Mokyute

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

There was that child Brujah, who's disappeared. Unless they just haven't posted at all. I don't see 'em in Characters.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

I just now noticed that I was waiting for someone to post that wasn't in the game anymore.. I'll post tomorrow.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

It's okay, you're not the only one. >m>

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

Guys. It's Margarita.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

If you guys just want to post up, that's totally fine with me! No need to go in order or anything. I edited my last post to give you guys a little freedom of posting, because I didn't want to tie everyone up.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

The shifty movement of feet did not go unnoticed by the Nosferatu, her judging eyes skirting across the group every few seconds. At the moment, she considered it nothing more than rude impatience. The pale-skinned blonde's quick manner of speaking did no better to convince her that he wanted nothing more than to be exempt from the coterie. She wasn't going to enjoy forcing him to cooperate. Her zombie-like face flattened at him when she responded, similarly her tone was drawling and annoyed. "You're implying you have good connections? How high up do your puppets go, ..." Her face halts mid-speech, and mid-expression. She'd forgotten the first of formalities! Quickly rectifying this with a courteous dip of the head, she rumbles, "My, I apologize. Shall I begin the introductions? Margarita da Muorto, the voice of the rats." A crooked grin cracks her uncouth lips. Bowing courteously, but merely slightly to the group, she extends her arms outwards in a fluid, smooth motion to gather their attention. Her dilapidated shawl flows freely in the briny breeze. "You're swift, and connected. Is this all, childe? And, do introduce yourself." Her tone carried a slight twinge of taunting malice in it, and if Alexander was as attentive as he was rude it would be picked up by the golden haired man before her. She tilted her head to one side in question, black and matted hair falling slightly off her head to hang in the air. A few strands disgustingly released themselves from the coils on her head to float wistfully in his direction. Her eyes listfully drew themselves across the line, judging their faces. "Worry not, the rest of you may chime in as you see fit."

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

Margarita slinked her way through the sewers, exiting out the mouth of the dank tunnels to the waterfront. If only the kine knew their bay was filled with trash, sewage, and dead bodies. She eyeballs the scantily clad nurse, as well as the prince with apprehension before trudging her way over to them. She awaits the rest of the coterie patiently, as in undeath one finds a masterful amount of patience for a death that never comes. The Nosferatu is silent as she stands with the pair, and continues to be so as the gang arrives. While the prince explains the situation, her name strikes a sour chord in her ears when paired with a leadership role. As he and his assumed courtesan depart the meeting of neonates, Margarita da Morto finds herself with all eyes turned to her gaunt face. "Let me begin with a courteous extension to you all: good evening..." Her eyes trace their forms individually, lingering for a moment on the out-of-place childe (literally and vampirically) amongst them. "I would begin with the stereotypical 'I suppose you're all wondering why I've gathered you', but it seems our prince has taken that luxury from me. We are joined in this coterie for the blood hunt of the one who threatens not only the Masquerade, but ourselves. There are whispers of diablerie on SchreckNet, as well as other unmentionable crimes. As I'm sure you all realize, our existence hangs by a very thin thread if this rogue Kindred, or otherwise, is allowed free reign on our domain. Thus, this forming of coterie is a necessary evil. I know you all have your apprehensions of working with various clans, as we all do... but I ask you all to set these aside for the good of ourselves--ourselves referring to us as Kindred." She allows her monologue a momentary pause, checking in with her listeners for not only attention but sincerity. "I doubt this is as simple as one not managing their Beast properly. Nor do I think that it's a Lupine, or some similar lesser form. Their movements are too deft--they know what we're doing, why we're doing it, when we're doing it before we even do--and they take great care in masking their identity by using nail, not tooth, for their feeding. What we do know: they're powerful, at most an eighth or ninth generation, they're smart, they're resourceful, and they're dangerous. They've managed to avoid the eyes and ears of the Nosferatu simply through the knowledge of where we gather our information. This means there's either a spy," she lingers for not only dramatic affect, but to gauge their reactions to the word, "or they have previous knowledge of these things from close contact with the Nosferatu. Both are feasible, and both should be further explored by us. I charge you all now: what disciplines and similar strengths do you offer that would be of use to our objective? Let us begin with you." She chooses the pretty boy on the far side of the lineup, and points her bony claw of a finger straight towards his face. Alexander was first up for questioning.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

