Vampire: The Masquerade
Contest of Will
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Sunday August 3rd
8 PM Central Room
The Hotel
Marshall Barry stares down at the map of the city. "I can't believe the Prince of this shithole town is a five minute run from here. How is he still even alive?"
Pablo Acosta grins brightly at that. "Well, technically he's-"
"Don't fuck with me, Pablo. You know what I mean."
"I think it is very clear," Katarina smirks from the folding chair she sits in, "that Prince Lodin no longer cared about Modius. He became a non-factor."
"Yeah, that still doesn't make sense why he left him around. Guy tried to stage a coup."
"As an example." Katarina replies. "If you try for my throne, this is what I will do to you. A much worse fate than death."
"And we're supposed to help him achieve the throne of Chicago itself? The largest Camarilla city in the United States?" Marshall frowned. "I don't see how we do it."
Salihah had also been studying the map of the town. In it she saw...possibilities. "It's a good angle for us to begin our operation with. At the first opportunity, we change sides to someone with more power and influence, perhaps. Or-"
"Hold on." Pablo was frowning now. "Modius is an elder of my clan. I probably am going to have to see it through with him, from start to finish."
"That's your problem, not ours Pablo." Marshall lights up a cigar. "Way I see it, any of us can support any of the candidates we like, once we learn who else is running."
"It would be easier to get someone on the throne if we pulled our resources to make it happen." Pablo replies.
"Who says we want someone on the throne so quickly?" Salihah lets a careless grin escape, charming enough to unnerve Pablo. That was his trick, he wasn't used to others using it on him. "After all," she continued, "while they fight each other for the throne, we can each take a big piece of the neighborhoods."
"It is true." Katarina agreed. "Once there is a prince in place there will be rules, perhaps even a lockdown on domains to acquire, yes? Gary is clearly a long term project. The real money is in Chicago."
"So we keep 'em fighting each other as long as we can." Marshall Barry exhaled a batch of smoke. "I like it. Meanwhile we might as well go talk to Prince Modius and get that checked off our collective required list."
"What? You can just walk to the Prince's house and force him to accept you like that? Is that commonly done?" Katarina genuinely didn't know.
"Probably not." Salihah grins. "We might really upset him, maybe even scare him."
"Yeah." Pablo says calmly. "We need to write him a letter, tell him we're in town, and then ask permission to be seen by him. That's the traditional way."
"So he can invite us, yes? That seems appropriate." Katarina was used to doing things the proper way among Elders. It was how she was raised.
"Not me. I'm just going over there right now." Marshall said. "He doesn't have to like it."
"I highly advise against it." They all turn to the entrance as the strong, deep voice hits them like a freight train. Reverend Jeremiah Thomas strolls into the room.
"What the hell are you supposed to be?" Marshall gazes at the man's priestly garb. The silence that fills the room is awkward.
"I am Reverend Jeremiah Thomas. An Elder of Clan Tremere."
"Huh." is all Marshall can say to that.
"I've heard of you!" Pablo exclaims. "You burned an entire regiment of Sabbat infantry to ashes down in Atlanta, didn't you?"
"There, and in other locations as well, yes."
"Well, it's a pleasure. I've fought the Sabbat all over the place. Next time you engage them, you call on me, Pablo Acosta."
Reverend Thomas smirks. "Ah, trying to get a checkmark on your required tasks are you? Prestation quest, yes?"
Everyone is silent. Katarina rises to her feet. "He knows. Clan Tremere knows about-"
Reverend Thomas tips his hat. "My clan is blissfully unaware of Mr. Confetti's intriguing proposal for both a cerebral and physical contest between elders."
"Hah! You are in the game? You are one of us?" Salihah is astonished.
"Mr. Confetti has a profound understanding of psychology, to have offered me a spot. And each of you as well, obviously. You are here. Now, as to Modius, please allow me to write the introduction letter. As Mr. Acosta stated, I am well known in the Camarilla. Prince Modius will not refuse any of us, even those of you from less reputable clans."
He eyes the women. Katarina meets his stare with a blank, seemingly emotionless one of his own. Salihah, on the other hand, bursts into laughter.
"Yeah, you write the letter. That's fine. But I'm not just going to sit here and wait. There's more competitors comin', I got a feeling. So I want to get started on these tasks before they get here." Marshall Barry was almost daring any of them to shoot that idea down.
"We should focus on upgrading The Hotel. It's a required task and will help us all out to do it." Pablo says. "I mean, I'll take care of the windows on this floor."
"Some of us don't have that kind of money yet, greenpockets."
Pablo smirks a bit. "Um. Mr. Confetti set us all up with a bank account with twenty five thousand dollars specifically to use on our strategic maneuvers."
Marshall Barry blinks. "He did?"
"Someone hasn't read the rules, no?" Katarina smirked a bit. "You can read, yes?"
The Gangrel snatched up the thick rule book that sat on the table. "Yeah I can read."
Everyone snickers a bit. The hairs on the back of his neck bristle in fury. "Well, fine. I can do a lot of damage in a pathetic place like Gary with twenty-five large."
"I believe that is the point." Reverend Thomas' tone is somewhat conciliatory, not wanting to infuriate the larger man even further. "However, keep in mind once you expend the twenty five thousand, you will be without funds to play in the game, even if you have lots of money on your own."
"Seriously?" Marshall stares at the book. "Guess I gotta read this damn thing after all."
"There will be plenty of cash prizes, that go directly into our game bank. How fun." Salihah smiles brightly, charming everyone in the room instantly, though instinctively, all knew she can not be trusted.
"So we're all going to fix up The Hotel then for our opening move? Because teamwork is for winners!" Pablo's enthusiasm is clearly a bit over the top for a vampire. The room fills completely with silence.
"Sorry amigo," Marshall Barry puffs his cigar smoke out. "But I've got other plans!" and with that, the biker storms out of the room.
"But!" Pablo calls after him.
"I, too, have, as he says, the other plans." Katarina sways her hips so profoundly that Pablo can't help but stare. "Not you too..." he groans.
"It is a competition!" she replies firmly. "Not a team sport. But if you do fix the two annoying windows in my suite, Pablo, I will be very happy with you." She tosses her hair and throws a wink in his direction. Then she struts out of the room.
"You're not going to fall for that." Salihah smirks at Pablo.
"Yeah. Yeah apparently I am." He says. "But, in order to fix all of the windows with what I have in mind at that price...hmm....I am not used to having financial limitations. I read about the bank but I somehow assumed that the twenty five thousand could be added to our own resources. Guess that does even things up. Fair play is good play." Pablo flashes a thumbs up sign.
"Indeed. Curbing our resources will make this a true competition." Salihah agrees. "But the others are getting started. I will see you another evening."
"Yeah." Pablo answers, but his mind is already a thousand miles away. He sits down on the folding chair Katarina left behind.
The priest grunts a bit. "For what it's worth, I too think we should secure The Hotel. And I intend to do just that tonight, in my own special way."
"Great." Pablo answers, but perhaps he didn't totally hear Reverend Thomas' words. With a grunt, the priest leaves abruptly.
8:00 PM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
Mortimer gazes at the large chest.
Mr. Confetti had been very specific in his instructions that items immediately necessary for work should be placed in a chest exactly this size, and that we would get only one such chest. Mortimer had realized immediately that Confetti would likely segregate the chest from his other possessions, and it just wasn't large enough to house all of the comforts he'd grown accustomed to while working for the Nosferatu clan.
But that isn't important right now. Mortimer had snuck a look at the first round task list and the wheels in his brain had begun spinning. But he knew he could do nothing without his computer.
He carefully takes everything pertaining to his advanced computer system that he'd need for a basic setup out of the chest. He could add on later as he'd need things. He hooks it all together, a minor chore that takes fifteen minutes. Then he turns on the juice.
While it starts up he proceeds to the lobby, where he scares the daylights out of Jeeps, who had clearly never seen a Nosferatu before and is intimidated greatly by him.
"I need a table."
"Okay, sir."
"Actually, no. I need two tables."
Jeeps rubs his chin. "Well, sir there are tables in the basement. You can have two of those. But, you'll have to bring them up yourself, sir."
"The elevator is out of order?"
"I'm afraid, so sir."
"Where's that bellboy girl that helped me with my chest?"
"I'll ring for her."
The bellboy girl arrives. She and Mortimer go down into the basement. When she gazed upon him for the first time, her eyebrows slightly raised for half a beat. Then she became non-plussed again. Mortimer couldn't help but be impressed by that.
