1st mission. target: Shroud, Wrath of the Attack Chicken Options

[Necrom]

Howard finished his drink as well, then turned from Roza to get the bartender's attention to order 2 more of the same. When facing away from the Brujah, Howard smiled. Her intensive rapid fire questioning showed her impatient curiousity & it amused him to make her wait.

When they were finally served, Howard raised his glass slightly to Roza & took a long, slow swallow. He then answered her: "I personally don't know who is investigating the bombing of the Bloodfarm. Someone competent, I'd guess. No, I don't have any leads...I suspect the one investigating does, though. The damage was enough that the building was condemned & will be demolished."

Howard took another sip from his glass & continued: "When you say `other Kindred communities', I presume other you mean other cities...New York, for example. Whatever the reaction, they're not broadcasting loudly, as I've not heard anything. Mortals...reaction has been limited & minor, mainly because of the Camarilla keeping it out of the media. Of course, most of them are still unaware of the building's true purpose. There's likely a few deranged conspiracy theorists on the 'net that are convinced they have a kernal of truth, but no one relevant listens to them anyway."

"Personally, my interest lies with the 1st bombing: Prince Phillip's assassination. That's the main reason I'm in LA & have begun investigating that." Howard admitted, the wine just beginning to impair his judgment.

Realising it would of been best not to of let slip the last thing he said, Howard took a drink & switched topics: "So, this Mr. Upfield is Tremere? How facinating. Tell me of this meeting you had with him."

[Tybalt Rosencran...]

"Former background? And a mission from the Archon? You're sounding very important," James responded, giving a dry smile to the bartender who had delivered us our drinks.

“Important? No! Cannon fodder or a go-fer? Possibly. Us zealots are good for one thing, and that is going through the thick of things. We know how to get the job done in more than one ways. We can forget the Outlanders; Ventrues are too clean to get their hands dirty, might stain their imported Italian suit; artisans would rather recite Shakespeare and bore you to final death; Warlocks are always going to be interested in some forgotten lores or artifacts. I don’t trust them truth be told, even if they are in the position of a Prince, but I respect ‘em… then you have the lowlife’s like Nossies and crazy-as Malks…”

I casually glanced over Conner’s shoulder to see if the Amazonian looking Kindred [Amakae] is where she ought to be. “What brings you to L.A?” I said casually sipping my drink, and noticing the Big Beauty bruiser exchanging information with Conner’s companion.

[Roza Del Divavol...]

Roza looked to see who James was talking with. She quickly recognized the tall black vampire as the fake Brujah from the After Hours Tavern. And now he was looking at her again. Roza returned the glance with the familiar one finger salute before going back to Howard. Who was being the typical Ventrue prick making her wait for new drinks. If this was another phoney, it was a damn good one.

Now this was interesting. Someone not only blew the blood farm, but killed the Prince of L.A. as well? "Killing a Prince takes time, effort, and resources," Roza said, taking her own glass in her hands, "Prime suspects would be the Sabbat of course, but have you considered that it could be an inside job?" It was, after all, an inside job that had almost shuffled her off the mortal coil.

"As for Mister Upfield, you'll have to ask either him or your buddy James. I just know what he is, and what he is paying me to do, which is to keep him alive. Best I can say is he's doing scientific research."

[Necrom]

Howard listened to Roza's comments about an "inside job". He considered for a moment before speaking, then replied chosing his words carefully: "Anything is possible. However, had it been an inside job, the assassin probably would of been more precise in the execution. Meaning, would of targetted the Prince specifically instead of bombing a building filled with Kindred not necessarily strongly loyal to him. Had it been an `inside job', whoever did it would of likely wanted to replace Philips with themselves or a puppet Prince to rule through. So, anyone who came forward too ambitiously would of immediately been suspect & probably wouldn't of survived the intense scrutiny. Killing many Kindred is more of a Sabbat tactic."

Howard took another sip & continued: "My own investigations are leading me to suspect an `inside job' is even less likely."

The Ventrue then asked Roza: "If you're this Tremere's bodyguard, why aren't you protecting him now?"

[Roza Del Divavol...]

"He's at the Tremere Chantry," Roza answered, "And you know how those types don't let anyone inside, not even with good reason. I figure he's safe enough there until he needs to go someplace else. He may be very interested to meet you though."

