World of Darkness: Streets of New York

Jersey City, New Jersey, Autumn, 199X

Samuel Miller, the Sabbat pack leader, looked ahead across the murky waters of the Hudson River on a cool, clear moonlit night. Ahead was the brightly lit skyline of Manhattan, and this was his target. In the trip across the state of New Jersey, in which he left Philadelphia with his pack for New York City, his small pack had suffered hardships. All but him had been decimated by Lupines in the Skylands of New Jersey, and he had been extraordinarily lucky to escape with his unlife. Wondering how he could establish a Sabbat foothold in New York City, as per his mission for the Archbishop of Philadelphia, Samuel pondered to himself.

"I cannot do this alone, I must build a new pack, preferably through recruiting Anarchs and even Camarilla neonates to the Sword of Caine and enlightening them with the truth of their existence and purpose. New York must fall, slowly, but surely.", the blonde Lasombra whispered to himself.

edited 24th May '14 10:37:42 PM by PaulieRomanov

The night was young in New York City and even out in its slum-ish outskirts the local fauna was just getting started for the evening, ignorant of the predators stalking amongst them. These were the true owners of this city, a fact humans were not meant to know - A constraint that Lita Waalwjik and her fellow Malkavians found too boring to adhere to so strictly, Anarch or Camarilla. This was perhaps why, rather than keeping to the alleyways and shadows, 'Low' was currently perched cross-legged on the top of a brick wall with a ukulele. She sang like there was no one else was around, a deep but feminine voice piercing the ever-present hum of traffic. Ostentatious, especially considering she was on the hunt for 'dinner', but not pushing the masquerade very far.

The insistence of most Anarchs uphold certain aspects of this masquerade seemed silly to Low, at times but were at least less stuffy about enforcing such things. However two things were currently on Lita's mind - Finding a mailable mortal to relieve her hunger somewhat and learning more about what new player was encroaching on the city. This morsel of information had come to her through certain methods and her curiosity would not let her ignore it. Another wave of people were approaching, she decided to switch to some Radiohead ( Because I couldn't resist... )

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

He kept to the darkened alleyways on his first hunt alone; if nothing else, it seemed appropriate for a Kindred. In truth, he was lost; he'd only been in the city for two weeks, and the patterns of structures in the metropolis seemed endless and unchanging. His apartment was at least a mile away; he had been stalking between buildings like this for well over an hour.

But he didn't really mind, he was still riding his high. He was finally whole again - more than whole, in fact; he could appear in any form imaginable. And as it was now, he figured he had good reason to hide in the back alleys: A human may not well understand his tall, armored form, sculpted as if entirely from twisted, dark metal.

It was still so strange, using the word human like that. It was a designation reserved only for others now.

The train of thought reminded him again of his thirst - or was it a hunger? Whatever it was, he knew he needed blood.

He held out his hands for a moment, and his displaced olfactory receptors ignited. It was as if every scent for a dozen blocks wafted towards him. The sheer amount of information was staggering, but his mind began to sort it out. There was prey nearby, of that he was certain.

He moved to look out upon the narrow street. On the other side a woman quickly paced down the sidewalk, alone, and clearly uneasy. Her anxiety would be well-deserved tonight, for he began to walk toward her purposefully. His footfalls were heavy; the bottoms of his feet were hard and narrow, like taloned hooves, and made enough sound against the pavement to cause the unfortunate woman to look his direction. He didn't give her long for the terror to register on her face, breaking into a run and meeting her before her hands could find whatever defense was in her purse.

He swept the woman up, covering her mouth and dashing into the next alleyway, her balled fists pounding futilely against his plates. Setting her down forcefully, she screamed into his hand, but it would be no use. He brought his other hand to her neck, as if to throttle her, but let it remain still. Her terror became subdued as the hypodermic spike in his palm found her jugular vein. Her flailing arms went limp.

In this way, Xarok fed.

---

He was careful, feeding just as Arca had taught him. It was hard to satisfy oneself with the blood a single body could safely provide, but it would have to do. The woman now lay unconscious in the shadows; her awakening in several hours would be a disorienting experience to be sure. Xarok crouched there awhile, taking in the moment. It was a strange feeling, hunting and assaulting an innocent, but any guilt he might have felt was forgotten when his rush began to subside and he finally heard the ukelele - and its accompanying voice.