"Huh." Mortimer looks around. "I could just live down here. That'd be even better." She shrugs her shoulders. Mortimer goes back up to the lobby.
"Hi. I'd like to move into the basement."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I want to move into the basement. Instead of the suite."
"I'm sorry sir, that's against the rules."
"Well, I'm not into your rules."
"Well, they are not my rules, sir. I don't make any rules. I am here to serve you, sir."
"Exactly."
"However, Mr. Confetti has made the rules for the game. And I'm afraid you'll have to accept the four room suite as your personal headquarters, and not the basement, which is an open space that all competitors are welcome to be in at any time they so choose, sir."
"Ah. Well, that puts a clear damper on that idea."
"I thought it might, sir."
"I'm just going to get those tables, now."
"Very good, sir."
8:30 PM
The Hotel
Pablo Acosta knows what he has to do, but he won't be able to do it as Pablo Acosta. But first he wants to check things out on his laptop computer. Unfortunately, and much to his fears, he can't seem to get any wi-fi to work.
He heads down the stairs to talk it over with Jeeps. He is forced to press himself flat against the wall as a giant bird monster holds one end of a long table and the bellboy girl holds the other as they make their way up the stairs. The girl is having a much easier time of it than Mortimer T. Smith. The table, having been discovered in the basement, is covered in filth and grime. This doesn't seem to bother Mortimer much.
"A Nosferatu? You missed the meeting."
"What meeting?" Mortimer asked bluntly.
"Oh. Well, sorry. I'll make sure you get invited next time. All of us met. We discussed strategy."
"Was anything in particular decided?"
"Basically that its every competitor for his or herself."
"Why would we do it any other way?"
"Because teamwork is for winners!" Pablo declares, grinning brightly.
Mortimer considers the slogan for a moment. Then without reply he and the bellboy girl continue their ascent. Pablo's grin fades.
In the lobby he discovers Jeeps. "There's no internet in the hotel?"
Jeeps merely shrugs. "My apologies, sir. Perhaps you could wire internet in yourself."
"What kind of a hotel is this?" Pablo slams his hands on the desk, his patience lost.
"The kind that houses dead people at no cost to them and has no internet at present, sir."
"Well, could you make a call and get something set up? You do run this place don't you?"
"I am at your disposal to help as best I can, sir. But I have been instructed by Mr. Confetti to not make a single alteration to The Hotel. Indeed, I don't have any funding to do so. It's all a part of the game, sir."
"Well, that's ridiculous. Well, fine then." Pablo almost makes the mistake of pushing the elevator call button. Then he remembers that doesn't work either. "And I suppose you're not allowed to clean either? This place is filthy."
"I have been very specifically instructed not to clean, sir. My apologies."
Pablo had heard enough. He took the stairs two at a time.
Pablo had noted there were several construction companies in Gary. Any of them would likely do, but he didn't want to interfere with mortals that were good people, if he could help it. He knew what he was, and what bringing people into the fold would do to their lives. He preferred to drag down those who were unscrupulous and in doing so, potentially raise them up, if but just slightly. It was an irony he could soundly appreciate. It was, in fact his form of art. Well, that and painting. He'd never give up on painting!
To execute his concept, he'd need to do some research, and quickly. Normally an investigation of this type would take a few months. But with the competition heating up, he'd have to move quickly or risk falling seriously behind. He was skeptical that someone like Marshall Barry or that scary Tzimisce woman would wait months for their opening moves.
They'd probably just take over something simple to get credit for the task, and move on. The real money in business was in Chicago, for the most part. Still, there were a couple of industries that thrived in bad areas. Construction, Pablo knew, was one of them.
8:30 PM Private Suite: Katarina Novoskyatin
Katarina was amused by the big meeting. She had taken the measure of her competitors' intellectual prowess and found them wanting, well, except for the Setite. They were known for their cleverness. This was the first time she'd met Kindred outside of her own clan in her entire existence. She hoped that they could not tell. Oh, how sheltered she has been.
And these Kindred had lots of practical experience that she did not. That would count for a lot, she realizes. Pure intelligence would only get her so far. She would need to figure out the best way to score points in Mr. Confetti's game. That would take consideration.
She decided what she needed was in the room she had just come from.
She walked back into the Central Room and studied the map of Gary, and the task list.Then she considered her own needs and it all instantly fell into place. The Hotel was only powered well enough to light it, and for some minor, basic appliances. Not nearly enough to continue her work in science, and she would need to, she was certain.
It was one of her key advantages over her competitors. She would need vast amounts of power that The Hotel currently could not provide her.
She didn't know how to proceed. She had vast amounts of personal power, that was true. But the Masquerade would need to be maintained. She had no experience with that. In her mountain retreat all were Oradea League, both Kindred or servants. There had never been any need to hide her gifts or what she was from the mortals. She commanded. They obeyed. She demanded something, they got it for her. It had all been too easy, she realized. She had been badly spoiled.
Here, it would be difficult. She had no servants, well perhaps that sad thing behind the counter named Jeeps qualified. But he appeared mostly useless. She would have to do it all herself! The thought of it made her tingle. She would have to be careful. She closed her eyes to think.
8:30 PM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
After hauling the first of the tables to the common room in his suite, Mortimer puts a $20 in the bellboy girl's front pocket. At first she recoils, unsure of the bird monster vampire's intentions when he extended that hand-thing of his at her. Then she realizes he'd tipped her. She looks at the bill, and smiles. It is a toothy, honest smile. Mortimer pretends not to notice.
"I need that second table in the basement. I'll be down in a minute." She nods and is off.
Mortimer sets up the computer system on top of the table. Just to see, he scans for internet signals. He could steal it easily from various sources nearby rather than using his own hot spot tech, a preferable option, and the best one is clearly Ivy College, a state-run facility, he noticed. That thought gave him some possibilities.
Anyone skilled enough to piggyback onto the signal and ride it back to the source would find themselves lost in the college's student computer center. A discouraging place to find yourself looking for a single hacker.
He quickly steals the college signal and is online.
Scanning the map of the sector near The Hotel, he comes across an unexpected find. A small petting zoo in the heart of Gleason Park. That, he realizes, will do nicely.
He types. Within half an hour he has all of the inside information he needs on the petting zoo's owner and staff. He'd tried but failed to get into the computer system at the petting zoo itself. Probably just one small dinky outdated system that's currently turned off, he reasons. An excursion for the evening! For a brief moment he wonders if he should wait until after greeting Prince Modius. A stupid idea, he decides, and goes back to work. There is a knock on the door.
"Enter." he says, without moving from his computer. The little bellboy girl does so, looks expectantly at him.
"What? Oh, right. The second table. I...er...just kind of left you in the basement didn't I?" She nods her head shyly. "Sorry. Got carried away with my project."
Pablo's head pokes into his room. "You have internet? How do you have internet? Jeeps told me there's no internet."
Mortimer scowls at his competitor. "I am siphoning it from an exterior source." He restrains himself from adding the word "fool" to the end of the sentence. Pablo grins, walks into the room uninvited. "Mortimer, we are going to be very good friends, you and I."
Mortimer didn't want to make friends with the pretty Spanish guy, but it looks like he'd have no choice, as Pablo quickly pops open his laptop computer. "I won't be too long." he explains, but Mortimer could tell that was a lie. "I could boost it so that you could receive the signal in your own room." Mortimer tells the Toreador dryly.
Pablo smirks. "Yes, but then all of the rest of our competitors will have access to it as well. And we don't need them to know, now do we?"
Mortimer tried not to admit to himself that Pablo had just scored the first point in their new great friendship. The bellboy girl clears her throat. Mortimer stares at her. He'd totally forgotten about her again. "Right. The second table. I need it."
He goes off with her, closes the door with Pablo still inside, hoping that the Toreador won't touch anything. But that was likely too much to hope for. If he was alone in Pablo's room, he'd be touching things already, trying to learn as much about him as possible. He put it out of his mind and went into the basement.
8:30 PM Citgo Gas and Food Convenience Store
It was another dreary night at the little Citgo Gas and Food convenience store on Harrison and W. 19th St. The manager, Rolsten Parkerbeen, a thin white man in his early 30's, had collected the night's cash boxes from the registers. It didn't look like much.
He starts to pencil the amount in, when the door to his office is abruptly kicked open! The biggest Hell's Angel biker he'd ever seen, actually he'd never seen any of them before, but even if he had, he was sure this guy would be bigger, stormed in.
