Justric

The Orphan's Wedding

Oh, sweetie. Right now I want to give you a hug and let you know you're not alone!! Stupid time-space continuum.

Have you tried to just write the ideas down? Not worrying about whether or not they make sense or flow or congeal? And if you rent, you need to go yell at your landlord; it's his/her responsibility to take care of any infestations!

If you need to chat or blow of steam, you can get ahold of me via Skype (albeit text only). I'm under justice.zee. In the meantime, how about something to try and cheer you up?



Or if you're in the mood to stay mellow...

World of Darkness (Boston)

The hunters gathered.

The way to the Chandler household was twisty and difficult to navigate, but in the end they all arrived in their own time. Robert met them upon the porch each in turn, looking down at them somberly for several moments before offering each a quiet greeting and thanks. The strange man seemed distracted several times whenever spoken to, his eyes often buzzing about as though the answers he needed were flickers of light just within his peripheral vision. Yet upon crossing the doorway into his home, he would turn about and look each in the eyes. In that brief instant, the man no longer seemed as lost and would say the same to everyone who entered his house: "Never invite anyone in without asking me first." No explanation was given, no reasonings made. Just a simple statement that no one should give another permission to enter the house.

Robert still had done little to reorganize or move his vast literary collection. A table had been cleared off in what must have once been the dining room, and half of a couch was now visible sitting before the great fireplace within the living room. The many bedrooms upstairs were cleaned out as well, and the sheets and blankets all freshly laundered for his guest's comfort. He bid those who needed a place to stay to take any room of their choosing save for the last at the end of the hall, saying simply that the master bedroom was his. Otherwise they should all make themselves at home and do their best not to move too many of his books around. He did apologize about the food situation. "I don't eat much," mumbled the hollow eyed scholar vaguely, "and I didn't know what anyone would want. If someone wants to run into town later, I can cover expenses. There's no food delivery out this far that I know of. I tried ordering Dominos Pizza once... They thought it was a practical joke. I think I have some ramen left if you're hungry now. And there's some coffee in the pot by the sink... or there was a month ago. I've got lots of tea, though."

Once as many arrived as he could reasonably expect, he asked everyone to join him around the dining room table. Several large maps of Boston and the surrounding area had been laid out along side newspaper clippings, internet printouts, photos, and books on local history. It was early evening when they held the first meeting; that was when Robert functioned best, even if it made the eccentric traits that marked him all the more apparent.

"So... Yeah, thanks again for coming." He paused as he tried to figure out what to say next; thrust into a vague role of leadership, his mind scrambled for what was worth mentioning and what wasn't. This was not a comfortable situation for him at all. Still, they were all looking at him! Robert had a difficult time not mumbling at first and was unable to meet anyone's eyes, staring instead glassily at the table around which they all stood. His voice was quite, distant.

"For those of you who don't know the area, The... Society of Leopold had sponsored a group of hunters known as the Forlorn Hope to keep an eye on things... and to take care of any troubles that arose. I was part of that group." There was a long pause, and Robert's voice quavered a bit even as his hands shook slightly. In all the time that had passed, he hadn't spoke to anyone of what had happened for the simple reason that there was no one he knew of who would believe him. Opening up now in front of other hunters, even strangers, released emotions that he struggled to control. His voice dropped to a hush. "Two years ago almost the entire group was wiped out. We walked into... something. A war, a battle, an ambush... They tore... They tore us apart faster than you could blink and by the morning? I was the only survivor. Since then it's... been quiet."

Squaring his shoulders and looking at the table, he gestured to the array of papers. "Until recently. It's nothing obvious at first glance. Put it together and you can tell that something is going on." As he spoke, his voice began to gain some strength. Facts and figures! They were his saving grace. The emotion was for the past and now he needed to focus on business, on now. Robert shoved the grief off as he always did, always putting it into the back of his mind so he could at least get through the day in front of him, always telling himself he would deal with it later and never doing so. Instead, it always came back in nightmares to haunt him.

