he was thinking about the drink. He mulled over whether or not to mention the argument with his peers, but he decided against it.

"Some proselytes got into some trouble apparently, and the church is going nuts over it. Presumably, the incident here in the square has them on edge."

____

And why wouldn't it? That creature and its family had nearly driven this city to its knees. They'd been so few, and yet, every faction had to more or less band together to stop the icy tide. Hopefully he had been the only one from that cursed lineage to survive...

"I can understand that. Between what happened right outside my doors, and what happened outside the city...You said one of the Nuvellon boys was a classmate of yours. Is he...well?" Th concern was slight, but it was there, casual and polite. "I fear that this won't be the end of it. However...this store will always be here. You should bring your friends next time. The young of the Church are always welcome. I'll make this place like a second home to them."

A gentle hand on the shoulder. A soft squeeze. A smile. The wafting scent of pastries from the kitchen. The herb and incense aroma in the air. The cafe was the definition of a safe zone.

____

"Yeah, Inarin, the younger one, is in my class. I'll see if I can bring him here some time, he would surely like it. I haven't seen him very much as of late, but he seemed devastated," Camille took another sip of his drink.

He couldn't imagine the sort of strife his classmate was going through, so he decided not to think about it.

____

Maric would file away each and every word, expression, and movement the boy would make as they made idle chit-chat. It was saddening for him to think he might not be able to enjoy such serene peace for much longer.

Once he changed his face, and waited enough time, he'd wonder...how would the dust settle? What changes would he have to make? What would his role be in all this...And most importantly...what side would he take? Neither the Church nor the Caer appealed to him, truly. His standards demanded something...more.

Instead of expressing any of this, he'd say to the youth instead, "Would you like another? I will charge for the second, but not offering it to you in the first place would be quite rude of me."

____

"No thank you, this will be more than enough," Camille offered a warm smile and took another sip of his drink.

The thought of having a Caer rampaging through the city, it posed so much uncertainty. What would the Lacroix do? Would they send their fencers to aid the Church? Would they try to stay out of it? Would they carry on as if it wasn't happening?
He didn't necessarily want to snoop on his father's business, but it was plaguing his mind anyway.
 
as written by Script, Emperor Jester, and glmstr

As Camille and Maric were speaking, the door of the cafe swung open once more. The newcomer that stepped in struck an imposing figure, despite his relatively slender build. Though his features were youthful - the man couldn't have been older than his mid-twenties - his green eyes were commanding, and he held himself with the straight-backed posture of one with total self-certainty. He was dressed stylishly in a well-fitted woolen brown coat over a bold forest-green shirt, complete with a black tie held in place by a subtly elegant golden pin. His entirely uncreased trousers, his shoes (polished to perfection) and the black matte gloves he wore over his hands told of a man who placed great importance on the manner in which he presented himself.

The man cast his eyes around the room, passing over Camille and Maric with scarcely a pause, before they settled on Katherine, and he moved over to join her. "One of these days," he remarked as he approached, "I will get here before you."

Katherine smiled thinly. "Good afternoon, Alexandre."

____

Maric would turn for a moment, eyes almost narrowing, before stiffly bowing to Cam. "Ah. Excuse me, young sir. Your order should be ready soon, and I'm more than happy to continue our conversation later, but for a moment, I must greet the new arrival." Unfortunately, it seemed that Margret was, for a moment, lacking in her duties. She hadn't even noticed yet! And the store wasn't even busy. Inexcusable. First warning.

A sharp snap of his fingers and then an even sharper look prodded the college girl into action, Maric watching, somewhat intensely from the side lines. The man had been here before. Alexander or some deviation of the name if memory served correct. The man seemed normal enough. His Web didn't catch anything, nor did any of the fail safes or alarms, but still...the uneasy feeling in the cafe owner's stomach made him want to grit his teeth.

But that would be both rude and bad for dental hygiene.

Moving beside the recovering waitress, a simple table touch being his only goal, the middle aged entrepreneur firmly clasped both hands together before speaking. "It is good to see so many regulars come in on our first day back in business. The Lady and I appreciate your patronage, sir."

____

"No problem. I'll be here for a little while, until my lunch break is over," Camille stared into his drink, lazily twirling a coffee stirrer in it and occasionally taking a sip. He continued to stare off into space, having decided to continue to daydream until either his food arrives or something notable happens.