If Howard was a Ventrue, she would be doing Upfield a favour by sending him to the Tremere. It would be another clan down, netting her another payday.

As for the chance of an inside job being low, there was still a chance. And if there was one thing Roza learned is that nothing was impossible.

"Perhaps a blood war is what someone wanted," Roza gave a suggestion, "What if there was someone else who could benefit from the chaos? The Anarchs perhaps, or the Giovanni? L.A. is a big prize, and taking control of it would be the jewel of any elder's crown. The Sabbat are the likeliest suspect, yes, and I hate them with every ounce of vitae in my body. But I have a feeling something is not right."

[Necrom]

About Leo, Howard asked Roza: "Why would that be?" Then added "Give him my contact details the next time you see each other."

Replying to Roza's bloodwar comments, Howard took a long drink nearly finishing his glass & said: "Every vampire in the city heavily relied on the bloodfarm. Those that didn't use it could hunt without encountering too much competition. LA simply cannot support a vampire population of its size. As I said, anything is possible but I doubt the Anarchs are behind it because they'd suffer as badly as the rest of us. The Giovanni...they often do control bloodbanks, so there's motive - destroy the 'farm then overcharge for access to their 'banks. But what if it was found they were behind it? Would they risk the ire of all 3 sects, at the same time? They'd be run out of town. They may be a clan of incestious necrophiliacs, but they are also business minded. & being banned from Los Angeles would be bad for business."

Howard finished his drink, then added: "The Sabbat are fanatical enough to do something so stupid."

[James Forscythe]

James took a sip of his drinking, attempting to seem like he was enjoying himself, amongst the tense social situation and the loud, thumping basslines. Had he still been human, he'd have a migraine.

“What brings you to L.A?”

James thought to himself for a moment. He'd been in L.A. for about a month now. This man wished to know why he was here. The real answer was obvious: to escape the Sabbat. He couldn't damn well go about giving away this information, however. So, he needed to give a bullshit answer to the man. Well, actually, didn't have to be a complete lie... "Transferred from the east coast. Yourself?" James asked, sipping his drink. Truth be told, he was a bit tipsy by now. Not by much, but he was indeed tipsy. This helped him to at least appear to be enjoying himself. He noted his flicking of the eyes. Interesting.

[Roza Del Divavol...]

Howard wasn't exactly shooting down all of her suggestions, but every time Roza thought she had something going he made it seem less likely than before. "It could be an indepenant troublemaker," she offered one last time, "I can see the Sabbat blowing up a Prince, but the blood farm just doesn't sound right to me."

Roza was beginning to find this Kindred to be a useful source of information. If it was all true, she would sift through all that later. But he was in the know, and this would help her and Upfields task. "What Upfield is doing is not up to me to say," she reminded him, "But I'm sure he is more than eager to meet with anyone who can help him and the Cammarilla. To that point, I was wondering if you knew how to contact the Nosferatu. Upfield has expressed interest in meeting with them to get thier help with the job."

[Tybalt Rosencran...]

East Coast?? Hmm… “Likewise.” I responded, letting the vagueness of that answer drift by.

“Besides, being on a scouting mission, I thought I’d be able to help wherever I can. Like I said, I don’t care much for Kindred politics, but any chance to bring down Sabbats and those responsible for the assassination of Prince Phillip…I’m game”. Throwing a smile to ease the magic user’s tense demeanor.

“Speaking of which, you ever thought anyone would benefit from blowing up that joint? If you think about it, why would the Sabbat risk an all out war knowing that they are in the minority, and Anarchs are just punks without the savvy to pull it off…if you ask me, I think it’s an insider’s job. They were looking for something he may have acquired, you savvy?” As I motioned for the bartender to fill both of our glasses.

[Necrom]

"It's too early to rule out any suspect. All options are still on the table, as it were." Howard replied, then turned & signaled to the bartender for a refill. When Roza mentioned the 2 bombings, Howard stared out into space...considering something. "Perhaps the 2 are connected." He pursed his lips in disapproval. The Ventrue had been focused on the Prince's assassination. Troubling as the 'farm was, he hadn't the mental space to give it much thought. Howard had considered it someone else's problem, because he was busy enough as it is.