"To begin with, the levels of violence within the city have risen rapidly in just the past few weeks. Assault, kidnappings, and murder, mostly. By itself, that's nothing, and I wouldn't have blinked twice. Only there's been a sharp increase in animal attacks as well, both in and around the city. Oddly enough, none of the witness or survivors can agree on what sort of animal they were each attacked by. Sighted species include: black bears, cougars, bobcats, Canadian lynx, coyotes, large dogs, grey wolves, and one woman... one woman is adamant that it was a Sasquatch. Leaving that last one aside for now, all of these are possible but not highly probably given the location of many of the attacks. And while there have been substantiated reports of grey wolf sightings in the state, more sightings have been documented of late regarding unidentified wolf species that are definitely not grey wolves. This map here shows the locations of all of the attacks within the past year. There's an index... here... that gives all the information.

"The local hospitals are desperately trying to keep up with the influx, emergency rooms are filled nightly, urgent care centers are filled daily, and the major thing in demand by everyone... is blood." Robert pushed forward several documents from the Red Cross and local media, as well as a public bulletin by the CDC. "There is an extreme shortage of blood supplies in the Boston area, which is strange because donations are at an all time high. The trouble is that a lot of the donors coming in are highly anemic. Even existing supplies are strained. The media has been going on thefts and black markets, but there's no evidence to any of it."

Next Robert pointed out the newspaper clippings and the police blotters. "What's most concerning is the number of missing persons reports. Those, too, are on the rise, up over 35% from the previous ten year average. There's generally nothing connecting any of the missing people... except for these seven." One fine finger tapped on an article. "Seven military veterans went missing from the VA hospital all in the same night. Some were in the ER, some were in-patients, one was just a visitor. Hospital logs showed they all entered, but nothing shows any of them leaving. Security videos showed nothing. The story was big news for a day... and then nothing. Like it was squashed. This second map and index also give all the details about each incident; names, last known locations, occupations, marital status, and... Well, you get the idea."

Robert looked up and licked his lips nervously. "So at a guess, after reviewing all of the relevant date and some of the not so relevant gossip, we're looking a large scale vampire infestation. Bigger than Chicago, maybe. And outside of it, all around and just outside the suburbs with occasional forays into urban areas? Werewolves. Or at least some other creature than can either change its shape or otherwise camouflage itself well enough to avoid tracking." His briefing finished, the scholar coughed and blushed a bit. "At least... that what it seems like."

Robert gestured in the direction of the old stone barn outside. "My family's been filling the barn with junk for decades. If you think anything's of use, you're welcome to it. I doubt there's any sort of weapons in there, not unless you're into rusty axes and scythes, but if you find something useable take it. If you think the barn itself is usable as... I dunno, an armory, a workshop, whatever... go ahead and clean it out. There's some old cars and a steam powered traction engine in there if you tinkering with that sort of stuff. Just be warned that it doesn't have the same sort of protections on it that the house does, except for the barn hexes. Lots of iron rods in the foundations and running through the stones, though, just in case you're worried about faeries." His voice was absolutely deadpan.

"I'll leave it you folks with the guns and things that go boom to figure out where we go from here. I just don't recommend all out war in the middle of the city, is all. Beyond that... I'm... not much of a leader. Sorry." And it was clear that he meant it. "But if there's any information you need, anything you want researched? I know where to look and not look."

He paused then, eyes flickering as though he had forgotten something. "Oh," he concluded absently, "There's a big Saratoga trunk up on a couple of palettes towards the back wall of the basement? You probably shouldn't dig around in it. It's got a special collection of books that... ah... If you've ever heard the term 'never see the light of day? It kinda applies to a lot of those for a bunch of different reasons."

Looking around at the assembled faces, Robert retreated back into his shell again, shrugging. "So... there you have it."

The effort of dealing with so many people at once combined with the emotional toll the memories brought was too much for him. "I'll... leave folks to look everything over. If you... if you need me I'll be on the back porch."

World of Darkness (Boston)

All hunters have reported in! Centralizing post coming up soon!