____

Alexandre offered a warm smile to Maric, inclining his head politely. "My visits here with Katherine are truly the highlight of my each and every month, sir," he replied, his words dripping honey. "I can only thank the Lord that your doors were open today - I had anticipated having to settle for an alternative venue."

He unbuttoned his coat and slid down into his seat smoothly, across from Katherine. "But, thankfully, the tradition survives another month uninterrupted. I'll take a bicerin, as usual, and ... ah, I'll give you free reign to recommend an accompaniment, something for my insatiable sweet-tooth. I do believe I'm in the mood for some form of cake, but I'm open to being surprised."

Katherine remained silent, waiting for Alexandre's bluster to quiet down.

____

"Of course sir. You always give me a run for my money with your layered beverages. Cider Rosie' this and El Pecado that." The tone of his voice made it clear Maric was being casually playful. "And I believe I know just the thing. Allow me to step away from a moment, and leave you two to your conversation. Your server and I will return shortly."

He'd tell Margaret to get started on the drink before leaving himself, making sure to ask, "Is there anything I can refresh you on, Miss Katherine?"

____

"No, I'm quite content, thank you Maric," Katherine replied, as Alexandre chuckled in response to the man's jest.

Once Maric had gone, Katherine took a sip of her tea before turning to face Alexandre. "I trust your journey wasn't too much of a hassle?"

"Not a bump in the road," Alexandre replied with a sly smile.

Katherine nodded. "And how is work treating you? You aren't overtaxing yourself, I hope."

"Certainly not. I get plenty of time to lay about and relax, in between shifts." Alexandre tutted, "Have you ever known me to work too hard? Or hard at all?"

"No, I suppose that wouldn't be a concern." Katherine managed the impressive feat of giving the impression of rolling her eyes, whilst maintaining eye contact throughout.

Their conversation continued, seemingly entirely mundane and unremarkable.
 
as written by Sentry

Late night Lumiena Square, there was hardly anyone around. The clouds spilled with rain and every shop was closed up tight. Here, there, a few cafes had their light on, but no one was running out in the downpour anytime soon.

Perhaps it was for the better, Gillian thought. She meandered down the walkway dreamily. Her black hair plastered itself onto her face, striking against the paleness of her skin. The color wasn't natural. Veins pulsed in strain, startlingly apparent.

Behind her, there was naught but carnage. Bodies strewn across the road carelessly. Some moved, others were still.

There had long since been a call for the police as this woman loped down the square.

"Help... help..."
 
as written by Krysis

With the Aurellae festival still going on strong, the LCPD was stretched thin. The paladins did most of the patrolling inside the actual park, but the police officers also had a presence there, as well as the rest of the city. The rest of the city was the problem. Like the fire that burnt down the bar in Audrieu with a still unknown number of patrons that apparently failed to run away. There were pro-werewolf sit-ins. And anti-werewolf protests. The massacre in St. Caron's church, on West Evariste street. The Nuvellion tragedy. All that, as well as the standard drunk-in-public, vehicular accident, assault, drug use, and domestic violence calls.

So when there was a dispatch to Lumiena Square with multiple victims, the pucker factor was high. After all, three proselytes had been attacked not more than two blocks away from the location of this latest incident. Trigger fingers only relaxed a fraction at the description of the suspect as a caucasian female with long dark hair, and then tensed again when the code for possible magic-user was tacked on.

Sirens wailed and the lights flashed as six squad cars sped towards the scene from various points in the surrounding district. It wouldn't take long at all for at least two of the patrol cars to arrive, one sliding to a stop closer than intended to the bodies in the street with the rain and the speed they had been going. The other screeched to a halt near the suspected killer as the two officers jumped out to take up defensive positions.

The expected shouts of "Don't move!" and "Get down on the ground!" would soon be forthcoming.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
as written by Sentry

The woman was still. So, so still. For a moment, it was easy to believe that she'd died standing, but that noise...

Kr... kr...kreeee

The cackle of bones against one another, joints rubbing, limbs snapping. Her body jolted and danced left and right. Her skin crawled like a sheet over a cockroach nest. And then, with a decisive

SNAP

her head span to face them.

And she screamed, as though they'd already shot her. The cars around them groaned and squeaked as they rose into the air, as though without effort. The bodies that had been left behind chorused the woman's screams.
 
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