“What … why would she do that?” Elsa’s eyes widen in alarm, as Marcel explains Isabella’s plan. “I have not withheld my assistance, nor would I. My only concern is to prevent further bloodshed. Yet there is precedent for locking oracles away … Sybil lived in a cave, after all.”

She accepts the handgun blankly, turning it over in her hand. While a higher caliber gun would be preferable in some regards, she had very little practice outside of the shooting range. Perhaps the smaller weapon would be safer, especially with her nerves rattled as they were. She nods an acquiescence and slips the handgun into her bag.

When the telephone rings, Elsa visibly jumps. She searches for the phone, remembering finally that she left it on the kitchen counter. Walking over quickly, she picks up the telephone and hesitates before answering.

Once the line is open, she is quiet at first. Perhaps it was a mistake to answer at all, but she had felt a closeness with Isabella and thought she owed the woman something. Perhaps it was the blood bond influencing her emotions . Finally, she speaks. Her tone is calm, quiet, but clear. She does not let anger overwhelm her words, even though her shoulders shake as she speaks into the phone.

“I have no desire to foster animosity between us, Madame de Orssi. Ours is a gift that is rare and precious, and I wish nothing more than to help you overcome whatever this … threat is, that assails our city, and our kind. However, I will not be treated like a caged thing … I will not give my visions to a jailor.”

She looks to Marcel, hoping that it was not a mistake to answer the call.

“I have seen something else, but you will understand if I will hold my cards for the moment. Do think things over, and let me know if we should continue to foster a relationship. I will still try to prevent what is happening, either way.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Sun 04 June 2017.

"Foolish child.  Are you really believing the lies Marcel has told you?  Check the magazine of the gun he just gave you...look at the bullets carefully.  Then think about what all he's told you....what he's done this night.  Would seem to be he's trying to isolate you, turn you against those who are like you.  Tell me...can you feel his disdain for what you are and what he was made into?  Where's his loyalty truly lie?  He needs vitae to survive.  Without it he'll crumble to dust.  I think maybe you've chosen your allies poorly and your enemies even more poorly..."

The disappointment in her voice is palpable.  It could remind one of a mother lecturing a wayward child.  While she talks Marcel seems to be gathering various items from the apartment, rope, a decanter of red fluid, car keys, flashlight, backpack....

Elsa’s words catch in her throat. She holds the phone, trembling with fear and uncertainty. Who could she trust? A moment ago it had seemed so clear, and yet now, the shadows closed in around her, every bit as oppressive and suffocating as the tide of blackness that washed over the car earlier in the night.

She hangs up the call abruptly, placing the phone back on the counter. A red tear streaks down her cheek, which she brushes away distractedly, her hand shaking beyond her control. She trusted Marcel more than she trusted Isabella - she had seen an aspect of both their souls tonight, and Marcel’s had been softer, kinder than the cruelty that lurked in the other vampire. And yet, could it have been a facade? Could all of this be a trick? Anton had warned her …

I warned you ... She flinches away from her sire’s voice with a whimper. “Shush. You’re not here …” Elsa hisses back into the shadows. Silence responds. “Oh, I’ve ruined everything in just one night …” she laments, softly to the darkness, suddenly wishing her sire would come in and fix everything she had messed up.

With a sigh, she roots around in her bag for the gun Marcel had given her, and opens the chamber. She removes one of the bullets and examines the casing carefully. Although she was not an expert in such things, it certainly did not hurt to look.

[Private to GM: If it helps, Elsa does have heightened senses to examine the bullet. Let me know if I should roll anything and the diff.]

Marcel looks concerned and asks "What did she say?"

His face is one of concern.  As Elsa speaks to apparitions his concern grows and he starts to step forward.  As he does Elsa slips out the mag and looks to the rounds within.  The rounds, at first look standard but closer examination show the gold color wax sealing the end where one would expect an actual piece of lead to be.  There appeared to be no actual bullet, just a sealed cartridge.

Marcel stares at the rounds with confusion and stands there dumbfounded for a moment before sliding the mag out of the Vector Kriss.  Pulling a round from the mag he turns it over his hand before cursing under his breath and moving back to the gun wall.

"Rookie mistake, not checking ammo.  Are vu sure vu never handled a firearm before?"

Another tear rolls down her cheek, and she doesn’t bother wiping it away. She stares at the wax-sealed bullet for a few seconds, then sets the weapon down on the counter next to the phone.

“She said … She said that you were trying to isolate me. That I was foolish to trust you over her … That …” Elsa breaks off, gripping the counter as the room swims around her. “I trust you. I do …” she manages, finally, sounding sincere but shaken. “I just … I don’t know who to trust. This is … I-I’ve never been hunted before. I don’t know —“

Elsa stops talking, her brow furrowed. She brushes the hair from her face with a shaking hand. Her chest ached - she felt suffocated and unable to breathe. Which, of course, was true. She could not breathe. She could feel the weight of the grave closing in around her.

