At the mention of his family Marcel seems to almost flinch but steadies himself and offers a sad smile before replying, "Monstras....if only things ver so simple."

Leaning close he tilts his head to a side as their eyes meet.  Holding her gaze he speaks while teaching out and squeezing her hand, "Very few set out to ruin lives around them yet few consider the ripples of their actions on those out of sight.  The beast does not live inside of vou...vou live inside of the beast.  Strive for peace vit it and embrace its needs for then they vill not overwhelm vou."

When he pulls away his hand a small swastica sits in her palm.

"That is not a symbol of evil.  It was a symbol of hope, a symbol of purity.  That old, original meaning is now obscured by a beast and what he made it into.  Vou are pure and good, do not let yourself be hidden beneath evil.  If you vill accept it I would like for vou to keep that symbol.  It vas belonged to my little Sasha.  She vould vant vou to keep it.  Ven the beast is rising hold it and think upon the what it used to be.  It vill hurt but I hope it will work."

When he first left it in her palm it was cool to the touch, as he spoke and explained its meaning it now seemed to burn slightly.

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Hopefully the swastica is not offensive to you personally.  It is simply included to make a point and not meant to be offensive at all though i recognize that it can be a very hurtful symbol to some..  If it is I apologize full heartedly.]

An expression of shock crosses Elsa’s face as she sees the small swastika sitting in her palm. She nearly drops it reflexively, but relaxes somewhat as Marcel explains its meaning and why it was given.

“Yes…. yes, I am familiar with the original meaning…” she murmurs, peering down at the small, terrible symbol. “The crooked cross has been a symbol of hope and good fortune for many hundreds of years… that meaning persists even today in some cultures, despite the terror enacted under its banner….”

She sighs sadly, running her finger over the small piece of metal. “Yet, when an evil man tarnishes such a symbol… can it truly maintain its original connotations, or must it be linked to evil from that moment forward? I am not so sure the two can ever be separated again…”

Elsa looks at the tiny swastika for another moment, before closing her hand around it despite the strange burning sensation. “I do understand your meaning though, Mister Marcel. I am afraid I will not display it… but I will keep it, for the reasons you described, and for Sasha. Thank you for the kind gesture.”

[Private to GM: No personal pain associated with the symbol. Though I'm not sure if I would respond graciously to being given one. Even though I know what the original symbol means! ]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:57, Fri 05 June 2015.

"Depends on if people choose to remember the old meaning just like if vou choose to remember being human.  Isabella forgot that long ago.  She has moments but she is long lost in the darkness.  Ask her about Ahmed...."

Looking a bit ashamed at his words he looks away for a moment and exhales slowly before looking back, My apologies my lady.  Was not my place to speak ill of another.  My opinion does not matter...what mattters is knowing what lurks beneath the facade of kindness.  After a while all such as vou have ulterior motives."

Looking at the symbol in her hand he runs a loving finger along it before pushing her hand closed around it and leaning forward to touch his forehead to her hand.  "I vill see vou soon my dear Sasha..."

As he speaks the symbol burns in her hand and her vision blurs for a second.  When it clears a pretty woman with black hair sits looking down at Elsa with a motherly smile on her face.  She speaks in a strange language and continues brushing Elsa's hair.  Though the words were unknown the context was obvious...it was a mother's love reflected in her eyes and as she turned to put the brush up Elsa can feel herself moving to pick up the small hand mirror.  The reflection is a precious little girl of about six years old.  Her big blue eyes search the mirror as if looking for something and soon a man's hands gently drape a silver chain and the symbol currently in Elsa's hand around her neck.  A bright smile spreads across her face and as she lays the mirror down the reflection of Marcel can briefly be seen followed by a single word...PAPA....then focus returns as Marcel lets go of Elsa's hand and settles back into his seat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:58, Fri 12 June 2015.

Elsa gasps as the remnants of the vision fade from the edges of her mind. Like breaking through the surface of a still pool of water, her thoughts return to the vehicle and its steady motion down the street.

As Marcel releases her hands, she reaches to grasp his for one last moment. “Your daughter is beautiful, Marcel. I … I wish that I could share my vision with you, but I am sure your memories are just as vivid.”