When Roza spoke of Upfield & Nosferatu, Howard looked at her again. He smiled mysteriously at the "helping Camarilla" comment, as he was already doing his bit to help but of course couldn't talk about it. Howard thought of John perched on a rooftop not far away, armed with a sniper rifle. "I know a Nosferatu. Give me Mr. Upfield's contact details & I'll pass them along. If interested, the Sewer Rat will call your Tremere."

[Roza Del Divavol...]

She took another napkin and wrote down Upfields phone number. No address or anything else, just the number. If Howard was being square with her, then he would see Upfield, give him the blood the Tremere would request, and tell him how to meet the Nosferatu. If not, well, at least Roza could take comfort that Upfield was safe in the Tremere Chantry.

"Well Mister Howard," Roza said as she finished her second glass, "This has been an enlightening discussion about a great deal of subjects. I hope you'll let me know if there is anything I can do. Sabbat to bust open, that sort of deal."

[James Forscythe]

"Why would the Sabbat risk an all out war knowing that they are in the minority, and Anarchs are just punks without the savvy to pull it off…if you ask me, I think it’s an insider’s job. They were looking for something he may have acquired, you savvy?"

This guy assumed a lot, not something you wanted to do around kindred. You had to watch your every word. James took a sip of his drink before speaking. This talk needed to appear casual, although they both damn well knew that it wasn't.

"No one knows who did it. I wouldn't put it past the Sabbat, though I don't know if they did it or not. And if somebody wanted to steal, there are much more obscure ways to do it than causing the most attention-grabbing attack in L.A. within memory...other than "street" culture, that is," he spoke. Hah he'd made a joke...

[Necrom]

As Howard & Roza's conversation seemed to be wrapping up, 2 people came & stood close to them. They appeared to be waiting for their turn to order from the very busy bartenders. Howard glanced at them.

Both male & dressed for clubbing. They appeared to make a big effort to seem blase & bored with absolutely everything. They had the "been there, done that" look down almost perfectly. If 1 looked closely, subtle hints would indicate what they truly were: vampires. Certainly unsurprising in the Shroud, the thing that gave them away was their movements...the unnatural grace. Even the clumsiest vampire was more graceful than the average mortal.

Going with clan stereotypes, 1 looked Ventrue, the other Toreadore. Camarilla, most likely. Despite their practiced cynicism, they looked very young...just fledglings. Perhaps this was their 1st outing without their sires, or they were elsewhere in the club, keeping a very short leash on their newly turned childer.

As they watched the tedious going ons around them, the Toreadore began to speak. "So...heard what's been happening downtown, around the old Cathedral?" The Ventrue stopped looking at the dancers with disapproval & looked at his companion: "No, what's that?" "Alot of gangbangers have been turning up dead near there & not in the normal way (fulla bulletholes)." "You mean drained of..." "No, that's the thing, 'cause that'd be an obvious...breach & get the Sheriff's attention. Bodies have been turning up...mangled. Crushed windpipes, broken spines, shattered ribs. Things like that." The Ventrue flashed his fangs at the storyteller for a brief second: "Sounds like a waste to me!"

The Toreadore ignored the bad joke & continued: "Whatever's offing gang members around there's supposed to be big. REAL big." "You mean, like...werewolf big?" The Torrie shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno...gangs have start calling it a monster, named it the `Boogeyman'." The Ventrue chuckled at the tall tale. "Sounds like 1 of those urban legends..." The Artistian shook his head. "My sire's forbidden me from hunting in that area, she thinks whatever's going on there's real & doesn't want me in trouble. Homeless in the area think its a protector of some sort, a vigilante that punishes the wicked. Started refering to it as their `Guardian Angel'." The Blue Blood mumbled "Some people..." but was obvious he was interested in the gossip. The Toreador said: "Here's the craziest thing I've heard: Some believe its a demon that's escaped hell & is tryin' to atone for past sins by being a killer of killers."

"Haha, that's abit much." the Ventrue laughed. Then got a sly look on his face. "We should get some of the boys together & go check this place out, see if we can catch us a `demon'." The Torrie looked worried: "But my sire said..." The Blue Blood cut his friend off with a wave of his hand. "They don't need to know everything, we won't tell them. They won't find out!" The Toreador thought for a few seconds. "Maybe..."