World of Darkness (Boston)

I was shooting for a Brujah.

That's funny, my one character was shooting for a Brjuah, too!

Oh, no. Stop. Wait. That should be "shooting AT a Brujah..." Sorry!

Never Lose Your Hat!

Jötz had just stumbled through the hatchway into the engine room as Ivy grinned at him, told him to catch any flying bits, and then hurled the ticking mint bomb into the boiler’s furnace. Catching however many bits that she had crammed into the improvised light source was hardly the first thing he was going to do, not when he knew how strong boilers had to be and that those tiny bits would ricochet around inside and bounce out even faster than they had gone in once it exploded! Knowing he would regret his choice but not seeing any other, the Jaeger leapt across the water logged room to grab her. Once more she was shielded tightly against his chest, great arms wrapped about her.

Then the lantern exploded.

The heightened Jaeger sense of smell allowed him to admire the fresh scent of various mints that suddenly filled the air. The odor was pleasing, relaxing even! A cool breeze ruffled his fur and bare head to make him shiver ever so slightly…

Only to be followed by the heat of the furnace blasting against his back. The blue-green flames and accompanying sparks shot out of the coal hatch for several seconds in a roaring din, the fire flickering at his damp cloak. The thick material protected his back. The garment itself, however, was ruined. The heat evaporated the moisture that had soaked up into it, and then that same heat ate holes into it through to his tunic. If not for that second level of protection, he had little doubt that most of the fur on his back would have been singed away! Jötz didn’t even want to think what might have happened to Ivy’s face if she had still been standing there, happily staring into the furnace when the lantern exploded!

The flames ceased shooting forth and filling the air with refreshing mint, plunging the chamber back into darkness… but only for a moment. Ever so slowly, a soft light began to fill the room. Jötz could even see lights coming alive down the corridor he had just come from, the illuminate gradually increasing as though waking after a long slumber. A low, rattling hum came from all around. Slowly releasing Ivy from his protective embraced, he looked about wide eyed at the changes brought by sight. Then there came a sudden sucking sound, and the water about their calves and knees began to drain away as ancient pumps came to life somewhere unseen. As the barge was freed of the water’s ballast, it began to right itself and float higher in the water.

With the additional of whatever artificial light, the condition of the ship could better be seen. It was not great. Some spots were missing their lights, the extent of the rust became more obvious, and by looking up one could see the holes in the deck above. Yet the vessels floated and the engine ran with only the occasional cough. Considering it must have sat there for a few centuries at best, it was impressive!

Turning back to Ivy, he looked down into her sweet face and frowned. “Hey, chou gots a bump.”

World of Darkness (Boston)

Calling other hunters: is it aright to set up a post where everyone arrives at the house?

World of Darkness (Boston)

Pony

Pony stalked into The Digs, her pretty and innocent face twisted into a scowl. She was slim, she was graceful, she was youthful... and she was pissed. Even the way her oversized denim jacket swung about her torso said it. To her The Digs were a second home, for when the Drummers were not found in their Haven by the docks or out attending to their duties, they were here awaiting the Arch-Bishop's commands. No doubt she had already missed whatever rousing speech Gunnarson had whipped up for everyone else, and that was to her liking. She knew her job. She knew what was wanted. And there was no doubt in her mind that part of the ArchBishop's current plans to stir up the Garou was to use vampires and trick the werewolves into thinking it was the Camarilla's fault. She doubted the beasts could tell much difference between the vampire sects. It wasn't as painfully obvious as it was when one looked at the wholesome Garou compared to the twisted Black Spiral Dances. Even in their human forms, the difference seemed obvious to her!