Closing her eyes to center herself, Elsa wills herself to breathe. Slow, steady breaths. Her dead, dry lungs waking up for the first time in days. It helped, somewhat. To feel something human for a moment.

“Is there a pay phone nearby? I think I would like to call someone, and if Isabella gave you this cellphone I do not trust that she cannot listen in.”

[Private to GM: 1 blood point spent to breathe]

"This is what they do.  Everyone is a marionette and they the puppet masters.  You must believe.....I would never hurt you Sash.....Elsa...."

His tone was one of sincereity and the name slipup causes him to grimace and turn his eyes away from Elsa.  As he looks away he slides a HK VP40 across the counter.

"These rounds are most definitely live.  If you think me a threat then please use the weapon to remove said threat.  I would never harm you.  As for the phone...well pay phones are not common but there is a Walgreens nearby...there you can purchase a burner if you wish to."

The slip of the name was not lost on Elsa, but it wasn't something she felt comfortable commenting on. It was enough to calm her doubts for the time being, however. Taking the weapon from Marcel, she feels the heavier weight of it in her hand - unlike the small handgun, this was a weapon designed to kill. The thought of actually using it to harm another living creature was troubling. She sets the gun back on the counter.

"Of course I would never ..." she looks horrified at the suggestion of shooting him.

“I am troubled to think that your life is now in danger, because of me …” Elsa says softly, regarding him with a look of concern. “Please do not put yourself in harm’s way for my sake, Marcel. Your life is no less valuable.”

She steps over to the kitchen sink and quickly rinses the blood from her eyes and cheeks. With a sigh, she smooths her dress and checks to make sure that she has not left anything behind. The steady, if forced, rhythm of breathing helped to keep her centered, calm. For now, the shadows stayed at a distance.

“We should go. If there is time to purchase a phone, so be it … If not, I could use yours. Anton always has his own precautions in place, and to be honest he may be upset with me however I call …” She frowns slightly, wondering if her sire would even answer the phone. If he had even an inkling of the events of the night, he might rightfully stay far away, locked away somewhere safe from the risk of gunfire.

“Earlier tonight, you mentioned a woman. Amodora, I believe her name was? Is this someone that you trust? And could she also be in danger from whatever … whatever this is?”

[Private to GM: Edited. Originally I had Elsa take the weapon, but on rereading your post I am not sure if Marcel was actually offering it to her. So, I redacted that. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 09:27, Sat 10 June 2017.

Leaving the gun where Elsa left it Marcel finishes arming up with extra ammo but removes the sword.

"If we are to go to Walgreens the sword might be a bit too much."

The smirk on his face melts at Amodora's name.  Its replaced with one of consideration and a bit of confusion.  Nodding to himself he mumbles something under his breath in a slavik sounding language before nodding his head,

"She might.  Our history is complicated and she may react oddly to me showing up on her doorstep.  We have a complicated history.....still any allies might help, no?"

“Oh, I’m sorry … The way you spoke of her, I thought that … Well, you said that you had made an oath. I assumed you must be close.”

She sighs, gathering the loose strands of her hair back into a clip. “You would know better than me, my dear. My sire may also be willing to help, although knowing him … he is likely already in a bunker somewhere, awaiting a nuclear winter.”

Noticing the gun on the counter, she walks back over to take it. Slipping the weapon into her bag, she quickly makes sure that she has everything, and then steps over to the door.

She pauses at the threshold of the door. Once they left the relative safety of the apartment, she knew they were entering a war-zone. It might look like the city she had known all of her life on the surface, but beneath the polite veneer, there was death, there were monsters; and tonight the monsters were hunting her, although she still did not understand why.

Elsa looks back at Marcel to see if he is ready to go. Assuming that he is, she takes a steadying breath, and steps back outside into the hallway.

"Ah mon cheri, we mee at last.  I had thought that door would never open.  Tell me, what does the devil do when she finds herself face to face with God?"

Almost as if appearing out of thin air a well muscled, dark haired man steps out of the shadows and smiles at Elsa.  His face is beautiful but contains an almost predatory glare.  The hilt of a sword peeks out over his left should, the cross pommel lhad a red gemstone set in the middle of it.  His clothes are all dark shades and his pants some sort of tactical gear with various knives and at least two guns visible.  Though his posture is no threatening he looks on Elsa with a clear expression of disgust.

As Marcel rushes forward he steps back revealing his left hand.  There was some sort of grenade clasped there.

"Easy there servant.  I have no quarrel with either of you, but I am looking for one like you.  Tell me, do you know Amodora Cristo?  I'd very much like to discuss a few things with her?"