Howard took another look at the pair. The Artistian was incredibly good-looking, with a young toyboy thing going on for him. He'd been the object of lust for many people & he knew it. Without meaning to, Howard smiled at him. The Torrie shot him a withering look, then rolled his eyes & turned his back on Howard. The handsome Kindred's companion gave Howard a quick, appraising glance & showed he didn't like what he saw, then turned & the pair began to stroll away confidently. The Ventrue asked: "What was that about?" The haughty Toreador said: "I certainly DON'T know." The Blue Blood shook his head slightly. "Some people..."

Embarrassed, Howard turned back to the bar, a small humourless smile on his lips as he laughed at his own stupidity.

[Roza Del Divavol...]

Roza couldn't help but overhear the conversation two other vamps where having, of which Howard seemed particularly interested in. Something big was killing kine similar to how she had killed the gangers that accosted her. Was Roza being a copycat? She brushed that thought aside, knowing that her attackers found her in a alley, while these were being killed near a church.

"Boogeyman huh?" she said trying to get Howard's attention, "Know anything about that, cheif?"

[Tybalt Rosencran...]

"No one knows who did it. I wouldn't put it past the Sabbat, though I don't know if they did it or not. And if somebody wanted to steal, there are much more obscure ways to do it than causing the most attention-grabbing attack in L.A. within memory...other than "street" culture, that is," Letting out small smile as if he had amused himself at the back of his mind.

Was this motherfucker mocking me? His emphasis on the word “street” made an impression that he was better than the rest. Frickin’ magic users!!

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Sabbat has over-run the Sacramento area, so it wouldn’t be long before their packs starts to infiltrate L.A. ya dig? Like I said before it’ll only be a matter of time before we have to go all out,” I growled back at him showing my fangs in disgust. “That’s where I believe the Archon wants me to be so that I can call reinforcements, and they’ll look like the cavaliers that came to safe the camp from the marauding Indians…Kindred Indians that is..” I laughed at the stupidity of my own joke.

Looking back at the Big Brujah beauty and Conner’s partner, I noticed them paying close attention to two other kindreds who was busily talking at the bar. His [Howard] smile at one of the Kindred, was only met by a cold rejection…Kindred relations at work…gotta love it, as I sipped the leftover drink.

[Necrom]

Howard looked at Roza & shook his head. "First I've heard of it." he admitted. The Venture thought for a few seconds, then added: "With the 'farm gone, that `monster' will find more & more hungry & increasingly desperate vampires hunting in its protected area."

Howard quickly glanced at James & Snaker, then considered ordering another glass. He was on his way to tipsy & needed a clear mind for tonight's task, but that bloodwine goes down so damn easy...

[Aendares Di Medi...]

Aendares had been away too long. He’d been in L.A before, acting on a tip off that his brother Gabriel might be running with the local Giovannis. He was supposed to be helping Prince Michael with their mission of infiltrating the Sabbat and he was supposed to be in contact with Prince Lily Dufresne, when the appropriate time called for, but the explosion of the Enterprise building and the quick removal of Lily with another replacement left him in the dark.

His involvement in the Sabbat is taking a toll on him, especially participating in the Vaulderie and the close scrutiny of the pack by the current priest who speaks in riddles - now that rumblings of an all out war is imminent. He needed answers and a place to recover, and what better way than the Elysium known as The Shroud. He knows he is close to breaking point and the elixir provided for him by the old Prince is slowly dwindling away.

Tonight his packs have been sent to blend into each of the Camarilla territories and to report back of any information that may give them an edge on the inevitable Jyhad.

He parks his Black Hayabusa, next to a black chopper with flames on the body. “Nice paint work,” he thought to himself.

The black bouncer recognised him, from afar. “Hey, DM. Haven’t seen you in a while. Where you been, man?”
“Business out of town, Big Boy.” Came the acknowledgement. “You know how it is…exhibitions aren’t going to promote itself.”

“Well, the party is just starting out, man…come right in.” Ushering Aendares through the doors and into the blackness within.

The music was vibrating through its heavy bass as bodies gyrate to and fro with the music, and Kindreds and Kines play their games. Dark corners reserved for high ranking Kindreds to talk business, whilst the dancefloor is ever calling the Artisan to join in with the throng.

He surveys the area and realises the best way to mingle and get one’s bearing is to be seen by the bar. He spots an odd couple hanging by the bar. A big bruiser type female kindred, with an upper-crust looking male companion, exchanging what seems to be a long conversation. From what he could see, it looks as if this guy was using her as his hired muscle. Typical Ventrue he guessed.