Xarok awkwardly stood and began to move, the intention to put distance between himself and this potentially-damning scene. He winced - inwardly - as his foot struck a stray bottle, loudly smashing it.

edited 25th May '14 3:16:07 AM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

As Low sang and played she carefully observed her potential prey, trickling past her little patch of 'territory'. She had claimed this area more to protect her little herd of humans from other, less gentle kindred than to gain any 'feeding rights' - She honestly couldn't be bothered with such things. She waited for someone with the right disposition to come close, so she could twist those emotions into a form more useful.

There - A growing interest in her 'show'. Interest is but a step from obsession. Lita readied her dementation, but before she could let it take the mortal sounds from the other side of the street caught her attention. Strange foot steps, a struggle and then silence. The familiar pattern brought a slight smirk to her pale lips and then turned to a grimace as she realised her meal moved on. Low used her auspex, seeing a large inhuman aura down a narrow alleyway beside a faint human one. A bottle smashed as the kindred motioned to flee, bringing her song to a close.

Nimbly Low dropped from her perch and smoothly walked to the alley entrance. "Are you going to pay for that?" She asked with a wry smile, not fooled by any shadows and barely raising an eyebrow at his alien-like form.

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

Xarok's heart remained still despite his alarm. His body was similarly paralyzed with indecision; caught off-guard, his mind reeled. Finally he processed the stranger's words, her smug expression filling in the gaps.

His head tilted, and without a mouth he spoke with an unnaturally deep, metallic voice, quiet with uncertainty, "You're a..."

The word that first sprang to mind sounded so simplistic now, in these circumstances, so he chose the one his sire had taught him: "...Kindred?"

edited 25th May '14 3:27:10 AM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

This twisted kindred didn't seem to need a mouth to talk, and having gained a closer look decided he was not a Nosferatu as she had first considered. The alternative explanations for such a strange visage all had interesting implications, though the mottled and orange shade of his pale aura suggested he was more confused than she was.

"You're a..." It paused, "Kindred?"

"I'm a little concerned as to why you're pulling one night stands in this area, to be honest." Low replied with dry humor though not maliciously. She indicated the still unconscious human woman on the asphalt and took a few steps towards the newcomer, "Though you're certainly having better luck than me, I must admit. Nevertheless, I called dibs..." Lita was still hungry but frankly she didn't care much about the discomfort for now, or anything regarding her own well-being really. She looked the kindred up and down, "Got a name, smiles?"

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

His "gaze" followed hers down to his victim. In his wandering, had he strayed too far from home? He took a neutral stance, and replied, seemingly oblivious to the woman's attempts at humor,

"I did not know I was trespassing, I apologize. My name is Xarok."

It was a relatively new name, but he spoke it with confidence. It felt right, somehow, like it fit with his new form.

edited 25th May '14 3:58:30 AM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

"Trespassing? Don't worry about it, I'll shoot you later or something." Low reassured, feeling a little pathetic given the icy reception of her quips. Then again, it was rather hard to tell, "I don't think I know her, so you're quite alright in that respect, probably." The Malkavian quite liked his name, very Sci-Fi B-movie-esk; He kind of reminded her of GORT. "Lita Waalwjik. Call me "Low" - they say it suits me." There were more footsteps in the distance prompting her to walk towards the other exit to the alleyway, beckoning Xarok to follow.

"We should find someplace less crowded, methinks... If you're in the mood to chat." She shrugged, "That, or consider a hat at the very least - you're a bit new to the whole 'masquerade' thing, aren't you?"

edited 25th May '14 4:40:22 AM by Lt.BGob

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

"A pleasure," he responded stiffly. The voices and footsteps were clearly heard now, though he could have sworn he was totally alone just moments ago, "Very new.... I must have lost my awareness in the rapture."