Elsa sighs, releasing his hand again. A red tear falls down her cheek, and she reaches to brush it aside with the back of her hand. “If there is ever anything that I can do to help you, I promise that I will… What that might be however, I am afraid I do not know.”

As Elsa speaks of his daughter Marcel visibly flinches as if he was just hit in the face.  Blinking a few times he swallows hard and seems to foce back tears that threaten to spill forth from his eyes.  "She was the most beautiful thing I had, have or ever will see....her laughter could make even a Tzimicie smile in joy and her kindness could soften the heart of the Nosferatu...but all her gifts could not save her from...no matter...what is done is done.  I thank you for your kind words my lady and one day I will ask you for a favor...it will not be an easy one but it will be important to my Sasha and I will be eternally in your debt for it but now is not the time to have this conversation.."

His eyes flicker towards the driver and then return to Elsa.  As they do the car begins to slow and Marcel looks away through the window before sitting up quickly and reaching forward trying to sweep Elsa to the floor of the vehicle at the exact same moment bullets begin to shred the front of the car.  High caliber rounds rip through the metal and then the driver and soon the vehicle reeks of blood and something begins to stir within Elsa.

As the blood spills from the driver's riddled body everything starts to move in slow motion and a red tinge starts to invade Elsa's vision before the burning sensation in her hand draws her attention back to it and away from the hunger that was stirring.  Though still there it seems to be well under control.

"We must go.  Hold on to me and do not let go.  What happens next will be very disorientating.."

As he speaks morre rounds start tearing through the vehicle but this time they seem more like shotgun rounds but flames seem to lick everywhere the rounds hit and just after seeing a round explode the seat next to her Elsa is enveloped into a smothering darkness that seems to pour into her eyes, ears, nose and smother out all her senses almost like drowning in thick dark tar....

Stifling a scream, Elsa clutches onto Marcel as he shields her from the rain of bullets. As the glass shatters around them and blood begins to fill the car, her mind retreats to another place, far from the horror of the present moment. The chaos becomes muted and fuzzy, as she struggles to focus her attention on what is happening now, and how to remain alive.

If she had only listened to her sire, really listened to him before all of this began… perhaps she would be more prepared for living in this war-zone. As it was, she felt utterly incapable… a child thrust into war too early. Her hand tightens around the small metal pin, worried she would lose it in the chaos.

She clings onto Marcel as instructed, and when the shadows roll over like a tidal wave she shuts her eyes and holds her breath (as if she needed to), trying to ignore the sensation of darkness crawling over her like beetles in the night. A panicked cry waits in her throat, but she bites it back, waiting for Marcel to get them out of this situation. Somewhere above, the moon was shining. Somewhere in the music district, songs were playing and people were still alive, and still hopeful… Elsa worried that for her, those nights were coming to an end.

Seemingly forever passes in the crushing darrkness but then it seems to fade away and Marcel almost drops Elsa as he stumbles against a wall.  The smell of charred flesh quickly replaces the muted darkness.  Marcel has a grimace on his face and his left shoulder has smoke rising from it.  Breathing heavy he slides to the ground and offers a meek smile to Elsa before grimacing once more and reaching towards his smoldering shoulder.

"Seems you've already made some friends my vlady.  Vell armed too.  Dragon's breath if I am not mistaken.  Vou were their prey tonight.  I almost failed vou on account of my rantings and preachings.  I apologize for my lack of attention."

The alley itself is fairly quiet and though sirens echo through the night Elsa gets the feeling they are not near the car anymore.  By the loks of it they are downtown, probably near the old Omni hotel but its hard to tell without landmarks.  As Marcel talks a small stray dog creeps out from underneath a nearby dumpster and skitters off with its tail between its legs.

"Do vou have phone?  If so please destroy.  Don't want those people to track us.  We must get phone and call Mistress Amodora.  She must be warrned."

“Yes, I — “ Elsa fumbles for her bag in a dull haze, sifting through the contents blankly without recognizing the objects inside. After several moments of looking at the same few items, she remembers how quickly she had left her home earlier that day. The phone must have been forgotten in the scuffle. "No, not on me it would seem. At home.."