"You call this a store? You call yourself a manager?"
Marshall Barry lifted the man off the chair and held him suspended off the ground.
"Just...just take everything! Please don't hurt me."
"Oh, there's some more brilliant managerial work. Take the day's haul huh? Your a big fuck in the head aren't you dimshit? I will take my ten percent of the day's receipts, which is what I'll be getting from now for my consultation and protection plan! The rest you are gonna re-invest in this cesspool. We need newer, better stock, you bitch!"
He hurls Rolsten Parkerbeen onto the floor. The blow is enough to stun the poor man. Marshall clubs a big boot down on his back. "Here's how its gonna be. First, you are staying here to clean this fucking store! Every shelf! It's a goddamn disgrace! All night if you have to! Your staff too, but they are getting paid for it. You are not. Don't skim my profits! You hear me!"
"Clean the...You want me to clean? And order new stock?" This is the weirdest robbery ever. And this was Gary, Indiana. He HAD been robbed.
"You got wax in your ears dimshit? You're gonna polish this place til it looks good. While you're doing that, you can think of how to get rid of all the old shit stock in the store room. You make some displays goddamn you!"
He pulls the man to his feet, rips his shirt in the process. He's in his face. Both shake with completely opposite emotions.
"With signs!"
8:40 PM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
As the Nosferatu left the room, Pablo realized he had full access to all of Mortimer's possessions, few as they appeared to be. Pablo knew the rule about only bringing one chest to the room. His own had been mostly filled with his Night Fist gear, and he could tell that Mortimer's had been filled with the computer system. He could poke around, but that wouldn't be very nice. Besides, when Mortimer got back he would surely want his privacy. There would be other evenings to learn about Mortimer T. Smith.
Pablo conducted research on all four of the construction companies and their current acting presidents and vice-presidents. Digging further into the FBI database that he'd long ago gained access to through his connections at Interpol, Pablo easily found what he was looking for. He grinned, and shut down his laptop. It was time for an interdiction.
9 PM Waste Management - Gary Transfer Station
The waste management station smelled awful, but Salihah had smelled worse in Egypt, frankly. And this was necessary. It would be inevitable, she reasoned, that a bunch of elder vampires competing against each other would start to kill victims in the region. Whether the deaths would be accidental or targets of opportunity, or even enemies in self-defense, there would be bodies.
Bodies raise questions. While Salihah had agreed in principal with the Spaniard that adding better defenses and utilities to The Hotel was a definitive priority, ensuring that bodies could be fully disposed of in a neat, quiet way was, in her mind, priority one.
She was invisible to mortal eyes, using obfuscation to easily maneuver herself from the outside into the building. There was a security fence but for an immortal world class gymnast, that was a joke. Security was non-existent, which for her purposes right now, was a good thing. She could bring her own people in later, once the facility was under her dominion. Not that she had any people in this region. But that could change with a single phone call. She hadn't considered bringing any of her ghouls or followers here. She had left the temple in very capable hands, one of her own childer, whom she had grown fond of. She didn't want to seem like she was undermining him. But a few choice picks to help her run some things here? That she might do.
She slipped inside the building and found the main office. She wasn't very good on those computer things. She turned a few of them on but discovered they were all password protected. She shut them off. That wasn't really a part of her plan anyway.
She found what she was looking for a few hours later -- the personnel files in some filing cabinets. These were hard copy backups. Most companies had them, and so it was an easy matter once she did to get the addresses of all of the main people running the plant.
She checked the time. Plenty of it. She headed back to The Hotel for phase 2 of the operation.
9:30 PM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
By the time they hauled the second table up from the basement, the Toreador was already gone, which was a relief. He didn't want any of the other competitors to see his next move. He places another $20 in the girl's front pocket. She grins even brighter than before.
This is going to be a regular thing, he can tell. But the girl clearly had Potence. A lot of it. She was breathing though, not an act. A ghoul then, he realizes. She's a Malkavian ghoul. Creepy. Mortimer T. Smith likes creepy.
They move the second table into the last empty room in his suite, and place it against a wall. It is the only object in the room. It will serve, he thinks.
Mortimer had no real experience with ghouls. He wasn't sure exactly how sturdy or fragile she actually is. He wondered where Mr. Confetti had found her, but then put it out of his mind. "That's all for tonight, I think." She nods and is off.
A plan forms in his mind on how to gain influence over the petting zoo. It would be valuable to him on many fronts, and likely not a prime candidate for possession by others. At this early stage of the game, a non-confrontational strategy would suit Mortimer best. He makes the decision, this will be his business acquisition for the first round action.
On his computer, he quickly scans some secure databases until he finds the documentation he needs, and prints it. These he places on the second table.
His plan is simple but requires delicacy. He will simply cause the owners of the petting zoo to think they are under investigation by the state for abusing the animals. He'll both create the proof of the crime and pose as the inspector using Mask of 1000 Faces. Then he'll suggest himself as the new supervisor, and force them to make whatever changes suit him. A simple plan, sure to work on the simpletons that likely have run the place into the ground.
If he needs to put the squeeze on the existing staff he's sure he can find what he needs to blackmail them into submission. If there is nothing available, creating something wouldn't be too difficult. Not the nice guy approach, but not everyone has blazing Presence like Pretty Boy Pablo. He'd have to do it the Nosferatu way.
He wiggles his fingers a bit, to get them loose. Then starts the work forging the document for state inspectors.
10 PM Lobby, The Hotel
The preacher had been meditating in the lobby for over an hour now. Jeeps was, quite obviously, disturbed about it. But he didn't say a word. Didn't move an inch.
His breath leaves his chest in a hurry when Reverend Thomas suddenly stands up. Thomas lifts a large bag of sand and leaves through the front doorway of The Hotel.
The undead preacher makes his way to the perimeter of The Hotel. While he knows the other competitors are out making acquisition moves, that is not his chief concern at present. The region had recently been attacked by Garou, and they could arrive at any moment through the Umbra for a sneak attack. And that, quite obviously, would never do. Being involved in the game necessitated his being away from the safety of the Tremere Chantry. It was a risk, but he knew Mr. Confetti's reputation, and he had a feeling that there was more to this little game than the Malkavian was letting on. He would see what there was to see.
Besides, it wasn't as though he wasn't competing. Upgrading The Hotel was one of the required items on the list. The Toreador had been right. Making a sound base of operations was always the first move in a long term strategy. He would have to encourage the others to get on it, without making it seem like he was bossing them around. Never mind that now.
Slowly, he drops grains of sand in a non-stop line, chanting furiously the entire time. With no physical security to speak of, he just hopes no one is fool enough to interrupt him. Then he'd have to start over from the very beginning. And that, he reflects, would make him very, very angry.
10 PM Superior Construction Company
The fence to keep out intruders human and animal alike is ten feet tall with a bit of barbed wire on the top. The Night Fist easily climbs the fence, flips over the barbed wire, and lands on both feet without injury.
Using the cover of night he hustles through the equipment yard towards the large building. A cursory examination of the doors and windows leads him to use his grappling hook and rappel upwards towards the second floor, where he then easily pushes open the unlocked window. He's in!
Using his very high level of Celerity, Night Fist quickly traverses the building. There's no security here. Its mostly just a warehouse on the bottom floor for equipment and supplies, and offices on the top two floors. He locates the president and vice-presidents' offices, both situated on the top floor, and rifles through all of the relevant documents he needs to prove there is some illegal money laundering going on. Others might be fooled by the accounting overlaps, but when you've been doing this sort of thing for over a century, fudged books compared to honest ones look very different.
He knew he was going to find money laundering here. The president and vice-president of the firm had both been indicted many years ago with the last company that they co-ran together. That was in the landscaping business, and they had both escaped without jail time, but had changed their fields and tactics to avoid further prosecution by the FBI. They were still under suspicion, but the feds would now have to essentially start their investigation from the start. With the FBI's recent shift in focus to anti-terrorism and insider trading fraud, a pair of white collar criminals like these two had nothing to worry about from them anymore.
A clever move. But not clever enough to fool...the Night Fist!
He called them one at a time on the phone and told them to come alone to the office, where they would have a nice little chat. He knew both men would come, they had no choice at all. If they didn't, he could easily expose them. It was done, now, but for the waiting.
He made himself good and comfortable and continued to mount the forensic evidence of his case.
