Cape City: A World of Darkness Roleplaying Game

Who: Lenny, Gretchen, anyone with dream powers
What: A rather literal "prophetic" dream comes to Lenny
Where: The dream is on the #27 Cape City Bus
When: Reality: Aug 23rd. Dream: An undated night of the waning gibbous moon

The warm August night air is a welcome change to sitting in his workshop all day. Lenny takes in a deep breath and smiles at the darkness.

Without looking up at the sky, he can feel the power of Mother Luna above him, smiling down and blessing him with her wisdom and vision.

The bus stop is dirty but he doesn't mind waiting. Something about the ritual of going home at the end of the night always seems to help calm him down. The faceless people of the city mindlessly mill about, casually avoiding Lenny.

The doors of the #27 hiss as they open, the faceless bus driver nodding silently as Lenny steps in, dropping his $3.25 in change into the till. The bus is entirely empty, except for a single seat about halfway back -- right near the rear exit. Something about the features of the young woman sitting there strikes Lenny, though he's not quite sure what it is.

He walks over and takes the seat next to her, arranging his heavy duffle at his feet, the sound of clanking tools coming from within. The left breast of his navy jumpsuit has embroidered:
Midnight Electric Solutions
Leonard Crowne
Owner

Without turning to look at her, he says softly, "pretty lovely night out tonight, isn't it."

Who: Caroline, Gretchen
What: A job interview.
Where: Excelsior Labs

Candidate #5, Gretchen Dubrovsky; Cornell grad, which is a recommendation in itself, young, ostensibly motivated, as she's here interviewing.  Her resume isn't as full as most places would like to see, but Caroline's less interested in that and more interested in attitude.  And another young computer scientist might make a good mentor for Amy.

She smiles as Gretchen enters the office.  "Come in, and feel free to get some coffee or tea before we get down to business talk.  Make yourself comfortable."

WHO: Ariel and Hamilton
WHAT: Another attempt at awakening
WHERE: Ariel's house, street
WHEN: Some August morning.

She had experienced the scene so many times that it felt unreal. Parts of the dream unraveled like the opening of a game, and Ariel was in control of the wimpy girl, who looked just like herself. Dark storm clouds loomed overhead. A stone tower stood hauntingly in the distance. A little girl, maybe six or seven, stood guarding the tower doors. Her eyes were pinned on Ariel, and her arm, which must have the strength of a god, was never down by her side, but always outstretched towards Ariel and beckoning her.

Ariel looked down at the small dirt path destined to lead her to the tower, and she sat. Wrapping her hands around her knees, she rocked back and forth. Ariel felt empty. After a minute, she pushed the ground with her hands until her back was towards the tower, and resumed rocking. The entire world was silent except for a brief crash of thunder. It came every three minutes, exactly. Ariel had counted.

1. 2. 3. ... 998. 999. 1000.

Ariel's eyes shot open. She didn't move, or scream.

When the breeze through her window felt icy to her skin, Ariel realized she was covered in sweat. Sliding out of bed, she pulled the covers back over the mattress perfectly, and stepped into the shower. Rinse, lather, repeat. She looked at the clock. It was still 5 a.m.

"I need a walk," she said out loud, to no one.

Stepping out of the house, Ariel headed down the street. The dream had gone as it always had, and like clockwork, when Ariel finally counted to 1000, she woke up. But today, she still felt empty. The next five minutes she tried walking in silence, which meant trying not to think any thoughts, and staring at her feet. She didn't notice when slowly, the houses in her suburban neighborhood began to disappear, and were replaced by nothing but a cold, black darkness.

WHO: Barton and Thursday
WHAT: requesting a unique sort of reconnaissance
WHERE: Thursday has alleys. Some alleys, she lets others know about.
WHEN: shortly after sundown, August 22

Normally, Thursday doesn't like to be found. Kindred are strong, and it doesn't matter that she is one of them, or that her clan's blood gives her the strength to be a monster. Because, frozen in time like this, she will always be smaller than them. And she doesn't want to be a monster.
It's better and safer to hide in the shadows and the alleys.

All that being said, sometimes being found has its uses: she's no idiot to turn away the opportunity for allies. So she makes herself available in the early hours of the night, in the back-alley lot of an old factory building, nowadays rented out for cheap storage. But there's a pizza joint around the corner, and there's enough scraps in its trash (and a enough sympathy from the cooks) to keep the kids fed. The real kids, that is.