As he speaks Marcel pauses midstride but doesn't holster the Vector that he had swung towards the man.  As he talks Marcel tilts his head and a curious expression spreads across his face.  He doesn't speak but instead shakes his head slowly indicating the word "No".

The man looks to Elsa and raises an eyebrow...
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Wed 14 June 2017.

Elsa jumps, startled by the strange man on the other side of the doorway. When she notices the grenade, her eyes widen in alarm, and she backs up slightly, into the safety of the apartment and Marcel.

“I … No, I don’t know Miss Amodora.” Her voice trembles, but she was telling the truth. Elsa steels herself, drawing a breath and staring back at the man with a rather stern expression on her face. “Please, we’ve had enough trouble already tonight. If you have no quarrel with us, will you let us go?”

She sighs, steadying herself in the door as the room begins to sink lower and lower, dread creeping into the corners of her mind. “As for the Devil? God? I see neither in this room tonight … I am no demon, no monster. Only a very, very tired woman who would prefer a nice cup of tea and a garden to this ceaseless fighting …”

The man opens his hand and a white hot fire erupts from the grenade in a flash of light and power....

It's then the world seems to rewind and Elsa finds herself once more holding the phone with Isabella speaking on the other end, though her words are lost to the Oblivion of the vision.  As the fog clears Isabella's voice comes back into focus.

"You saw it, didn't you?  You must stay locked down till I get there.  I can keep you safe."

The words are reassuring in a way Elsa had never known but at the same time the emotion felt foreign...
[Private to Elsa Lamarre: roll int + occult + awareness diff 7, please]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:19, Tue 20 June 2017.

Biting back a scream as the grenade explodes, Elsa finds herself clutching at the phone in confusion. The room spun around her — what was real? She could not distinguish the edges of her vision from reality.

“Yes, I saw it … A man, looking for Amodora … He … did he kill us?”

She stumbles backwards into the kitchen counter, gripping at the cold granite surface like a lifeline. Was she in the bunker, or somewhere else? Somewhere earlier? Her gaze frantically searches the room, trying to find something solid to land on.

[Private to GM: Uh. Whoops. Elsa Lamarre botched using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 7]

Marcel steps into her field of vision and reaches out to grab her shoulders.  Trying to get her to focus he commits a cardinal sin and looks directly into her eyes and speaks,"Breathe...in vith the good air, out vith the bad.  What did she say?  Did she threaten you?"

His concern is real and he tries to be reassuring but the gesture feels off and a wave of distrust sweeps through Elsa's head, but just as quickly it's gone though the tug of a distant voice echoes in her head, just out of reach...

“No … Yes … I don’t —“ Elsa’s bright blue eyes search Marcel’s face, uncertain in that moment whether she saw friend or foe. What was true, and what was something other? The stresses of the evening had made her once simple world much more complicated than she had the capacity to endure.

She tries to take his advice, to draw a breath, but winds up choking on the dry, decayed air in her desiccated lungs. The blood had been spent only in her vision, she could not breathe, and felt the weight of it crushing her chest.

Elsa draws back, a hand clasped to her chest. “Check your bullets. If they are sealed in wax, then at least something I saw was true … And if they are as I say, then call Lady Amodora Cristo. There is a man looking for her … He may be here already.”

Remembering the man, Elsa dashes across the room and presses herself against the flat surface of the door. Her ear rests against the cool metal, listening intently for anything that might be moving outside in the hallway - listening for any sign of approach.

[Private to GM: Using heightened senses to listen for anyone outside the door. ]

Seemingly confused Marcel pulls out his gun and slides the mag free.  Turning it over in his hand and shakes his head and slides it back in place before looking to Elsa with a questioning glance.  He holds his tongue as she presses her ear to the door and crouches low, as if ready to open fire should she indicate the need to.

At the door Elsa can feel the cold steel against her ear and can the buzz of the outside air whipping lightly against it but no sounds of someone waiting on the other side.

Staying quiet for several seconds Marcel waits patiently for a while before breaking the silence with a hushed whisper, "What is it?  Do we need to find another egress?"

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: key thing I forgot to point out, the last bit didnt feel like her typical visions do.  It was less surreal and more forced.]

With a sigh, she pushes herself back from the door and shakes her head slowly, as if clearing cobwebs off the recesses of her mind. Elsa wraps her arms tightly around herself, trying to think through the fog.

“Is it possible … Can Madame de Orssi …” Her brow furrows in consideration. These past three nights, the things she had learnt about the world in such a short time … She could do things that were once impossible. How much more, surely, could an older monster accomplish?

“I’m sorry, Marcel. I believe she was trying to waste our time … and here we are, waiting like Didi and Gogo for her to come.”

Elsa puts a hand on the doorknob. Flashes of the man with the grenade flicker through her memory, and she flinches slightly as the light from the explosion washes over her once more.