11 PM Citgo Gas and Food Convenience Store
Under the stern supervision of Gangrel Elder and Hell's Angel Marshall Barry, Rolsten Parkerbeen and the other two employees had been scrubbing every shelf with hot soap and water.
It is obvious from the grunge and gunk that they were able to remove that this hasn't happened in many a year. "You think customers want to buy things from you? You wonder why nobody's in here? Can't you smell how awful this craphole is? You lousy fucknuts. I won't have my business enterprise run this way!"
Marshall Barry is interrupted by the sound of a siren as a police squad car pulls up. Marshall looks out the window, and sure enough, two cops get out of the car and approach the front door. His eyes narrow.
"Who called the law?"
Rolsten and the other two employees look back and forth at each other. Nobody admits anything. Marshall Barry grimaces. "So that's how it is huh?" He grabs one of the employees, gets in his face. "Did you do it? Did you do it? Did you do it?" "No! No!" the man pleads. Marshall tosses him away like a dirty rag. "Then that leaves...you!" Marshall sizes up the second man. "Yeah. Yeah I called them! You walked in here and kicked open the manager's door. So I called them."
"What? That was close to three hours ago!"
"I know, right? I didn't think they were gonna show at all. But now you're fucked!"
"No I'm not. You guys better just play along!" Barry shakes a mighty index finger at them.
The police officers push through the door and make their way inside. "You reported a robbery?"
"Everything's cool now." Marshall says. "We're just cleanin'. Everything's fine. We'll file a report and such. But they didn't take much, so...we're cool."
The police officers examine Marshall Barry's Hell's Angels biker gear. They look to Rolsten Parkerbeen for confirmation of the story, and immediately, the roughed up manager sees his chance!
"No, it's not fine. It's him! He kicked in my door, beat me up, he's making us clean this stuff and he took a bunch of the money from the daily receipts!"
"He robbed you but he's making you clean the shelves?"
Marshall shrugs at the officers. "I'm helping them improve the store, man!"
"Well, that's very odd." The first officer smirks at his partner.
The cops move forward. "Buddy, we're going to have to place you under arrest."
Marshall punches the first police officer in the chest so hard he drops to his knees and immediately vomits all over the place. "Oh, shit!" the other officer draws his gun. Marshall grabs him, lifts him over his head, and calmly tosses him against the wall. This makes a big human sized dent in the soft plaster, as he bounces off and hits the floor. Marshall then kicks him in the ribs.
The first officer draws his gun. "Fruh-freeze or I will shoot you dead."
Marshall Barry considers it a moment, remembers the Masquerade, and raises both his hands in the air. "All right Pig. You got me. Don't shoot."
11 PM Superior Construction Company
They showed all right.
When they walk in, Night Fist sits calmly in the president's chair, and rather casually too.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" President Mitch Smaldey, a tall but twitchy fellow shrieks at him.
"I think I'm your boss now. You'll be doing things my way...or you can go to jail where you belong." He had laid out the vast amount of evidence he'd quickly collected across the desk.
"Oh jeez. He's been poking around." Bill Falding, the vice-president, a fat, greasy man, greying and fraying at the edges. "I guess we...gotta take care of this."
Both men draw guns. They were nervous, sweaty. Night Fist gauges them both with his heighened senses, comes quickly to the conclusion that neither of them had ever pulled the trigger before. That was at least a slightly redeeming quality. Enough that he decided to show them a bit of mercy. He turned the Presence on full juice, and they were both instantly cowed by his "Super Charm" power.
"Gentlemen, there is no need for hostility between us. Your methods are crude and illegal. But they are also unnecessary. Let me be your guiding hand, and together we will build a construction empire in this region. There will be plenty of money for all of us."
Smaldey and Falding look at one another. "You know, he has a point." Smaldey says. Falding nods his head in full agreeement. "I...I think we should listen to what the guy has to say." Falding replied. They put their guns away, and gaze blankly at the Night Fist.
"Very good." the undead vigilante began negotiations. "Now, let's talk about my stock options!"
11:30 PM Cisco Gas and Food Convenience Store
Handcuffed, Marshall Barry is led toward the squad car by the two roughed up officers. "Man, you are a tough guy, huh? I bet you're going to do really well in prison." The police officer was pretty bitter. He'd recently been hoisted into the air and thrown against a wall. There was still a dent in the shape of his body in the plaster. It would likely be there for a long time.
That gets laughs from Rolston Parkebeen and his two employee stooges. "Yeah, go to prison, you big asshole!" Rolsten yells.
Marshall Barry responds to mockery in his usual way - with a massive headbutt that knocks the closest police officer unconscious.
"Oh, shit!" the second officer reaches for his gun, but Marshall Barry puts his size sixteen boot in the crotch of the second officer, which lifts him into the air and into the door of his own squad car.
He glares at Rolsten and the other employees as he tries to get the keys to his handcuffs. "Okay, we got 'em. Crisis over. Now get the damn keys for these handcuffs off me, and then we'll get back to work. We still gotta get the floors nice and shiny! Well, don't just stand there with your mouths gaping open. Get over here."
The three men are paralyzed with fear. They gaze at each other with uncertainty. Not sure what to do, they rush back into the store. And lock it from within.
"Fuck." Marshall grimaces and runs head-first into the front door! Unfortunately, this time around, the door wins. Marshall retreats a few feet.
"Open up you fucktards!"
They don't. Marshall climbs aboard his Harley Davidson. Normally, you need keys for that too. But Marshall's been in hot spots before, and he's rigged an emergency ignition system near the left pedal. He kicks it and the Harley Davidson roars to life.
"I'll be back for my ten percent tomorrow night! You better have it ready for me in a nice white envelope!"
Marshall puts the bike in cruise control, and drives away.
OOC: Marshall Gary tried to take over a business but failed! No Points!
Midnight Private Suite: Salihah
Salihah studies the addresses of her intended prey, and marks them on a fold out map of Gary. The exercise takes her thirty-five minutes. She gazes at her watch. Plenty of time before sunrise.
She passes the lobby where Jeeps sits on his stool reading a book. He looks up but she passes by him without a word, and passes through the front door out to the evening air. The Tremere dressed in priest's clothing was still spreading sand out in a circle around the building, his powerful chants more than enough to send a chill through her veins. Tremere spells, she knew, were the things of impure, deadly blood magic.
Still, she supposed she would rather have such blood magic working for her than against her. After a quick consultation with her map, she heads for the closest of her targets - the plant manager, Mort Johnson.
By 12:40 AM She found his house, not bad she thought for a place like Gary. The doors and windows were closed and properly locked. Smart man. But she had been breaking into places far more secure than this under the tutelage of her beloved Sire, and the back door lock didn't have a chance against her picklocking expertise.
She entered quietly, under the guise of obfuscate she was invisible. She was silent due to practice. She crept about, locating his bedroom easily enough.
The man was in his early 40's, divorced, and lived alone. How perfect. She turns on the light, startles him awake. He grabs a baseball bat from next to the bed, but then realizes that he's being "burglarized" by a beautiful woman. She smiles brightly at him, and uses the power of Awe on him.
Slowly, she begins to sway, back and forth, her eyes swirling with hypnotic power.
The baseball bat slips slowly out of Mort Johnson's hand as she climbs onto the bed, on top of him, and slowly leans in to whisper into his ear. She strips off her clothes and makes love to him. He never realizes when she bites into his neck to drink his blood that it is happening. He just thinks he is having the best orgasm of his life.
After they finish, she tells him about her plans for the waste disposal plant and how he can be of great service to her. It is the craziest idea he's ever heard, but he finds himself compelled to listen, and then he agrees to help her. He doesn't know why, but he is in love with this woman. It's wrong, all of it. But he HAS to help her.
He hadn't felt this good about a woman since his wedding day. And that had been a tarnished memory long ago.
Salihah whispers sweet nothings into her new lover's ear, and licks the wound closed, savoring the taste of the vitae. It was the first fresh food she'd had since before the journey. Hers had been extremely long, and she wasn't nearly full.
Mort Johnson, the plant manager was now her slave. And before the night was over, there would be five more just like him. She grins. This is an enjoyable game indeed that Mr. Confetti has arranged.
She wonders who else will show up at The Hotel. Whoever did, she knew, would soon be in her personal debt. With the Sanitation station under her command, disposing of any kind of evidence would now be possible.
Even Prince Modius might come to accept a "Sandsnake," as the Camarilla liked to call members of her clan, in time. The art of the deal among immortals is all about having something of quality to offer at a time when the buyer is most disadvantaged.