An involuntary shudder runs through her body, and she wraps her arms around herself swaying back and forth underneath the ray of moonlight that faintly illuminates the alley. “I have a new sympathy for the monsters in books. Frankenstein’s cadaver, the Cyclops… why do humans always wish to kill that which they do not understand?”

Then, seemingly jarred back into awareness, Elsa moves over to Marcel and sinks down next to him on the ground, reaching cautiously for his shoulder. She stops just short of touching him, hesitant to draw near the fresh blood - even if it was the blood of a ghoul.

“In helping me, I’m afraid you have put yourself in harm’s way… will my… can my blood heal you?” She glances down at her wrist, honestly uncertain of her own power in this situation or whether Marcel would even accept that kind of assistance.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:36, Wed 15 July 2015.

"I am not permitted,  To do so would violate my oath and bond to Lady Amodora.  I vill be fine.  Pain is temprary and I have enough vitae in me to heal but am saving it for ven I have need."

Shrugging his shoulders Marcel begins to rise by pushing himself up the wall with a grimace.  "Dis is new my lady.  The humans do not do dis in the open.  Dis is something more."

The concerrn in his voice is not hidden and fear seems to push its way through.  His eyes reflect it and his voice seems to fade away.  Looking around he gets his bearings and motions for Elsa to follow him.  Quietly moving through the alleyways he cautiously searches each intersection and seems ready to murder anyone who moves closer than ten feet near them.  Still it doesn't take long before he finds an old pay phone and dials  but the phone rings and rings before the line goes dead.

Narrowing his eyes at the phone Marcel hangs up and frowns as he shakes his head in dismay.

"Tis not right...something bad has happened."

Dialing again he waits with an impatient air about him as the phone rings once more.  Slamming it down he curses under his breath in a foreign language before looking around again.

"There is a safe house near.  I suggest we seek refuge there and figure out our next move.  Returning to your home may not be wise at this point."

Elsa follows Marcel silently onto the street, looking up and down the block for any sign of the people that had attacked them earlier. She had only been assaulted once in her life, before this moment. An irate client had cornered her in the parking lot, after losing an especially tense case. Elsa had bought a gun after that encounter… but that too was lost, tucked into a drawer at home. Out of reach.

“Did we … have we done something to make them angry?” she asks, wandering in a slow circle to look up at the surrounding buildings. “A reaction as strong as this is usually precipitated by… an act of aggression or perceived injustice, by the other party…”

Elsa is mostly muttering to herself, fidgeting with a long string of hair that is frizzy and flying loose in the air. She continues to follow Marcel, but seems barely to recognize the streets and alleys that they pass on their route. Occasionally, she flinches away from an invisible something that leers at her from the alleys, feeling the lick of dragon’s flame over her skin, and at one point she stumbles out into traffic - throwing her hands up against the blinding lights of an oncoming car, before skittering back over to the sidewalk.

“Fine, fine, that’s fine dear. To the safe-house then. If you believe it is safer than here.” She follows him more closely, staring down at the sidewalk as her feet hit the pavement. Counting the cracks.

Shaking his head Marcel frowns and looks around quickly.  "If I had to guess I'd say military unit.  Their gear was high tech and the weapons are not something you'd pick up on the streets.  Not sure why we were targeted."  Running his hand through his hair Marcel moves quickly up 4th Avenue and soon ducks into a stairwell for an underground parking garage.  Leading the way down to the lowest floor Marcel stops at a blank concrete wall and glances around before pressing a loose brick, causing the wall to slide downwards.

Stepping over the lowered wall Marcel holds out his hand to help Elsa over the door.  Once inside Elsa can see a rather drab concrete passageway leading down to an ominous looking metal door, half covered in rust.  Moving towards the door Marcel stumbles and slumps  against the wall.

"Clearly my strength is failing me.  Would you be a dear and help me to the door?"

Elsa holds her breath as she steps through the entranceway, not remembering for a moment that she no longer needed to breathe. The narrow passage seems to stretch endlessly before her, and she stops cold - staring fixedly at the door at the end of the hall with a mounting sense of trepidation.

Could this be a trap? The thought crosses her mind. But it was only her sire’s paranoia, his sickness, nipping at the edges of her thoughts. This was not her cross to bear.