How's my first post? Hope it's up to snuff! (This is my first RP on RPG. >w>)

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

Margarita da Morto
206
Nosferatu
Animalism I, Obfuscate II


Margarita was a woman of beauty, before the Kiss and subsequent deterioration of her humanity. Patches of flaking and scabbed skin make wretched patterns on her body, and matted hair slicked back and tied in an attempt to control a mane of undeath support her little in social matters. Her teeth have mostly fallen out, save for a few incredibly pointed, yellowed fangs. Her smokey orbs betray no color any longer, as well as being disgustingly sunken into her skull. Her nose is nothing of the sort any longer: flattened against her head, all of it's cartilage having rotted away after the Kiss. Her bones are harshly outlined against her taught skin, having little fat or muscle to stretch over. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Nosferatu, however.

---

Sometime in the early 1800s, Margarita Castro was born into a family of money-hungry, socially affluent aristocrats. Having an easy, pampered upbringing, she found her niche in the arts quickly in her youth. Margarita took to the stage with a fiery passion, and was loved by the critics for her vocal technique and stage presence. After a decade of work, she finally made it big: her debut role of Lady Macbeth in Sicily. After closing their final show, she made the incorrect choice of joining her cast members for drinks at a local bar. One cup lead to another, and eventually she found herself utilizing the nearest alley to relieve herself (the bathrooms were full, or so she says). A skitter and sliding from around the corner lead to the biggest event of her life, and mortality. Leathery, smelly hands groped her face and body, silencing her whilst simultaneously dragging her wherever this unseen man wished her. Thinking she was about to be raped, Margarita kicked and punched wildly at the man's genitals and face, respectively. This lead to a swift blow to the shoulder, paralyzing her from the man's inhuman strength. She began to lose conciousness from fear and stress, eyes dimming either from the loss of light or fainting as she was slinked into the dank, dark sewer below. Little does she remember of the anteceding events, although an incredibly pleasurable plateau, followed by immeasurable pain is burnt into her memories.

When she regained complete conciousness, she found herself lying in what can only be described as an abhorrent shrine. Sullied sheets she laid upon, cascading curtains fell around the stained bed, and sweet smelling candles, hundreds of them, lined the vista's walls. A man, his back turned to her, crouched in a corner near the water's edge. Muffled slurping and crunching echoed off the sewer chamber's walls, which she quickly attributed to him. He turned to her after a few moments of her eyes on the back of his bald, scabbed head, followed by a guttural voice instructing her of what had just transpired. Suddenly, pangs of intense hunger washed over her and she realized just how empty her stomach was. Her sire barked at her to eat, and shoved the rat he was previously chomping on into her face. It was here that Margarita noticed her body had become languid and malformed. Long after this, and after all the shocks of early vampirehood had been experienced by her, she was guided carefully by her new sire to document secrets and information from the Sicilian aristocrats using her fame.

Breaching the 1900s, Margarita adopted the surname 'da Morto' as a grim pun to her mortality. Fleeing to the Americas by stowing on an immigrant ship out of Italy, and keeping said ship quite clean of rats during her voyage, she sought new life away from the cutthroat aristocracy of Sicily. Promises of opportunities for her to puppet some mortals into creating wonderful theatre drew her to New York, where she had minor success but eventually broke the Masquerade when her ghoul released secrets relevant to vampirism. Luckily, the War of 1812 weakened the Camarilla's hold on the East coast. This, combined with her Nosferatic tendencies, allowed her to evade serious punishment. However, the same is not to be said for the now-dead ghoul she left behind in New York. Seeking new horizons in the nearby sister-city named, aptly, Sattelite City, Margarita abandoned her pursuits, temporarily, of dipping her hands into the happenings of mortals. Instead, she focuses on finding power for herself to, perhaps one day, return to her primary objective of creating an integrated vampire-mortal theatre society. After all, wouldn't you save a lot of money on makeup if your monsters already looked terrifying?