As Mort Johnson, weak from his experience, falls back asleep, she looks at her map. She closes the front door and locks it with the spare key Mort gave her, and heads to the next location. Maybe there'd be a whole family to feed on at the next one. She hoped there would be. She was really hungry.
OOC: Salilah has successfully taken over a municipal asset! She gets 50 points +1 trust with Prince Modius
Midnight The Central Room
Katarina hadn't moved in four hours. But her brain had been working the entire time. It had been difficult to consider how to even learn what company powers the electricity in Gary, then to locate them, and then, what next?
The answers had all come one by one, in a neat little row, as they always did when she applied her cerebral capacity to overcome the questions. This was her own scientific method, that she had created hundreds of years ago.
She practically skips down the stairs to the lobby.
She approaches Jeeps and tells him she has no cell phone of her own. She would need to borrow his for the rest of the evening and that he was to purchase her one of those disposable ones with lots of minutes. For this, she would pay out of her own pocket.
Jeeps was amenable to those terms, and handed his cell phone over. "However, if Mr. Confetti should call..."
"Does he check in often?"
Jeeps merely shrugged. "He's actually never called me once since I got here. But, that doesn't mean he won't. You never know what he'll do next." He laughs nervously. She pockets the cell phone.
She walks outside, and finds it interesting that the Tremere priest is sprinkling sand in a clear circle around the perimeter of The Hotel. She examines the ritual and immediately understands what he is doing. "A very sound move." She considers, and stays away from him, not wanting to break his concentration. Such things can have dire results, and murdering competitors is clearly off-limits. She would play the game to the best of her abilities. That meant following the rules, even ones that protected a Tremere.
She had no actual reason to hate Tremere. The Oradea League had not encountered them. But overall, the Tremere had harmed her clan world wide. It was one of the largest aspects of the Camarilla-Sabbat conflict, she had been taught. She would watch the Tremere closely, just in case he decided that eliminating her from the planet was more important than Mr. Confetti's game.
Once she was certain she was out of ear shot of him, which took some doing, she found herself uncertain until she was twenty minutes away, she made a call. All the way to the heart of the Romanian mountains. She knew poor Jeeps would likely have a stroke when he saw his phone bill, but she would pay for it.
"Hello, brother."
"So, you miss us too much already. Are you near the plane to come home, Katarina? We worry about you."
"I am not coming home any time soon, brother. This is the most fun I've had in decades. Now listen. I need a local contact. Someone of our clan, if possible."
"You are the only one in that region that-"
"Do not lie to me brother. I know we have spies all over the world. Surely there is at least one near the largest held Camarilla city in the United States. I will meet this person. Tonight, if possible."
"I will see what I can do for you, my dearest sister."
Katarina hung up the phone. She did not like to be so dependent on others. That would need to change. But this was her first day, and she would need some assistance, for certain, to catch up with the basic knowledge of how the world works that most of the other competitors already knew.
She would have to wait for her contact to arrive and then she could send him on an investigation of which company powered the...
She laughed at herself, at her own stupidity. She walked back to The Hotel. The Tremere was still at it, but he had made significant progress in the thirty minutes she had been gone. She walked back into the lobby. Jeeps straightened himself.
"Jeeps, who distributes the power to The Hotel?"
"Power? Oh, you mean the electricity?"
"Yes."
"That is Inland Power Group. They supply the whole region really. They have some minor competitors but I will always try and use the best for us, when Mr. Confetti allows."
"I wonder if you could find out where exactly they are headquartered."
Jeeps pulls out a big map of the city and unfolds it. They look. This time Katarina could not contain herself. She laughs loudly, kisses Jeeps fondly on the top of his forehead, and saunters back out the door.
12:30 AM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
It took him three hours of solid work, but by the time he was done, the documents were absolutely picture perfect in every regard. He looks them over again to be sure, and finds no flaws. With these, he'd have the right people breathing down the necks of the petting zoo administration all right.
None of which mattered if they went there and found nothing. Mortimer shut down his system. It was time for an excursion to the zoo itself!
Mortimer T. Smith was on the move.
Completely obfuscated, walking around in public, especially at night, was easy. He stayed close to the larger shadows cast by buildings and houses. Not that he really had to. His obfuscation was so powerful he could walk in crowds and never be noted. But he didn't like to do that. The Masquerade was a fragile thing for a truly inhuman monster. He'd correctly stayed away from all of humanity since his Embrace, only five years ago. He still had a lot to learn.
He wishes he owned a car. Mr. Confetti could have at least made that option available. He could steal one but that would waste even more time. Time he didn't have, if he wanted to get this done all in one night. Normally, he'd never consider such a scheme. He'd take weeks to pull it off. But this was competition, and he realized, as had the others, that Mr. Confetti surely could not have only invited the six of them. There would be more Elders coming. The advantage was that he was here now. If he can get some of those checkmarks for round one done before the newcomers even unpacked their bags, it'd be worth the risk.
Besides, it's a petting zoo. How much security could there possibly be?
Just as he laughed at the thought of it, he stops completely short. Of course, he knew Routes 80 and 94 cut across his path and effectively cut him off from Gleason Park. But he assumed there'd be a bridge somewhere, to walk across it, around here.
But, there isn't. There's no fucking bridge at all! Mortimer's mouth drops open. Stupid jokes about the chicken crossing the road entered his mind. He remembered playing Frogger all those years ago. "Splat!" he thought as cars whipped through the highway on their way to Chicago.
He would just have to wait until it was clear enough for him to run all the way across the highway, totally invisible to all oncoming traffic. If he miscalculated the opening..."Splat!"
12:30 AM The streets of Gary
Marshall Barry steers his Harley Davidson with his legs and body, directs himself onto a side road. He then kicks the ignition near the pedal, and the machine shuts down without argument.
Marshall sighs, unable to break the handcuffs with raw strength. "Damn. Been out of the game too long. That should have been a cakewalk. Oh well."
The Gangrel concentrates, and his entire body slowly changes shape. The handcuffs fall to the ground as the giant bat flies up into the air. Marshall Barry loves the open spaces. It's why he became a biker.
It's why he accepted his sire's offer to become Kindred, when he learned he could soar through the night skies. As a bat! A few minutes of it and he no longer felt badly about his failure to take over the stupid store. It's just a big game, anyway. And this is just the small stuff. He'd go back tomorrow and give it to those suckers good. Yeah. The thought of seeing the look on their faces when he comes back for his ten percent. And they better have it.
He squeaked aloud several times. In addition to it being his way of laughing, he could now get a sense of where he was going. Radar had taken him many years to get used to. But he's long since mastered it. He hovered near his Harley Davidson, and, almost reluctantly, transforms back into the form of the man he had once been, before his death. He climbs on the bike, lights up a cigar, and heads for The Hotel.
He had surely fallen behind some of the others. But likely not all, and likely not by much. They could laugh at him tonight all they want. Hell, after almost going to jail he had to laugh at himself. Somehow, this was like the old days. When he was truly an outlaw. Before his death. Before the Camarilla and their damn rules. He made the decision right then and there to stop being so anal about the competition. He was tense because he wasn't sure what to expect from the Malkavian elder, if this was some kind of weird trap for some reason. The Gangrel were leaving the Camarilla. It had been announced. In the back of his mind, he thought maybe this might be an ambush.
But it wasn't. It was a silly game. Marshall Barry drove an extra lap around the city, got a better idea of what was really here. He would need to take over a municipal operation as well as Citgo. And he was going to take over Citgo, for fuck's sake.
As he turned into the driveway to reach the small parking lot at The Hotel, he could hear that crazy mage-priest-vampire chanting loudly. He was dropping dust or something from out of a bag as he walked. Whatever, man. Marshall wasn't going to let it bother him. From now on, he was going to go with the flow.
He parked the bike and called it an early night.
1 AM Superior Construction Company
Pablo Acosta negotiated like a pro with the president and vice-president. They had been made amiable by his Presence, of course, and that always helps a great deal. But still, they had recovered enough of themselves to be fierce negotiators themselves. They still wanted to make money, and they didn't know how to do it legitimately. Pablo would have to teach them.
He became a managing partner, and though it was not a publicly trading company, Pablo took over 26 percent of the available stock. He knew to get full controlling interest of the company, he'd need that to become 52 percent. A few private meetings with shareholders to get them to sell would be on the agenda this week as well.