Here, against the dirty brick and cracked asphalt, Thursday holds her own kind of court, the subtle pull of her status as a predator giving her an aura of influence despite her apparent age.

WHO: Liam, Amy, and beef-eaters (or beef-eater-eaters).
WHAT: A super-secret meeting!
WHERE: The In-N-Out on Carmel Mountain Rd.
WHEN: 12:25AM on a night in July.

Liam sits alone at a table under an patio umbrella, his double-double (animal style) is untouched. He looks down at his watch - 12:25AM - still plenty of time. He pretends to drink his milkshake. He pretends to drink it up.

Who: Hamilton, Fatima, other patrons of the Nite Owl
What: Hamilton and Fatima retreat to a local dive to discuss their evening in a less infernal environment.
Where: Nite Owl Waffle House
When: Sunday night (August 14), 4:30 a.m., 3.5 hours after mass ended.

[OOC: This scene is open to any who would be in a place like this at a time like this, though it starts with a segue from the midnight mass scene. All welcome, but keep in mind sunrise is ~1-2 hrs away!]

The day is sliding somehow past late hours and into early ones, but no one's told the patrons of the Nite Owl Waffle House. Scattered among the plentiful booths or sitting alone at the stools in front of the bar, they are truckers and nurses and prostitutes and cops, people with nothing in common except that each is at the bottom of his or her totem pole.

These are people to whom passes the kind of god-awful night shift that leaves them hollow-eyed and sitting in a booth among total strangers, cramming thick wheat waffles drenched in syrup down their throats and drinking black coffee to ward off the darkness a couple more hours.

A waitress floats between them every fifteen or twenty minutes, refilling coffee and taking orders with a laugh that's like dragging a steel chair across the linoleum. Sinatra is playing faintly over the sound system. In the back, Dmitri is flipping some pancakes and watching infomercials on a miniature set.

Despite being cleaned almost every day, the Nite Owl seems to itself emote the same kind of grimy depression that inhabits the drooping eyelids of its clientele. This place is an institution in Cape City, it's been in business over 50 years - not that that's anything for a city to be proud of.

[Please make sure to read this OOC post before tagging! Characters part of the underground will have known and can participate in this thread immediately. Other characters who would have reason to be here, let us know!]

Who: Mekhet Rescue Party
What: Finding and rescuing (hopefully)
Where: Floor B5, of The Palace Hotel.
When: Sunday night (August 14), 3 a.m.

Evans placed the sticks of dynamite down near the end of the tunnel and motioned for everyone to stand back, and for the love of god, turn off heightened senses.

3...2...1...the blast shook the building's foundation, but in California, brief tremors and earthquakes were daily news, so few people would actually notice. Plus, even if someone important did notice, it'll take them awhile to find the right floor.

Parts of the exterior wall ricocheted off the ground, ceiling, and walls of the white hallway that was now exposed. Two guards at the end of the hallway were now already running towards the opening. But the Mekhet were ready, they had come here ready to fight.

[Please make sure to read this OOC post before tagging! Invictus characters are free to have been in the clan meeting.]

Who: ALL
What: The Mekhet are attacking the Invictus clan meeting.
Where: Lady Sandra's Palace
When: Sunday night (August 14), 3 a.m., after an hour of clan meeting.

The Ambassador sits at the head of the Invictus clan meeting. Of course he does; he's by far the highest-ranking Invictus in the city (a fact that no doubt infuriates the dearest Lady Sandra, who would be in the lead in situations like this were it not for the Graceful presence in their midst). He smiles benevolently, fails to actually listen to much of what's going on, and in general makes a nuisance of himself. He's old. He gets to.

"If I may," he says, rising, interrupting Lady Sandra in the middle of a speech. His eyes are on a particular man who has just entered the room. A ghoul, everyone else seems to assume.

Sanda's mouth twists, but she nods, bows, allowing him to take the scene.

He mentally replays what they've been speaking of. Ah, of course: whether layers of the harbor could be claimed as different domains. Funny. The vampires in this city were so protective of their territory. (Speaking as a vampire who owned half of Southern California, though, he supposes he can't really talk.)

(Then again, if they want a city of their own, perhaps they should conquer it.)