Even if it wasn't Gunnarson's plan, it should have been. Either way, Pony knew she needed just the right kind of grunts to go with the fleabag. It was a process already underway, actually, as the rest of the Drummers were already standing watch over the vacant lot where they had buried the latest recruits. Best way to get shock troops? Grow your own like corn! Bury them six feet under and then see what popped up hungry for blood and obeying whomever had it! Which would be the Drummers and whatever liaisons the other Packs had assigned to help with the process. It was a stroke of genius, nabbing guys from the VA hospital. Combat veterans, ready to serve. Just add vitae! And the way Pony had heard it, these guys would be a lot better of as vampires anyway compared to how the government was treating them! Wait 15 months for medical services?? Fuck that! Drain 'em, fill 'em, dump 'em, and the good as new all around. There might be mental issues, true, but that was for the other Pack leaders to worry about and only if the Shovelheads lasted long enough for it to matter. Strangely enough, though, it was always the Malkavians who seemed to object the most...

Pony had other priorities at the moment. Gunnarson wanted disposable warriors to go with Cecilia? Job done. But a war needed more than just foot soldiers.

She spied Vasile across the room and pursed her lips hard in anger. Jungle boots stomping across the floor, ripped cargo pants flashing pale flesh, the tiny girl with the ponytail walked right up the flesh artists and began poking him hard in the sternum with what only looked to be a delicate finger. "Where are my fucking scouts, Vasile?"

When it came to such matters, Pony had no tact. She looked oh so adorable and innocent, and had she the temperament for it she could have been the perfect lure to her own trap as she reeled in mortals with a lust for such thing. Only she was a hunter. The idea of being dainty and coy was as alien to her as mercy. "You promised me three ghouls last week. Three! Remember? That's why I gave you my blood, to create some ghouls to handle daylight crap on the sly?" The last bit was an outright lie, of course. Pony wasn't so stupid as to give Vasile her own blood any more then she would give him her body! The vitae had actually been contributed by her lieutenants, who no doubt in turn had extorted it from lower ranking members of the Boston Sabbat; at least she hoped they did, as she had no use for stupid lieutenants. Vasile did good work, she would give him credit for that! And on a personal level, she did respect and even admire him a little. She thought he seemed to return some of that respect sometimes, although she wasn't sure. The idea of 'liking' someone had been lost over the decades along with the whole 'mercy' concept. Only Vasile lingered over his victim's sufferings, savored it, reveled in his torturous manipulations as though it were art. And maybe it was! Too bad the only art Pony cared for was the art of war.

Not even giving him time to speak, she jabbed her finger at him again. "Tomorrow, Vasile. I want them tomorrow." The slightly chipped nailed finger swung about to point towards the ArchBishops' chambers. "I am going to go talk to Gunnarson now. Please get the fucking job done, aright?" Pony gave him one more puppy dog glare and turned away, lips twisted in aggravation. She thought it so unfair that she, the Sabbat War Leader, she have the honeyed notes of sixteen year old girl to give commands and ultimatums with instead of a proper bellow that came of leather lungs.

In turning about, she found herself looking directly at the Toreador, Brigit. Pony's mood became more sour. There was something about the elegant and poised woman that just set Pony's fangs on edge, annoying her for no reason that she could put a name to. Those full lips, the perfectly styled hair, the full swell and curves of her adult body that did not so much wear the dress as it did complement it. She made the Pander feel base. Pony was pretty, yes. But Brigit was beautiful, a refined elegance that outshone her in so many ways. And that irked the smaller girl. Worse was Brigit's arrogance; she was good at what she did, yes, only she wasn't the only one who could do the job. There was one thing Pony could take pride in; she knew she could kick the Toreador's perfectly rounded ass in a fist fight. In the end, she raised her petite chin up a little and sniffed dismissively at Brigit before stalking away; it was like Great Dane being dismissed by a Chihuahua puppy.

So it was that Pony marched down the twisting corridors to Gunnarson's office. "Hey, B-man," she gruffed as she entered, "No one seems to want to be first to talk to you. They're all standing around plotting. So you get me." She grinned, showing her tiny white teeth clearly. "Isn't that lovely? You want my report or did the Nosferatu give it to you already?"

Never Lose Your Hat!

The girl turned away after he finished speaking, begging for her to understand why it was so important that she not do anything to him. Only Ivy said nothing to that effect, instead nattering on again about the engine and their future plans. Jötz felt she hadn’t been listening, not really. At least not to all of it. Common sense told him as it would anyone with half a brain that it was best to get as much distance between the Spark and himself as possible before she completely destroyed what he was by trying to imrpove him.