She turns back towards Marcel, concern furrowing her brow, her eyes wide. “Yes, yes of course. What was I thinking …”

Elsa hurries to Marcel’s side and snakes an arm around him. “You aren’t hurt too badly, are you, my dear?” She does her best to support Marcel, walking slowly down the hallway towards the metal door. The sense of dread rises in her chest, but she bites her lip and manages to suppress her misgivings, for now.

Marcel leans heavily on Elsa, clearly he was more injured than he had let on.  As Elsa came near she could smell blood and any close look reveals his shirt is now stained with blood, mostly centered around his left oblique area.  Forcing a smile to his face he pulls his jacket tight to his hip and shrugs his shoulders, "I didn't want to waste the vitae healing...started low today."  Taking a deep breath his eyes narrow and he winces with each step until they reach the door.

Seemingly sensing her concern he reaches towards the door with a blood stained hand that at first stirs something inside of Elsa but that thought is put aside as the smell has an odd, sickly smell to it.  Pushing aside a metal plate to reveal a retina scanner he leans against the door with some fatigue but manages to look into the scanner.  A few beeps later and the door rumbles to life, sliding to the side.  As it opens the lights inside flicker on to reveal a rather posh setup.  The center of the room houses black suede looking sectional couches and a large oversized chaise.  The floor has a large wolk skin as a rug (way too large of a skin for modern day wolves) and a large decanter full of what appears to be red wine.  The left side of the room holds a small half walled area atop three steps.  Looking through the opening Elsa can see a large bed with many pillows, all of which looks plush.  To the right, an open floorplan kitchen and dining room, each adorned in very expensive looking wood.

"Isabella's gift to you.  Use as you like.  The doors lock from the inside and the kitchen is well stocked with many vintages...though I would avoid any as Isabella is known to spike offered drinks with her own blood.  You may use the phone to call any you wish, also Hasiin's number is next to the phone.  He will arrange anything you need....now if you would, please help me to sit on the floor and be a dear and fetc....retrieve that decanter for me.."

Motioning to the table near the couch he offers a reasurring smile, and as he does it occurs to Elsa his accent is significantly less than it was earlier in the evening.  It's still audible but less than what it was just an hour ago...

“All the world’s a gilded cage …” Elsa murmurs softly, squinting as her eyes adjust to the bright lights of the fancy apartment. The amenities were much more than she felt comfortable with, and still she could not shake the sense of unease that permeated this place. Although she was grateful for Madame de Orssi’s kindness, she felt trapped and smothered by the luxury.


Carefully lowering Marcel onto the floor, she hops away from him and over towards the decanter of “wine” on the table.

“Is this how you live? Chased and hounded, night after night … What a waste of a long life, to be hunted like this.”

She brushes distractedly at the side of her dress, which is stained with Marcel’s blood,  smearing streaks of crimson across the white linen. Elsa picks up the decanter and walks slowly back to Marcel.

She sinks to the ground in front of him, her legs loosely folded beneath her. She holds the decanter towards him, studying him with a curious expression. “Has your accent run away from you, my dear. Or is it just that I am not hearing it any longer? It is always so hard to tell, what is truly perceived versus what one merely believes to be so …”

Taking the decanter and drinking deeply Marcel closes his eyes as he gulps the liquid.  Judging by the thickness and smell it was more pure than blood wine...and fresh.  As he swallows gulp after gulp his gasps lessen and color begins to return to his flesh.  After gulping down about half of the container he slowly lowers it and wipes his mouth with his left arm.

"''Tis real and is not at the same time.  Isabella thinks it's disarming to veke like dis.  Puts people at ease.  I'm not so sure, though it is my real accent.  I am originally from what is now Mother Russia, but it wasn't always that way.  It also helps to keep conversation at a minimum but for you, not so much....

As to this being my life, no....this is different.  This is precision hidden in chaos...

Still I apologize for the deception.  I find myself in your debt, for surely I would have perished this night were it not for your kindness.  I shall not deceive you again.  My apologies, my Lady."

Looking down he genuinely seems embarrassed.

“I am the one who owes you a debt of gratitude, mister Marcel,” Elsa tilts her head at him, a puzzled look dancing across her features for a moment. “You put yourself in harm’s way to keep me safe, and I am grateful for your kindness and friendship tonight.”