"I think," he says, "that in order to confront this issue fully, we should speak of lizards. Lizards, I say. Lizards are a creature not quite one thing nor the other. Have any of you actually ever held a salamander? Land, sea, it's all the same to them." He is aware that his science is inaccurate at best, completely ridiculous at worst. But they have to listen to him. God, he loves being old. "They are infinitely adaptable, as we are. Land, sea, it's all the same to us." More or less. Vampires don't have to breathe, after all.

He continues on in this vein for quite some time, going on a tangent about scales vs. skin, and cold blood, and all sorts of random science-y facts and fictions. In a roundabout way, he's saying that hey, we don't divvy up the land by height, so we shouldn't divvy up the sea that way too.

"Though I would like to hear some dissenting opinions," he concludes, just as a handful of the Invictus in the room are on the verge of falling asleep. "How about from our lovely Mekhet underground leader, who has seen fit to join us today?" And he gestures to the newcomer, the 'ghoul', who is none other than Demosthenes himself.

[Please make sure to read this OOC post before tagging! Characters are free to have been in the church during any point of the description.]

Who: ALL
What: The Mekhet are burning down the Bishop's church, rescuing captured Mekhet
Where: Lancea Sanctum Church
When: Sunday night (August 14), 3 a.m., 2 hours after mass ended.

Mass had started exactly at midnight, as usual. Penthesilea's voice had carried her thoughts effortlessly, and tonight, she paid particular thanks to the Sheriff: Eran Anah. May his soul be saved, even though we are members of the damned, for his contributions to the covenant, and to God, have been endless.

As custom, after mass, many sanctified stayed in the church, repenting, or meeting to discuss covenant affairs.

At 3 a.m., an extremely uncomfortable heat surrounded the church, and within minutes, it was clear that the building was on fire. Three members of the Mekhet underground kicked open the doors, each individual carrying a container of gas and a lighter. If they were frightened for their lives, their faces did not show it.

By 3:15 a.m., the benches inside the church were ablaze, and no amount of smoke was setting off the sprinklers. Some kindred were in Rotschreck. Others fled. A few, including Penthesilea, had become blurs of their own, and were pursuing the three perpetrators who would commit this unspeakable evil against God.

---

When Damion found a trap door beneath the altar, he slowed down, adapted to the shadows and entered a cold, marble room. He hoped Valerie and Thomas would be able to buy him enough time. He placed his finger to his temple and activated his heightened sight. There was no one else down here -- wait. Oh my god. Then, he saw her. "Alice," he whispered. They weren't sure they'd fine anyone here, much less -- "Oh god Alice" -- a fellow Mekhet they thought had been already lost.

Rushing to her side, Damion nearly tripped over the chains that bound her ankles and wrists. Alice was suspended, near the back of the room, a stake in her heart. The room, even with his normal sense of smell, reeked of blood and dead beetles.

As he pulled out the stake, a bright light flood the room. The trap door had been opened, and Damion temporarily stood blind. Penthesilea's voice echoed through the walls. "Eran. Get them."

WHO Caroline, Hamilton, Amy and a surprise
WHAT Caroline gets a series of unexpected visits.
WHERE Excelsior Labs, lobby.
WHEN Uh... right now. Whenever that is.
WARNINGS None.

Caroline is busy in the downstairs labs when the building's wards inform her that there is an approaching vehicle containing an Awakened magic user—well, that, or someone using a lot of Forces to move very fast, but considering that she expects Mr. Lyme to show up in the near future, probably in a car, as she's heard he's a Shaman and not a Theurge. And—ah, accompanied by her young friend. How interesting.

She turns to the young woman in charge of the lab. "Pardon me. I need to go take care of something. Carry on." Stripping off her goggles and lab coat as she walks—normally she's uninterested in safety regulations, but it's less of a precaution and more preventing an inevitability in that lab, and she doesn't have time to have her DNA resequenced this week.

"April," she says to the receptionist. Just in case her visitor turns out not to be so friendly: "I'm not expecting a guest, but I seem to have one arriving. Would you mind setting up to make sure they're comfortable?"

The woman nods. "Yes ma'am, Ms. Johnson." A series of key presses, some whirring noises, the gentle click of a safety being unlatched, and a jug of lemonade run over from the breakroom by one of the summer interns later, Caroline thinks preparations are satisfactory.

And just in time. Her guest is about to arrive.