Xarok glanced down at his army green satchel, which he strung across his thickly-plated shoulder. It had a spare set of clothes, among a few other items, but nothing that would come close to hiding his current form. He followed Low, cautiously, through the alley to wherever she was going.

edited 25th May '14 3:12:39 PM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

Low decided to head in the direction of her current haven, only a block or so from here in the basement of a seemingly abandoned building. Generally she didn't lead other kindred to there but a newbie like this Xarok wasn't likely to have much in the way of malicious agenda, not that she trusted him just this yet. "Relax, it's easy to get lost in the blood when you're just getting used to it..." She smiled over her shoulder, seeing the behemoth-like man was following her. Lita paused at the end of the alleyway, letting a few mortals pass by before silently walking out into the street and taking a sharp right. "I myself have been kicking around for altogether too long for my liking." She laughed slightly, resting the sound box of her ukulele on her shoulder and turning again. In a few minutes she stopped abruptly and spun to face Xarok, standing in front of an old, practically crumbling two-story building. It was once a music shop, hinted at by a few yellowing signs still hanging on the front, but now there seemed to be nothing living inhabiting it aside from rats and the odd spider.

"Right, here we are. Nice and safe... ish." Low announced, "May I ask what clan you are? It's hard to tell with a poker face like that, you see. Just curious, you see."

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

The question gave him pause as he stood before the run-down building. Xarok's sire had told him the answer, but he wasn't entirely sure what it signified. He was certain, however, that he butchered the name as is left his vocal organ; what came out sounded something like "Tzihmeetsee...?"

edited 25th May '14 9:35:11 PM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

"Tzihmeetsee...?"

Low froze for a long moment, staring at Xarok as if a grizzly bear had just taken his place and was trying to figure out why it hadn't ripped her face off yet. "Sabbat?" She said finally, though she didn't think this one was quite like the rest of his clan - Sabbat don't leave humans alive after feeding all too often. Suddenly Lita started to giggle and then burst out laughing, "A Tzimisce... You don't even know the blood running through you, huh?" She had brought a member of perhaps the most sadistic clan amongst kindred to her doorstep. Lovely.

edited 26th May '14 1:35:48 AM by Lt.BGob

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

Xarok was glad that his new face could not betray emotion, clueless as he felt. Nonetheless, his thick clawed fingers curled up by his sides tensely.

"What is 'Sabbat?' Is there something wrong?"

edited 26th May '14 2:29:42 AM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

"Wrong? No- Well, yes I suppose always for... Uh, but perhaps..." Low began awkwardly, scratching the back of her head a little before seeming to regain coherence, "The Sabbat are a group - a sect - of kindred that approach unlife with a little too much... enthusiasm. Try a bit too hard at the whole nutty monster thing, not nearly so much fun. Particularly for their victims." She explained, "Your clan - the ones whose blood you are a fraction of - they are part of the Sabbat, and well..." Lita paused again and opened the door to the building, "Maybe you had better tell me a bit about what you're doing in this part of town."

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

He took in the information greedily, though it only raised more questions. It seemed as though Arca had deliberately left out something critical when she had explained to Xarok the concept of their "clan." He entered politely, ducking his head slightly as he passed under the doorway, glad to be off the streets. Despite its possibly-condemned status, the old record store felt strangely comfortable, almost warm.

"I must admit, I am lost. Like I said, I'm new to this... condition, as well as the city, and the hunt took me far from my apartment."

edited 26th May '14 3:55:07 AM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.

"This city was built on confusion, so I wouldn't hardly blame you." Low grinned, crossing the cluttered room and setting her ukulele down on a battered crate. The cracked walls were 'decorated' with seemingly random painted symbols, words and the occasional page pinned in position. Most of the interior furnishing had been violently smashed, glass still lay on the floor around the windows but some had been swept towards the doors. "I'm guessing your sire - Uh, the one who re-made you, didn't stick around too long." Lita sighed sympathetically, apparently searching for an intact seat to offer, "Commitment issues are a common side-effect of the unlife, I think... Though you've certainly taken to the whole 'flesh-molding' thing." She paused, looking Xarok up and down once more before continuing, dragging a ripped couch from the backroom. "Picasso would be proud."

"But!" Low smacked herself in the forehead with a bit of force, "I'm being rude, eh? You must have quite a few questions."

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

He glanced down at his form at the compliment, vainly admiring his work for the umpteenth time tonight. He had considered resuming his disguise for Low's benefit, but the resculpting was painstakingly slow and she didn't seem to mind.

Xarok tried to sort his questions into some sort of order, lest they all spill forth at once. He began with, "How many more of our kind live in the city?" He glanced around the store, "Are they all so isolated?"