Smoothing her dress, she stands up and wanders off into the kitchen, where she begins to search through the cabinets for soda water. She checks the fridge for lemon, and with whatever she has been able to find, Elsa dabs at the stains on her dress, hoping to get the blood out before it sets.

“As for the other part … We all put on masks from time to time. Especially when we do not yet have trust …” She frowns slightly, thinking back on her peculiar night, and the people that she had met. “It is easy to slip into the disguise of our past selves. I found myself putting on a performance of sorts for your Sheriff, wearing the mask of the person I used to be years and years ago … It is not a lie, but it is also not the person I am now.”

Elsa sighs, fussing with a particularly set-in stain. “Identity is mutable, to some degree … What remains, I think, is the intention of the spirit. And you are a kind man, whatever accent you decide to wear.”

"If only that vere true my lady...you know not what I've done in the service of others but I appreciate the sentiment."

Looking away with an embarrassed expression Marcel pulls out his phone and offers it to Elsa.  "If anyone is worried about you please feel free to call.  The phone is encrypted and safe to use.  In fact you may keep it."

Waiting for her to take the phone Marcel pushed a bullet out of his stomach and stares at it with intense curiosity.  The tip is almost see through and a pale green liquid sits beneath a partially cracked head.  Whatever it is, it is most definitely not lead....
This message was last edited by the player at 08:55, Sat 03 June 2017.

She takes the phone, turning it over in her hand like a foreign object. “No … There is no one to call. Although I will need to re-connect with Sheriff Rocha, once prophesy connects with the present. Not …  yet, I do not think.” 

Elsa sets the phone on the kitchen counter, and hesitantly extends her hand again. “The bullet, however.. May I? It may have a story to tell, if we are very lucky.”

Truthfully, Elsa was not certain if she wanted the bullet to speak or remain silent - its secrets locked dutifully away. The night had already been difficult, and coaxing a vision from an object of violence was always a dangerous proposition.

She steels herself, waiting calmly with her hand outstretched for the bullet.

[Private to GM: I tried to roll my Auspex 3 preemptively, but I think I'm doing it wrong. The dice roller wants to tell me I succeeded or failed, but not exactly what I rolled (every die number). I don't think diff 6 is correct, either.

23:25, Today: Elsa Lamarre rolled 2 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 6, rerolling 10s.  Auspex 3 - Perception + Empathy.

I did roll a second time, trying to see if I could get it to display the exact die values. But the 2nd roll failed. So, use whatever you feel is appropriate, or I can roll again with the correct difficulty.]

Pain....muscles locking up.....a military compound.....kindred in cages....kindred flayed open....hunters.....a blond haired woman with pale blue eyes and a scar running up her neck....Project Daylight....

The images are chaotic....jumbled...vicious...horrors to come....horrors of a by gone era?  It felt like there was more seething images in the flashes but they were just out of her grasp.  There but hidden from her mind's eye almost taunting her to see them but at the same time hidden in a fog.

When the flashes clear Elsa finds herself lying in a bed with a concerned Marcel standing over her.  "Thank heaven you are avake.   What happened?  You fell to the floor, almost like you were having a seizure.  Do I need to fetch a healer?"

Elsa’s entire body trembles as she sits up in the bed, hugging her knees against her chest. If it could, her heart would pound like a jackhammer against her ribcage … As it was, she felt oddly hollowed out, gutted, and aching with the sense that she had missed something essential. The hazy details of the vision taunted her.

“…Project daylight,” she shudders, hugging her knees even more tightly. She does not look at Marcel, but stares blankly across the room. Her eyes fixate on the wall, seeking comfort in the dullness of the flat surface. “Does that name mean anything to you, Marcel?”

“Or … perhaps the woman, with flaxen hair and a scar … Just here.” Elsa runs a finger absentmindedly along her neck, remembering where the wound had been in her vision.

“I-I’m sorry that I could not see more.” She shakes her head slowly back and forth, trying to clear away the fog that gathered in the corners of her mind. “There was a military building, and …. and death. So many dead … opened up like pigs in the slaughterhouse” She shudders faintly, growing paler as she remembers the butchered, gaping bodies.