---

A calculated and reserved being, Margarita da Morto is the typical noble-born woman. Keeping to the sewers, like her brothers and sisters in vampiric gift, her words and actions are always subtle yet pointed. Soft-spoken in conversation, Margarita finds herself obtaining much good information with her intelligent and careful direction of dialogue. Utilizing what little femininity she has left, the woman does her best not to offend other clans and Kindred by dressing well and keeping the pungent smells of her home where they belong.

---

Her personal goal is to reintegrate herself into society, through manipulation or otherwise. She views humans as little more than annoyance, as well as subjects for her artistic visions.

From the shadows [Based off Vampire the Masquerade] not accepting anymore players!

Tight, musty, and cold. At least, that's what it felt like in the unfamiliar palace-of-an-office the Prince took refuge in. Feeling rather out of place, Margarita chose to stand off-kilter in the center of the room. Her hands wring not from nervousness, but to keep appearances. She knew what she looked like, and represented it well; she planned to uphold her mysterious background as a Nosferatu around any and all. "It's disgusting, really. You must know how serious I am to choose such a word." Her misty eyes skirted around the gold and red accouterments hanging off the Prince, which she found particularly beautiful. Her own garb was nothing in comparison, having fallen on hard times compared to her previous success in New York. "Quite." He responded, slowly and quietly. His studying eyes never removed themselves from her visage, despite it's ghastly appearance. That's one of the reasons she liked this Ventrue as much as she did: he knew the proper respect she deserved, and wasn't shy about giving it. "Often drained of a modicum of vitae, beaten or lacerated to death... gruesome choices of style, this one has. Kindred, of course. Only one of our own could move so quickly, and hide their tracks so well." She explained the situation with severity, her ghostly face betraying her emotion. The Nosferatu took a few calculated steps forward, lowering her voice just in case the guards at the door decided they would eavesdrop on the pair. "None of the Gangrel have been involved, or so says the Clan leader. I've asked around on the streets, and below them... Nothing. This requires your hand, Prince. Only you have the resources to put an end to this. If you choose inaction, ..." She turned swiftly, her nearly rotting shawl floating slightly thanks to physics. "You may as well write your control over Sattelite to your childer, as the Clans will be at your door wishing your destruction. This rogue Kindred is making a fool of you, leaving his evidence in plain sight for the humans to find. If it were not for the Nosferatu--" "I will not be slandered in my own home, Margarita. You are necessary, but not irreplaceable. Remember this." He had had enough of her manipulative wordplay. Rising to his feet, and rounding his desk, the Prince's piercing gaze struck her hard on the side of her face. She could feel the heat from his intensity, if only metaphorically. "... My apologies. However, the Nosferatu are becoming tired of cleaning up this mess. It's time for action. From you. Personally. The bodies will start ending up in coroners offices. You know what that means for the Masquerade." Her words rung a harping tone in the Prince's ears, as his gaze faltered, if only for a moment. He dropped his eyes to the floor, and began a philosophical strut back to his cushy office chair. "Something shall be done. What, exactly, is none of your current concern. Your loyalty and information are appreciated, and compensation awaits you." A dismissive hand gesture, followed by an enrapturing grin wished her on her way. "As you wish, my Prince." She offered a respectful bow, dipping her face towards the floor, and made her exit by way of the entrance. The lack of traditional kiss-to-the-hand pleased the Nosferatu, as she was sure no Kindred in their right mind wanted her scabbed lips anywhere near their pristine, porcelain skin. Her stride was long and prideful as she passed his bodyguards, but was quickly diminished to nothing more than a hunched crawling as she returned to her underground catacomb home: the same place this mass-murdering vampire found fit to relieve himself of his, or her, trophies part of the time. Whatever compensation the Prince had in mind for her was left without a second thought in the tower of bureaucracy she had every intention of getting as far away from as she could.