Armies of the Night

The Drunken Boar

"Ian's recording them but I figured I may as well put them up on the board for us all to keep track of." Connor said, and approached the board to write what all was going on:

• The Business district—Strigoi?
• The Docks—Hunt
• The Commercial district—CEASEFIRE
• Uptown—CEASEFIRE
• The Distilleries—Strigoi?
• The Industrial district
• Wayminster's Outskirts—Cheap stuff to Hunt, big ticket to Strigoi and Order

"The Strigoi have a vested interest in the Business District and the Distilleries." He tapped the question marks on the board. "But we haven't officially called whether or not we want that to be the case. Similarly the Industrial District has gone entirely unnoticed. With this all collated together, does anyone have further propositions? I'm personally fine with passing the Distilleries and the Business district to Strigoi control but I'd like to encourage a dialogue here."

The Drunken Boar.

Averus cracked his neck and glanced at the board. ...They had it all figured out already, with similar results. This wasn't exactly boding well, although if he hadn't been held up...well, that likely wouldn't have changed much.

"...If that's the case, I move for the Guardians, and those stubborn enough who ain't gonna be happy in the cease-fire districts that have been agreed on, to remain in the Industrial district."

Hope you weren't expecting anything witty here. Maybe some day.

The Meeting - Uptown Wayminster; the Drunken Boar

At Averus' flippant remark, Clayton's frown deepened. If the Guardians had only seen fit to keep their noses out of Order business...

Instead, the old wizard bit his tongue and focused on the black board. It all seemed fair to his reckoning. It kept his little shop in the Commercial District more or less safe.

By his side, Josie was giving the board a more thorough once-over. At Connor's suggestion, however, the preppy young woman raised her hand. "That might be a point of contention. Certain members of the Order won't be happy at reduced control towards their circles in the Business District."

Groovy: Wayminster Outskirts

Jason's eyes narrowed as he saw other combatants in the fray below. They weren't werebeasts, and they moved too fast to be human. That only left one possibility. He grinned, then quickly unloaded his magazine, which was still half-full, and drew out a new one, wrapped in red tape. Slamming it home, he quickly located a werebeast below and took a shot at it, clearing the last silver bullet from the chamber.

Picking up his crossbow, he loaded it with a bolt from his other quiver, this time a regular steel-headed bolt with crosses engraved all along the shaft. He saw a particularly pale freak biting down on the werebear he had shot at earlier. As good a target as any. He sighted on it, then decided to aim a bit behind. If it saw the bolt coming, which it most likely would, given the suckers' heightened senses, its first reaction would be to jump back and out of the way. If it didn't, or if it simply ducked, well, that's what he held his pistol in his other hand.

"You've lived long past your time, freak," he muttered. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the bolt leapt forward, streaking toward its target.

edited 11th May '17 7:29:24 AM by danime91

The Drunken Boar

"If we want to have a specific space to resolve our more violent disagreement I'd actually want to pressure we stay far away from the Industrial district." Connor emphatically pressed. "A stray bullet, claw, or whole body could break something and take out an entire city block. The equipment there might help in disposing of bodies from those altercations but the possibility of collateral damage is too severe for me to let stand. If the Guardians are really demanding a designated space for violence, then perhaps the Distilleries or Outskirts would be fitting."

The Drunken Boar.

Raising an eyebrow and giving a slightly irritated sigh with a crack of his neck, Averus shook his head. "...That ain't what I'm sayin'. So I'm goin' to make it clear and going with the similar logic of why you plan on giving the Docks to the Hunt. There's going to be a lot of ordinary folk who're going to need some form of occupation. Unless you lot come barging in unannounced screamin' bloody murder, we ain't got any reason to pick a fight over territory where people want to be left alone, ones that still quake in their boots with warlocks and wolves but ain't goin' to feel comfortable in the ceasefire districts, if that's making it any clearer."

Giving another rub and crack of his neck, he glanced at the warlock. ...That stubborn and grouchy sort of look hadn't changed much. ...Orders were orders, and even if that weren't the case...he didn't need to look so bitter about it.

Hope you weren't expecting anything witty here. Maybe some day.

OUTSKIRTS:

Sebadtian sensed the projectile that was aimed towards him. He prepared Fascism, loaded the gun with blood bullet and fired at the bolt. Bolt was broken in half. "Oi! Would you please not interrupt me? I'm having a meal right now!"

Werebear behind him charged at the albino. Sebastian barely dodged it, and fired three shots at the supposed sniper, while slicing the bear.

Everything that lives is designed to end.

Outskirts

Squealing like, well, a pig as Anna tore into him, the wereboar formerly known as Jeff began to visibly panic as he searched for a potential way to get the werelion off of his back. After numerous futile attempts to reach back and grab at Anna, the wereboar eventually began to run backwards into a wall with the intent of crushing Anna between himself and it. Meanwhile, Sebastian's impromptu meal would finally take notice of the fact that the vampire had latched onto his arm and would promtply backhand the Vampire with a massive paw, sending him flying across the streeet. Roaring in triumph, the werebear would drop to all fours and begin tearing down the street towards Sebastian, slavering at the mouth as he leaped into the air and came crashing down towards the Vampire.

---

The Drunken Boar

Kicking his feet back onto the table, Damien piped up once again "Tell you what, if you want a fight club, take it to the Distilleries, but we're taking the Business district." Facing those representing The Order, Damien continued "I'll do what I can to try and keep our people open to letting you keep your businesses running down there, but Lady Durand owns half the real estate there through various means and she isn't gonna leave without a fight."

"Back to the distilleries though, I technically shouldn't be telling you this, but I've heard that good business relationships are built on trust." Damien took a moment to pause and consider the ramifications of his actions, before continuing "We've got a whole bunch of wayward Nosferatu down there that have been taking to killing innocent bystanders. Let your people know that I will personally pay 10 grand a head to whoever kills them and brings proof."

Sliding a business card into the center of the table, Damien added "Have 'em call me"

The Kill - Wayminster Outskirts

In such a bestial state, the werelion felt satisfaction at the desperate squealing of the struggling wereboar and deftly avoided his attempts to grab her. Anna soon realised Jeff's gambit to crush her, however, as he backpedaled towards the wall. Thinking fast, Anna climbed further up the werebeast's back and, gripping tightly to his head and neck, clambered to his front just as they were about to hit the wall. Before Cain could react she lunged forward for his neck to break it, going for the kill.

“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?”

Eliza remained silent at her employer's side, refusing to look at anywhere else other than her feet.

Her past life was complicated at best, and it would not do her any good to let it consume her now, while she was at a job.

So she waited for orders, resolutely keeping her face as blank as possible.

Nothing is what it seems. Master of Shipping and Sadism.

The Meeting - Uptown Wayminster; the Drunken Boar

Tablet in hand, Josie was furiously copying down the minutes of the meeting. Clayton, on the other hand, looked just about ready to chew his beard. "The Order has means in the Industrial District to prevent small things like stray bullets from spiraling into worse things."

He was swirling his beer glass and trying to imagine that there was amber beverage inside it. "Some of the records of meetings such as this show that it was our fronts that funnel cash to maintenance contractors and unions. Smart, really."

Josie looked up, her face frowning. "10000 a head? What have your infestation been eating?"