Flesh is a design flaw.

"How many?" The Malkavian repeated, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, "A very good question. Quite a few, hundreds for all I know, though they don't all want you knowing their here - Humans even less so." She said, dusting a bit of grime off the couch with her hand and motioning for Xarok to have a seat. It didn't look like it was capable of taking much of any weight but it's the thought that counts. Low chuckled a tad at the second question, taking a look around herself, "Oh, I'm far from lonely. In such a condition as mine there are always voices about." Lita winked and grinned, "But isolation is entirely up to the kindred in question, I'm afraid. Some can't go a night by themselves while others would resent the company of even their own clan..."

"And I've been hearing another posse is set to enter the nights of New York... Though, I'm still figuring out just what this means." Low added, rifling through a notebook produced from her back pocket.

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

Xarok sat as he was bid, carefully; he was skeptical of the couch's ability to support his considerable weight. It creaked in protest but thankfully did not give way. He decided not to pursue her offhand comment that suggested some sort of schizophrenia, instead continuing his original line of questioning, "Hundreds? Forgive me if it's a stupid question, but who keeps them in line?"

His hidden, primary eyes moved to the notebook Low now held. His fingers became restless, tapping on his knees with urge to manipulate flesh and bone once again.

Flesh is a design flaw.

"No, you're not asking stupid questions - that's my job." She chuckled slightly before answering his question, "Successfully? No one, though some do try their hardest." Low perched herself on the most intact arm of the couch facing the anxious Xarok, noticing he was looking at her notebook. She quickly scribbled something in it before replacing it in her pocket, "For the Camarilla... An old sect of Kindred, they want to hide among the humans - For them, they have their Prince. And they aren't very lenient on any who don't like their way of operating." Lita said carefully, scratching her arm absent-mindedly, "Then there's the Anarchs, younger ones like me who don't like the stuffy Camarilla Elders or their ways of enforcing a... status quo, so to speak - We have a 'Baron' called Victor keeping check."

She sighed, "And I thought dying would mean not having to worry about politics..."

edited 26th May '14 7:14:49 PM by Lt.BGob

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

Xarok cocked his head, the proximity of the young woman made him tense. "Do you come into conflict with this 'Camarilla' often? Should I watch out for them?"

Flesh is a design flaw.

Low shrugged and made a 'so-so' gesture, apparently oblivious to Xarok's tension, "From time to time... Hard to avoid them, really. The Prince likes to think he knows what is happening around 'his' territory." She smirked a little, wondering what one of the Camarilla would make of her guest, "I think they might have a slight issue with, you know, the whole alien monstrosity look you're going for there... Mostly because they don't want the mortals to know there are things that go bump in the night. It's a bit of a wolf in sheep's clothing fetish, frankly, but smart enough I suppose."

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

"I know better than to take this out in the open. I still have my... fleshier form when I need it." Xarok couldn't hide the disdain from his reverberating voice. His mortal guise felt more and more like a prison as the days passed, but he wasn't sure such opinions would be well-received among present company.

"Tell me more about these Anarchists, then."

Flesh is a design flaw.

"Fleshier? Sounds like fun..." Low chuckled with a slight wink, she heard the disdain in his voice and could understand why such a powerful form could be preferable. It would certainly make the slings and arrows of their unfortunate fate less bothersome. "Eh, calling us anarchists would be too kind. Sometimes I wonder what the difference between us and the Camarilla is..." She sighed before continuing, "Basically, we don't like the way they are structured - Elders are on top by default, newbies like us tools to them at best. A step out of line and they will gladly take the blood they gave you back and that of anyone you so much as thought of embracing."

"We think they can go suck a fat one, essentially. In some towns kindred like us have even pushed them out but not even close here. We tip-toe around the Prince."

“Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”

"That sounds preferable, certainly." Xarok absentmindedly began to carve shallow channels in the metallic exoskeleton around his knees, which parted like clay. The longer he sat there with her, the more he wanted to reach out and smooth over the scars covering Low's spindly arms. The imperfection bothered him.

He refocused, his gaze returning to her face, and asked another question, "You mentioned the Sabbat earlier, I'm guessing they're no friend of the Camarilla either?"

edited 26th May '14 11:41:35 PM by StygianEmperor

Flesh is a design flaw.