In the meantime, he had the President and Vice-President under his control. Superior Construction belonged to him. The company, having been run as a shady scheme, was not well equipped. But if he could secure one major job in the area, that would change as well, and the money would begin pouring in.
It had been easy. And the Night Fist had been less necessary for the job than Pablo had guessed. Taking over Gary, Indiana is not going to be the chore, he realizes. It is turning it into a thriving, successful city again that would be the real challenge.
OOC: Pablo Acosta has successfully taken over Superior Construction. He gets 50 points and $100 cash added to his bank!
1 AM The streets of Gary, Indiana
It had turned out that Inland Power Company was very close to The Hotel itself. In an intentionally deserted area between Central Avenue and Route 65, the large facility, Katarina imagined, would be easy to spot.
But first was Prince Modius' mansion, which she knew she would pass on her way. Melding with shadows, she took a brief look at the Prince's estate. It was also purposefully secluded. She spied quite a few armed men in key strategic positions. A wise move. The mansion had clearly once been quite gorgeous, but wasn't anymore.
The moment she saw that she lost respect for the man. If you can't even keep your own house in order, how could you possibly rule an entire region well? It appeared that to honor Mr. Confetti's deal and assist Modius in becoming Prince of Chicago, she and the other competitors would have to do the same for him that they would be doing for the city itself. They would have to rebuild him into a true contender from the ruin that he had clearly become. It only troubled her a little bit. After all, most scientific problems start from a point of massive improbability percentages of success. She had overcome such small chances many times before with sound experimentation. If need be, she would do so again. She thought for a brief moment to introduce herself, then laughed again at her naiveté. Of all the Elders that had gathered in The Hotel, she would likely be the least welcome by far to a Camarilla Prince. No, best to let the respected Tremere bridge that gap, and introduce her with his letter.
She decided to move on. Prince Modius would be saved for another night's adventure.
Katarina had never needed any of the physical disciplines so common among these Camarilla. There was an offshoot of her family that used Potence, but she had been too busy to learn it. What she really envied was the speed which that charming Toreador Spaniard could move. What was that discipline called again? She could not remember. Perhaps she could trade a discipline to him for it. But what would she be willing to let him learn of her rare gems?
As she considers that she sees Inland Power Company. As she suspected, the building is very large. Of course it is. Here, the electrical supply for the entire region was being partly generated. And it was not simply completely automated. She knew about this at least. She needed to know how everything worked in her scientific laboratory. It was as much about paranoia as it was about practicality. If she knew who had access to her through her machines, she knew who could compromise her.
She also knew there was a night time general manager that oversaw a very capable skeleton crew. And that whomever that person was, he or she would not be enjoying their existence much. It was a grueling job with almost no time off. The daytime general manager, with three times the crew, would be a much happier person. This was good. Unhappy suited her purposes well.
Finding the door predictably locked, Katarina concentrates. There were no onlookers but had there been, they would have seen her slowly melt like the Wicked Witch of the West after Dorothy poured water on her. She becomes a puddle of blood!
She slides easily through the cracks in the door, and once on the other side, reforms herself. There were no shadows to keep to in the well lit hallway. But she simply strolls confidently forward. She is, after all, an extremely beautiful woman.
"Can I help you?" The security guard asks her. He's a beefy, chunky sort. He seems to Katarina like a jovial man, and he clearly likes what he sees approaching. But he's also confused. She bet the plant didn't have too many visitors near two in the morning.
"Yes, you can handsome. I am here to speak to the general manager."
"Is she, uh, expecting you Miss..."
"I am Shirley Jones. In fact she is expecting me, as I set up the appointment earlier today with the secretary."
"I wasn't informed but, I'm sure you wouldn't have come out this way at this time of night unless...let me give her a call up."
Katarina leaned forward, and showed the man some of her perfect cleavage. "Thank you very much." She said. He picked up the phone and made the call.
2 AM Gleason Park
The air was warm and fresh in Gleason Park and Mortimer T. Smith didn't give a shit. He was on a schedule. Getting to the park on foot had been far more troublesome than he ever could have anticipated. He should have stolen a car. But he's finally here.
He's finally at the Gleason petting zoo. Easily climbing over the short fence which is meant to keep goats in, not vampires out, he decides to check the offices before the animals. The security here is just a normal lock. That isn't remotely good enough to keep Mortimer from his destination. He's in.
The office is a cramped, tiny place with a few desks, not even separated cubicles. Maybe they like it that way Mortimer reflects. Maybe they like to prattle at each other while they work. Maybe then it doesn't feel to them like work. Yeah, that must be it. Idiots.
He turns on the computer system. It is password protected. Mortimer tries not to laugh out loud, as breaks the code in nine seconds because he honestly isn't trying too hard.
He sends himself all of the personnel and financial files. Everything from purchasing records to details on the animals themselves, he gets a pretty good idea of what's happening with this petting zoo. Which is to say, nothing exciting at all.
He turns off the computer, hides all trace of his presence, and locks it up tight. No one will ever know he was here.
He then heads into the zoo. Just one last thing to do, and all the dominos will be in place.
He heads into the barn. If he breathed air, Mortimer T. Smith would have exhaled. Could this possibly be all there is? The goat taking center stage has the big barn floor all to himself. In a lighted tank, an iguana rests peacefully. Two hamsters run after each other in a big box with walls too high for them to climb over.
There is no other sign of life. Mortimer grimaces, and wonders if this is worth the trouble. Then he realizes where he is. Gary, Indiana. Everything he has seen, even the highway without a crossing bridge, is in worse shape than you could ever imagine it to be. The point is to take something over and then improve it. Over time, anything can be improved to a level of profitability and where it will truly assist the Kindred society. This, Mortimer realizes, is the challenge.
He is going to rise to it!
He looks the wary goat in the eye and using Feral Whispers, tells the goat his plan. All the animals have to do is act like they have been abused when the inspectors come, and as a result, Mortimer can promise them better food, shelter, and even mates! One at a time, he carefully approaches them.
"You crazy! I not do that! I not do that at all even one time!" the goat tells him.
"Rotten meat." the iguana tells him. "Yes. I can get you meat that isn't rotten. It will be better." Mortimer says. "No. You not person. You rotten meat. Me no like talk to rotten meat." Mortimer almost punches the stupid little wiggly thing.
"We like things the way they are. Our food is yummy! We happy." the hamsters tell him.
Mortimer blinks. He never thought for a minute that the animals would tell him no. This was not part of the plan.
"This can't be happening!"
OOC: Mortimer tried but failed to take over the petting zoo! No points!
2 AM Inland Power Company
Gretchen Lucinder was a short, rotund woman who had legs thick as tree stumps and mostly waddled. Even so, Katarina was amazed at how she power walked everywhere. Katarina likes the woman's spunk. She will do, for certain. Gretchen was still on the short side of thirty. That she had become a plant supervisor was, actually, very impressive for her age. Katarina guessed that the woman had put all of her energy into her career.
They walk alone along a catwalk, and from time to time Gretchen gazes over the edge, to see what is going on with the machinery. Katarina also appreciates the hum of the machines. She had long ago fallen in love with such hums. That Gretchen understood what she was looking at was also an endearing quality.
"So, uh Miss Jones is it?"
"Please, call me Shirley."
"Yeah, uh okay. Shirley. I wasn't informed about a meeting. But that's just typical with that damn daytime secretary. I tell you, they have it in for me. Well, anyway. Whatever. You're here. I'm here. What's this all about?"
"I am going to be very straightforward with you Gretchen. I am an immortal Kindred. What you mortals call a, how do you say, vampire? Yes? I want to take control of this plant to control the electricity in this region. My purposes for this are of no concern to you, but you will assist me in this business venture."
Gretchen had ceased walking at "vampire" and was now looking at "Shirley" like she had three heads. "What the hell is this? Are you some kind of weirdo?"
Katarina merely smiles, but as she does, her fangs supernaturally extend. Gretchen opens her mouth to scream, but Katarina's hand covers her mouth.
"Shhhh. Let's talk, you and I. Well, I will talk. You will nod, yes or no. If you scream, I will be forced to throw you over the edge of this catwalk. You will not survive. Do you understand me?"
Gretchen turns white as chalk, and nods meekly.
"We Kindred operate in the shadows. We do things secretively. But, from time to time, we need to make alliances with mortals. Now, tell me, do you think I am a beautiful woman? Be honest with me."