"Project Daylight...no it does not ring a bell but I can ask around about it, if you'd like?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed he extends his hand to brush a lock of hair away but stops just short and instead pushes himself up and looks a bit uncomfortable.  Shifting his weight back and forth for a moment Marcel eventually turns and grabs the phone in the room.  Quickly dialing he waits but a second before he begins to speak, "Madame De Orsi.......no, she is safe but we were attacked......she is well....WHAT?  HOW COULD YOU?......not anymore.....you passed my vow to her.....I'll see you pay for that....oh no you mistake my words madame....it's a promise."

With that he slams the phone down and looks to Elsa with concern.

"Did you drink from the glass Isabella gave you earlier this evening?"

Marcel's fist is clenched and his eyes flash with a mixture of rage and concern.

Elsa presses her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes and listening to the distant patter of conversation without focusing on the words. When Marcel addresses her, she looks up sharply, confused for a few seconds before the question solidifies.

“I — No …” She pauses, thinking back over the evening’s events. “Y-Yes, yes I think so. Why, what is the matter?”

A coldness creeps over her head - icy pinpricks electrifying her scalp and spilling down her neck like a glass of ice water. She could hear Anton, her sire, admonishing her carelessness. He had warned her to be suspicious, to be wary of her environment; to be wary of gifts and those who seemed kind …

A shadow passes across the corner of the room, and she flinches away from it. Sliding her legs off the bed, she gets up somewhat unsteadily, looking to Marcel for answers.

“Was it Madame de Orssi’s blood in the glass?”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:32, Sun 04 June 2017.

With a flash of anger Marcel sends the phone flying across the room and solemnly nods his head.  "She seeks to enslave you...to use your visions for her gain.  Gather whatever you need, we must leave, immediately."

Moving to the North wall Marcel slides open a secret door revealing an alarming number of weapons.  Grabbing several pistols, a Vector Kriss, and two swords he loads weapons up with a certainty that promises violence is to come.  Oddly though he a calm seems to settle over him and a soldier's efficiency kicks in.  Weapons are checked, loaded and stored on his personage quickly.  Barely glancing up he seems to be lost in the task but his eyes show his thoughts to be far away and with murderous intent.

Looking up his eyes take on an apologetic look.  "If you had drunk anything here she would have her second dose into your blood stream.  Everything here is laced with her blood...I apologize for not stopping this.  I....was foolish....I thought her concern real...."

Elsa flinches as Marcel throws the telephone, nearly sitting back down on the bed again in a daze. The shadows were coalescing at the edges of her vision, and she heard the harsh, admonishing whispers of her sire circling around her. Taunting, judgmental.

Finally, she steps towards Marcel. Reaching out, she gently touches his arm. “It is of no matter,” she says, softly. “We have enough enemies who wish to cause us real harm. Whatever Madam de Orssi’s plans … for now, we are on the same side. We must be united, or else this threat will destroy us all, in our squabbling and disarray … ”

Elsa squeezes his arm reassuringly, and removes her hand. “I will be more careful in the future … It was a foolish mistake on my part, to trust so blindly.”

“Now, if you feel it is best to leave, I will go with you of course. Do you have a handgun in that arsenal?” She peers past him into the array of guns, looking for something that is manageable and not military grade.

"You don't know what it is to be her thrall.  Trust me that's a nightmare you do not want to experience....I'm sorry...you just remind me of someone who was taken from me by Madam De Orsi.  You should know....she just ordered me to stake and leave you here until she has need of you.  I of course would not do it."

Letting the anger slip away he reaches into the room and pulls out a Sig Sauer P238 cast in pearlescent purple with and ivory grip.

"Its small caliber and easily hidden.  If you would prefer something larger I have 40 and 45 caliber glocks."  Pointing to a few of the guns in the room he also motions towards the knives and swords.  As he does he pulls on an overcoat that hides the slew of weapons he just loaded up.  Waiting for her answer Marcel's cell springs to life...a call from Isabella.

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Not sure if you have his phone or he has it.  I think he gave it to you.  Also, he's going to be way over protecting because of his back story which may come out throughout your interactions with him.]