He placed himself close by them as two other kindreds left their place in a hurry, muttering amongst themselves, “What was that about…?”

Recognising a familiar face behind the bar he places his order, “Hey Ramirez, ‘the after dark’ special, if you could be so kind?”

“Hey you…” came the effeminate reply from the muscle bound bartender, “Of course, sweety…you know Gwen was never the same since you left her. I think she’s here somewhere, with one of them ‘poseurs’”.

“Thanks for that. I’ll keep that in mind.” He gestured tossing that bit information aside and continued to survey his surroundings.

[James Forscythe]

"Like I said before it’ll only be a matter of time before we have to go all out"

Who the hell does he think he is? If the Sabbat were so easily taken out, they'd be gone by now. Many of these kindred do not even know who runs the Sabbat. Without knowing enough on the Lasombra clan itself, or even the dreaded Tzimisce, how can they possibly hope to win. It's not a bunch of gangbang tactics and hoping you win. You need cunning, time, formulating...but some never got that. Some were all about simply having superior firepower.

"That'd be too simple. I don't think that this will be a battle of might. I think this will be a game for the Ventrue and Lasombra to play with each other. The rest are simply pawns," he responded. He took a drink. This was obviously something he wasn't happy about.

[Benjamin Daniels]

The cab pulled up to what appeared to be a converted cathedral in the heart of downtown, a bright neon blue sign confirmed it as the club the Prince had sent him to. “The Shroud”.

Ugh. If humans had any sense at all they would just start firebombing nightclubs... Goth decor? Check. Pounding industrial music? Check. Pathetic. The sooner I get this over with the better...

On his cab ride over from introducing himself to the Prince Benjamin had slowly been conditioning Charlie his driver into believing he would receive his fare and a healthy tip. Money was tight these days... Never hurt to put one's natural talents to use...

He stepped out of the cab and sidled over to the drivers side window.

“Thanks for the lift, Charlie. Buy something nice for your wife. Really sorry to hear about her illness.”

Benjamin Daniels handed him a wadded up piece of notebook paper. Charlie drooled a bit out of the corner of his mouth and looked for all the world like he just hit the lottery. Ben didn't wait to hear Charlies stream of thanks, but headed right up to the door.

A large, black bouncer stood guard at the entrance. A line of humans drifting off around the corner in front of him. Again... Typical.

“What can I do for you, little man,” growled the bouncer. “You don't see the line?”

Benjamin smiled. Tedious. But necessary, he supposed. Vamps LOVE their little ceremonies...

“I'm here to see a Mr. Howard Smythe. He won't be expecting me, I guess. Just get on that ol' headset you've got there and ask around. I'm sure he'll want to see me. Tell him a... Hmmm... What does his type like to hear? Tell him a “business associate” from out of town just dropped into LA and would like to pay his respects.” Benjamin reached out a little with his mind to make his request more palatable.

The bouncer put a hand to his ear, turned away and started murmuring. Benjamin flashed a toothy smile at a particularly lovely blonde thing at the head of the line and lit a cigarette. It truly pained him that he couldn't enjoy a good smoke as much as he used to. He looked back at the blonde...

Or a good fuck...

He slapped the bouncer on his broad shoulder. “Let's get a wiggle on, Tiny. Those drinks in there aren't gonna shoot themselves!”

He leaned back against the wall and took a deep drag. At least smoking still warmed him up a bit... While he waited, he reminisced about his meeting with Prince Tessa Bishop. Another tiresome old witch dolled up to look hot as sin. She didn't really have much time for him, and that suited him just fine. Too many questions were always the bane of his existence...

She'll take notice soon enough, this town is ripe for the picking...

[Benjamin Daniels]

Finally... after a good hour waiting outside, Benjamin was finally ushered inside the club. The interior of the club was just as he had expected. Lots of chrome, lots of leather, lots of truly sorry people trying WAY to hard to be relevant. When he finally found himself face to face with Howard Smythe... Well...

My God, look at this guy... All dolled up with no place to go... hair falling to pieces... terrible “I wanna be an anarch” clothes... This guy has failure written all over him... Old, tired autocrat so full of himself he doesn't realize how ludicrous he looks in that emo get-up... How easy is this going to be?

The bouncer introduced him:

“Sir, one Benjamin Daniels. Ventrue. Recommended to you by the Prince. Seeking hospitality.”