Gretchen looks at Katarina, and sees nothing but physical perfection. She nods.
"Tell me, are you viewed by men as stunningly beautiful? Can you easily seduce any man you want? Let's say, a multi-millionaire or some handsome, sexy fellow to be your boy toy, hmm?"
Tears fall from Gretchen's eyes, both at the situation and the question.
"I will take that as a no. You are still young, aren't you Gretchen? I will take my hand away from your face now. Do not think I cannot still pluck you off the ground and toss you over the rail in an instant."
She removes her hand from Gretchen's face. The plump night time general manager fell instantly to her knees, hyperventilating, and shaking with fear.
"Please don't kill me. What did I do?"
"Shhhh. Gretchen, I have no interest in harming you. Quite the opposite. Let me show you something, hmm?" Katarina pulls a large mirror from her pocket, and hands it down to Gretchen. "Now, look at your face."
Gretchen seems to not understand at first, but slowly her gaze changes to the contents of the mirror. "Good. Now, do not move Gretchen. Do not be afraid. I am not going to harm you, my dear."
Katarina concentrates her will. She grabs ahold of Gretchen's left cheek and pulls. The material stretches like salt water taffy. It was all Gretchen could do to not pass out. Katarina releases the flesh and it snaps right back into place.
Gretchen, half-insane now, clutches at her jaw.
"Ssshhhh. Your face is fine. It is back to normal. But, it could be so much better, don't you agree? You say I am beautiful. But it is not because I was born that way. I transformed myself using my immortal powers. And I could do the same for you. I could sculpt you to be viewed by others as among the most beautiful women in all of the world. You could walk into any party in Chicago, and be welcomed by the wealthiest and most influential men there, who would fight to have you. Would you like that Gretchen?"
"I..." Gretchen saw Katarina for the first time. She saw how symmetrical her face was, how perfect her curves were, the magnificent swell of her breasts...
"But, I don't want to be a vampire." She shakes with terror. Katarina smiles gently at her. "No, no. That is not my intent. I need you here, as the night time general manager of this plant. Over time, with my assistance, you will get promoted and one day you will run this company. Well, we will run it. Together. You will be wealthy, and you will not even need the men who will throw themselves at your feet. Does that sound like a better life than the one you have now?"
Gretchen nods her head. More tears stream down her face.
"You need not fear me Gretchen. For I need you. But you must be totally, completely, loyal to me, in every way."
"But, if I change so drastically, people will notice. They won't even know me. How will I-"
"It is very simple. To your co-workers, you will tell them you got an inheritance from a dying aunt. And old lie, a simple one. No one checks these things. To your family, you simply have been putting all of your money you make here away. It is possible, why would they doubt it? Then you will explain the changes that you are getting, how do you mortals call it?"
"Plastic surgery?"
"Yes! That! And we will make you over a little bit at a time. I will sculpt you from the woman you are now, into a living piece of art that no man could possibly resist. No woman either, if you should chance to experiment."
Gretchen says nothing, but her mind is working overtime.
"So, but you want me to do what exactly in exchange? I can't do anything illegal or-"
"Do not worry Gretchen. I will keep you protected at all times. Nothing will touch you. For now, I will need you to simply direct the installation of very expensive equipment that will allow me to personally harness a massive influx of power."
"Why do you-"
"That is not your concern Gretchen. But do not worry. No one will suffer for your actions. Least of all, you. You do want the life I offer you, yes?"
"Yes. Yes I do. Is this real? How could this be real?"
"Oh my dear Gretchen. You poor child. You know nothing of the world."
Katarina tried not to laugh at herself. Mere hours ago, it was her that knew nothing. The exhilaration of this moment, her first conquest of a mortal institution, was overcoming her. She would need to end this meeting soon for fear of discovery by some other employee. She did not have the simple pleasure of Dominate that other clans enjoyed. She would have to be careful.
She collected her new servant's contact information and established a protocol for when they would meet and how Gretchen could best serve her. They also talked about what body parts Gretchen wanted "plastic surgery" on first. The deal is struck.
Katarina smiles at the security guard, gives him a little wink and sashays to the front door to make his evening complete. Also to ensure that he wouldn't mind her next visit either. Men's minds were easy to cloud.
Thirty minutes later she was back in front of The Hotel. She had circumvented passing Prince Modius' estate, opting for a longer path.
The Tremere priest was still making his circle of sand. He was being diligent, she knew. She too understood the art of Thaumaturgy. She could appreciate the care he was taking with his ritual.
A man in a trench coat and fedora emerged from a shadow nearby. "Katarina Novoskytin," he whispered. "I have come."
She grins. Though she ended up not needing this man for her takeover of the electrical plant, he would be very useful indeed.
"Good. But how did you find me? I gave no word by phone of my whereabouts."
"You used a cell phone. You must understand that while you hold it your movements can be traced. I know you spent the evening at the Inland Power Company. Given your propensity for science and the lack of capability of this once great building, I must consider that you have relocated here and that you are upgrading its power capacity for your new experiments. I did not want to disturb your negotiations there."
Katarina tries not to show surprise, but this is no mere lackey. She would have to be more careful in the future. He knew everything and would surely report everything to her family. She did not want them to know that she was a contestant in a game. That would never do. She had merely told her father that she was restless and that she wanted to try a larger social experiment in an environment now safer due to the death of so many Camarilla Kindred. Her family had been skeptical at best, but she had prevailed in her arguments that the valuable experience would aid her upon her eventual return after her large social experiment was complete. Indeed it was not even a lie, which is why she had been granted permission. This man, whom she had herself summoned, could ruin everything.
"Thank you for the lesson. But you will do best to remember who is the master and who is the servant here."
"Of course. I live only to serve the Oradea League. But you are inexperienced and I feel I can serve the League best by helping you to survive the many dangers."
To survive her own carelessness, he meant. Insolent. But she knew he was right. "I want to know about other members of my clan in this region."
"There are no other members of your clan. You are alone here. I am the only other."
"No, not my family. My clan."
"I see. But, contact with those animals will contaminate you."
"I did not say I would make contact."
"I will generate a list for you. Is there anything else, Master?"
"Not at present. But stay close. There will be."
He nodded once, and walks across the street. He enters a car, and drives away.
"Who was that?"
She is startled, and turns towards the voice. Normally, it was only she who emerged from the shadows. The figure was menacing in his black and gold suit. She prepared herself for a fight, then blinked as she realizes it is the Spaniard.
"What are you wearing Pablo?"
He grins that bright grin of his. "You answer my question first, please."
"That was an agent of mine in the region. He will be handy from time to time. It is not illegal to use contacts in the contest, I noted in the rule book."
"I did too. That's why I have Magnussen with me. As for this, it is my protective armor. It takes impact damage as well as any Ventrue's Fortitude. And it conceals my secret identity. I'm the Night Fist, you see."
She blinks. Then she laughs so hard she almost throws off Reverend Thomas' concentration.
He stops abruptly, and eyes the pair, clearly upset with the distraction.
"Sorry" She calls out to him, and gestures for Pablo to follow her back inside The Hotel. She prods him gently about his super speed. "Ah. Celerity. That's what it's called." She wants it. But, one acquisition at a time, she muses.
OOC: Katarina has successfully taken over a municipal asset: Inland Power Company. +50 points and +1 trust with Prince Modius
3 AM The Central Room
They were all laughing. Salihah, Pablo, and Katarina. Laughing at poor Marshall Barry. And he didn't mind. He understood now why Mr. Confetti had brought them all together. They were all misinthropes. All bored with the Camarilla and the Sabbat and the so-called eternal struggle. Just when the laughter died down, Marshall smirks and lights up a cigar.
"I can't wait to see the look on their faces when I show up tomorrow night."
They lost it again. "No, you can't!" Salihah screetches with pleasure. "I wonder when Reverend Thomas will finish his circle. And I wonder what it will do." "Yeah, what's the deal with that? He's spent all night tossing dirt on the ground."
"It is sand. It is merely symbolic of the mystical circle he draws around our perimeter. When he is done, it will ward off spirits and prevent astral beings from assaulting us." Katarina says this softly, changing the mood.
"And what astral beings do you think he anticipates will be coming for us anytime soon?" The Setite was initially unimpressed. She herself was far more concerned with the lack of security doors on the building's entrances.
"Werewolves." Marshall points out. "They walk through the Umbra, and they just show up in your space all of a sudden." Marshall leans back in his chair, takes a drag and slowly nods his head appreciatively. "He's protecting us from the Garou. I hadn't even thought of it."