Then, she gingerly opens the door into the hallway and peers out, ready to slam the door shut again if anything more than a rat moves in the garage outside.

[Private to GM: Yeah, I thought OOC it might have been a false vision. But Elsa botched her roll, plus she has no idea someone might be able to do that. Also, she has hallucinations on top of visions, so I didn't want her to dismiss it easily. ]

"No need for that.  If she wanted us to stay she would have....no...no she wouldn't have.  She wants this quiet...damnit!  How could I be so foolish."

Shaking his head in anger Marcel heads towards the bedroom area and presses on a wall panel to reveal a rather high tech security setup.  Quickly punching some of the keys he glances towards one of the chandeliers and then towards Elsa.  "No more prying eyes.  She must of been watching to do what she has done.  Tell me, does the name Esteban mean anything to you?"

Running a hand through his hair Marcel doesn't wait for an answer but instead pulls open a large metal door and glances inside before tossing one of his guns down into the darkness.  It clatters down the concrete eventually coming to rest in the darkness.

“No, not that I recall …” Elsa quietly closes the door and returns to Marcel. Her eyes travel over the complex array of surveillance equipment, marveling at the audacity of such an arrangement.

“Why do humans have this urge, to cage a bird rather than watch it fly?” She murmurs, softly, mostly to herself. “I would have helped Isabella, happily. She and I have a kinship … Or so I thought. Why poison that, when we are all at risk from these hunters in the night?”

Elsa sighs, “Well, then … Where do we go now? What corner of the city is free of the harpy’s claws?”

"My former master, the one who made me this way...He used to say, power and fear drive one to heights of paranoia and make one do things once thought unimaginable.  Heh...he used to plant images in my head...horrible things that made me fear and shake with rage.

Now come before another with a grenade comes for us." 

Moving to the door Marcel grasps it and begins to slide it open.

Elsa looks at Marcel in horror as he describes what his ‘master’ had done in the past. Is this the world she had entered into? And if so, was there any respite? Surely this descent into depravity was a choice, rather than a certitude … Yet, the vision of herself as a rabid beast still haunted her memories. It had not happened yet, she reminded herself. It could still be averted.

“Into the Looking Glass, then.” She replies, softly. Elsa stays close to Marcel, following him into the unknown space beyond the sliding door.

"I'm sorry for what you have endured, Marcel. The way you talk about them ... masters and oaths of loyalty. Have we not left behind the time of slavery and servitude? This world is darker than I could have imagined." She sighs, a furrow on her brow. "There must be something that is kind in all of it. There must be those who have chosen a different path."

"Power is a drug and like any drug it decays your humanity.  I pray you find a vay to avoid da horrors of the night."

Smiling he finishes opening the door and steps out into the night.  Pausing for a second he seems to be listening to the wind before looking to Elsa with a perplexed look.

"Blood has been spilled near here.  Steel your beast and be prepared.  I'm not sure where but we might cross the place and you'll hear its call.  Concentrate on Sasha's token and it'll keep you safe from its clutches."

Moving forward slowly he scans the surroundings before reaching the street and once more pausing.  Looking around with a frown he kneels down and looks through a basement window of a building nearby before muttering, _{".....dear God....."}

Quickly stepping through the doorway, Elsa stays close and moves as quietly as possible - her nerves frayed and raw, exposed to whatever the elements might bring.

With a nod, she finds the pin in her handbag and clasps it tightly in the palm of her hand. The cold metal sigil felt strangely warm against her skin, and throbbed dully as a reminder of her own inhumanity. Elsa tries to focus on it, to center herself on what it represented, not what it had become. She told herself that she was not a monster, that she had a choice. For what that was worth.

When Marcel kneels beside the basement window, Elsa hesitates. Did she truly want to know what had shaken a hardened soldier? After a moment, she also kneels and looks inside. There was no sense in hiding from war, not when they seemed to be in the trenches. The pin burns in her hand, steadying her as she peers through the glass.

It takes a moment for her mind to process what it's seeing.  The window has blood splatter on it and as her eyes focus on the room she sees bodies hanging from their feet, flayed open with their organs missing.  All the heads are missing.  As she watches a man with the look of leprosy  moves to the last man still breathing and rips his chest open and begins eating the organs as the man screams in a blood curdling manner.  Slowly he drowns on his own blood...

Marcel turns away and tries to pull Elsa from the window...

Clasping a hand over her mouth, Elsa recoils from the window in horror. She tries to ignore the blood-curdling sounds of the man drowning in his own fluids, but the screams echo in her ears as she follows Marcel away, down the alley.

She stays close to Marcel, still holding the small pin in her fist. Her body trembles, a mixture of anger and fear.

“Was that … creature, the man with the deformities … Was it one of us?” Elsa asks, quietly.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:41, Sat 08 July 2017.