Only Jötz was a Jaegermonster. Common sense was not an attribute often associated with then, even if they were not quite as reckless as they made themselves seem to be. Besides which, he had made a promise to look after her until she was safe. Their loyalty to the House of Heterodyne had its foundations in that same Jaeger sense of perverse honor Jötz and his fellows adhered to. He had promise Ivy he would see her safe and with her arm restored, and that was a bargain he couldn't go back on even as his cynicism scolded him for making such a bad deal.

“No,” he grumped, “I gets chou vhere I promised. Den ve kin talk abouts chat comes after, ja?”

Turning his own back to her now, Jötz began to make his way down the flooded hallway to see what else there was. There was actually rather little. He could tell by looking which rooms were for sleeping and cooking and storage, especially the stretched cargo hold midships where his footfalls echoed against the rusting steel. Completely abandoned. Further along towards the bow, he came across another steep ladder that led up to a hatch, much like the one they had come down. Beyond that, there was one last door.

This one was shut fast, a bronze nameplate heavily pitted and verdant with age right at eye level. Frowning, Jötz tried the door. It was sealed fast. Rubbing the cloth of his sleeve against the metal plaque a few times, he squinted as he tried to read the archaic font that had been razed into the bronze. It was in English, which took him longer to translate in his head.

“Captain… Ja-kob… Moore… Ludd.” Jötz frowned. Why did that name sound so familiar? It did have something to do with the Canallers, but he couldn’t remember what. He tried sounding it out several times in different ways to see if it jarred any memories. “Jakob More Ludd… Jake Ob Mere Ludd… Jake Oft M’Blood… Jakomoblud… Jackamooludd… Giacomo…”

His brushed the tipped of his talon fingers across it, squinting. His lips barely moved as he whispered a combination that unlocked his memories. “Jack of More Blood.”

Jötz’s eyes went wide and he stepped back. Captain Jack of More Blood, a viscous pirate captain that had terrorized the canalways and rivers and lakes of most of Europa with impunity. He had been a privateer so feared that it had taken the Storm King himself to put on end to him. Only the story had never said exactly what had happened, only that he had been defeated! If this was his ship…

“Iiiivy!” Jötz roared. Backpedalling for severals steps, he turned to half run and half slog through the brackish water back towards the engine room. No doubt while he explored, she had started work on the engine. If the tales of the infamous pirate and his miraculous barge of death were even the least bit true, then firing up the hulk’s boiler may not be the best of ideas… at least not without an army standing by! “Chou may not vants to do that!!”

The Highwayman Came Riding

I couldn't decide. So when it doubt? Ask for a kiss!

The Highwayman Came Riding

Reynard laughed in delight, his smile showing clear beneath the moonlight as he heard Bess aver that they should have this nights and the moons to follow as their own. He felt strangely light in heart! Already, though it was four weeks and some til the moon would shine this full again, he began to dwell on where he could take her next, what sights he might show his Greensleeves to make her smile and dance about so. He even thought he might have just the place!

"Then so be it," he avowed brightly to her, catching her up suddenly in his arms to swing her about gayly. "Rude daylight may chase away this dream, but let it rest safe and warm in our hearts, Greensleeves. But come! The night is past half done, and our midnight luncheon awaits. Cold meats well seasoned, with french bread all twisted about and fresh apples from what remains of my orchards, all to be washed done with the finest mead left in my halls. All for us, and naught for another, Greensleeves. I'll not have you to your bed hungry or thirsty, but full and refreshed to face the waiting for our next tryst."

Lightly, he ended the twirl by pulling her back into his arms. Reynard removed his hat to reveal a thatch of unruly brown hair, the mask still in place about his cheeks but with eyes dancing merrily. "And you, Greensleeves? Will you grant me a kiss this night? A single kiss only is all I ask, to treasure as mine own and make the days sweeter until I come riding for you again."