Everyone is silent for a moment. "Well, that's great." Pablo says. "And with my construction company we can implement other important changes around here. Both inside and out. That's a primary reason I took it."
"Smart play. Now we have to go through you to get our fixes to The Hotel done, or pay through the nose." Salihah smirks. "Well played, Pablo. And here I thought you were just eye candy."
Pablo bows slightly.
"But what about yourself Salihah." Katarina is curious. "You have taken over a waste management facility. I fail to see how that can help us."
A grim quiet takes over the room. Katarina is initially confused by it.
"It's to get rid of bodies, ain't it." Marshall says boldly. Salihah taps her nose. He's right on it.
"You will be thankful to me when there is an accident."
"There won't be any accidents of that kind." Pablo assures her.
"Even you aren't that naive. Pablo." Marshall says. "A bunch of us Elders here doing this crazy thing? Plus all of the Kindred who are already engaged in their interpersonal conflicts? There's gonna be some bodies."
"Yes, likely. It was a good call Salihah. A quality opening move! I approve!" They all turn abruptly to the unfamiliar voice at the doorway. Pablo immediately stands as the tall, wiry form of the man behind all of this hops into the room.
"Mr. Confetti!" Pablo stares. "It...it is you, isn't it?"
"Oh yes indeed." Mr. Confetti spins a chair around and sits on it backwards. "You're all deep in the soup now, aren't you? Thanks for playing!"
"Thanks for inviting us. This is indeed a stimulating exercise." Katarina smiles warmly at the Malkavian who changed her life.
"Oh my dear Katarina. You haven't seen anything yet!" Mr. Confetti laughs.
"I can't believe you won't fix this place up for us." Pablo smirks. "It's an embarrassment to live here."
"All a part of the game, my friend."
"Ain't gonna be much of a game if the Sabbat figures out we're here, and launches a sneak attack on our whereabouts." Marshall scolds firmly. "We could have done with the basics, Mr. Confetti."
"The Sabbat doesn't care about Gary or the surrounding areas. When they attack, it will be from within the city, directly at the havens of the elders they have on their target list. I believe after the chaos of the Garou assault, the Sabbat are likely taking their time, and making an accounting of who survived and who didn't. There are many among the missing. Some were killed in the conflict. Some left the region for greener pastures without giving word. Some were wounded but got themselves to safety just in time and are now in torpor. Still, there are others who are missing for...other reasons."
"What reasons?" Salihah inquired. Mr. Confetti leans closer to them. "Even I don't know the answers to those questions. Perhaps during this engagement, we will find out! Now, what questions do you-"
"I think we all want to know." Pablo was quick to ask, "Are we it or are there more competitors coming?"
"Ah, a prudent question. Yes, you are hardly the only Elders who will take up this challenge. Indeed, I will consistently invite those who I find who I know will play. This game will last a long time. But, you six are the first to answer the call. A distinct advantage. Good for you. Now, what's your next question?"
The weather outside quickly changed as thunder loud as airplanes crashing and lightning bright and deadly flashes. A torrential downpour begins. It is so sudden that it even takes Mr. Confetti off guard! Everyone peers out the window.
At last, the circle was complete. He had taken the proper time and care, and despite obvious chances, his fellow competitors did not break the circle and ruin the spell. They were intelligent enough to understand, then, that this would help all of them. Or if they didn't, they would soon.
Reverend Thomas passes through the entrance door and places what little remains of the sand bag on Jeeps' counter. "Dispose of this."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
Satisfied, Reverend Thomas walks swiftly up the stairs, all the way up to the roof access. He stands on the ledge, his arms outstretched towards the heavens. His new chant, softly at first, then progressively louder and louder, fills the night sky.
Above him, dark clouds join together. Condensation is next, a very faint, light drizzle. His chant continues. Five minutes in, the drizzle turns to a solid downpour. Ten minutes in, lightning forms, accompanied by the boom of thunder, and strikes down directly onto specific points of the sand on the ground. The entire sphere surrounding The Hotel becomes charged with magical energies which Reverend Thomas continues to bind with his chants.
An hour later, the ritual over, the Tremere retreats to his room, completely spent. He knows he will sleep easier now. It is one thing for hunters, even a Sabbat pack to come. Those threats need to come in through the front door, one way or another.
But now The Hotel is protected from ethereal assaults and infiltration from the spirit world. To a Tremere, this constitutes as great an upgrade to a facility as it gets. No ghosts or demons will arrive unexpectedly, attracted to so many powerful undead together under a single roof. No werewolves appearing suddenly in the middle of their headquarters, to rip him and his fellows asunder before a proper defense or counter-offensive can be mounted. Now, he could sleep soundly.
Sleep came swift and easy to Reverend Thomas that night. But even while he slept, he planned his second move in the Contest of Will.
OOC: Reverend Thomas has successfully enhanced The Hotel. 100 points! Reverend Thomas has spent the first turn upgrading the security rating of The Hotel to 2. As a special feature, the perimeter of the hotel is now immune to hauntings or astral plane assaults, including attempts by mages and werewolves to travel directly into The Hotel from the astral plane or the Umbra.
3 AM Private Suite: Mortimer T. Smith
Alone in his room, Mortimer T. Smith alternates between anger and amusement. True to his word, Pretty Boy Pablo had invited him to the central room to talk about his experiences with the others. Mortimer just didn't feel like going. He wasn't in a social mood. He had never tried to use his animalism powers to the extent he had tonight, and it had been an embarrassing learning experience. Apparently, animals aren't just drones that do what you tell them to, and Feral Whispers is not the animal kingdom equivalent of Dominate.
His plans were in motion. Everything else was properly prepared. He would just have to coax an agreement from four little creatures. He knew that iguana would plague his nightmares tonight, calling him out for what he really was. Stupid iguana. Outside, a torrential downpour started from nowhere, surprising the Nosferatu.
He immediately realizes that he had not properly secured his equipment for a storm like this, in his haste to get started. "Great." He moans, and shuts everything down. Looks like it will be book reading for the rest of the night. Then he grimaces, and realizes all his books were packed in a separate crate. He didn't have a single one. For a brief moment he considers joining the other competitors in the Central Room. But only for a brief moment. He could either disgust them as his true self or need to hide in plain sight by using Mask of 1000 faces. He didn't need the aggravation. They were likely boasting of their accomplishments. He, in turn, had been bested by a goat.
Mortimer travels down into the basement level. There were boxes and boxes full of things here, from back when Modius was engaged in his war against Lodin. Could all of these boxes be old food? As he is about to dig in and find out, his eyes open wide. On the table he deemed too large to bring up the stairway, there is a very thick layer of dust. Thicker, he realizes then anywhere else. He grins. The dust isn't naturally there. It's been put there.
He approaches the table, and gives it a wipe. His mouth widens further. A map. A map of Chicago. And there are markings on it. He suddenly feels a strange sensation in his head, that causes him to clutch his scalp. "Very good Mortimer." Mr. Confetti was saying to him, directly in his brain.
"Who?"
"Why it's me, Mr. Confetti."
Mr. Confetti was, of course, casually conversing with the four competitors in the Central Room. His poker face there did not reveal the delicate subterfuge that was happening in the basement.
"What's this map?"
"Interesting isn't it? There are a number of things marked on it with symbols. But there is no key. I can only presume one of Modius' former allies made the map, but even I don't know for sure. It was already here, where you found it. I just covered it up, but in an obvious way."
"I missed it the first time." Mortimer thinks. "But, I wasn't really looking for it. I was preoccupied."
"I will award you 50 bonus points for finding it. I am certain the others will be just as curious as we are about it."
"The others? I'm not sharing-"
In his mind, he heard Mr. Confetti's laughter. "Oh I'm so sorry Mortimer. But you see, that's not how the game is played. What you learn, they all learn. And vice-versa. You will all watch each other's exploits through your memories. I will see to that."
"Great." Mortimer wasn't thrilled at the prospect of the others watching him get verbally castrated by a pair of hamsters. Well, just more incentive to show those hamsters who the boss is.
"There's the spirit!" Mr. Confetti exclaims inside Mortimer's brain.
"Could you maybe stop reading my mind now?"
"Oh, I'm certain that I could. But frankly, its just so interesting in there!"
Mortimer grimaces, but what can he do about it? Instead, he continues to clean off the map, eager to see what secrets it contains.
