June Kindred Court
Date • 2020-06-09
Summary • The Kindred of Portland gather for June Court
The Wells Fargo building is the tallest building in downtown Portland. Many Kindred are used to visiting here when in private audience with the Prince, but tonight, he's allowing his private Domain within his larger Domain of the city as a whole, to serve as the location for Court tonight. All Kindred receive a private missive as to their destination this evening shortly after they awake, generally through the communal safehouses of their Clans or Covenants.
This is a gargantuan, massive, space, with ceilings so high it's only darkness up there in the rafters. It's rather Wright-meets-Medieval in here, with modern angles but the girth of a true Great Hall. At one end of the room, there's an unlit fireplace as large as the maw of a yawning dragon, and a cozy ensemble of seating before it, stamped by Olde World charm and elegance. And, there's an enormous baronial balcony with an actual garden out there, facing the city, with floor to ceiling windows of glass before it. The opposite side of the space is home to a pool table topped by dark plum felt, a dart board, a chess set, and other games.
Tonight, the collection of settees and chairs have been arranged in a circular pattern with a stretch of low table in the center -- there's plenty of room. At the far end of the radius, before the fireplace, a single throne-like chair with a little folded note that reads: ~ Reserved for the Prince's debonair ass. Do not sit here ~.
Many of the Kindred here have already had the pleasure of meeting the Prince's Empowered Ghoul, Brunhilde. For those who have not, she's a tall, striking lovely woman with icy-blonde hair done up in Viking-like braids, wearing her ever-present pinstripe suitdress and her ready smile. There's nothing cold about her at all; she has a radiant presence, is sparklingly polite, and just has a certain warmth about her that seems designed to make folks comfortable and set them at ease. When the elevator from the downstairs lobby *pings* and the doors slide open to waaaay up here, it's Brunhilde that is there to greet everyone, making sure all are escorted to this cavernous room where Court shall be held this evening.
There is no assigned seating (save of course, for His Awesomeness Himself of course), and there are a few ghouls attending, with trays of refreshments. Lacrima of course, is in those tiny glasses, a vintage that smells vaguely mead-y and sweet. Ghouls are offered a glass of wine, should they wish it.
The Prince has not arrived yet. Probably.
Ursula is never late, nor early, but simply seems to be positively and unnaturally punctual. Tonight the woman is dressed in an emerald green silk gown that slithers ever so elegantly along her curvy feminine form in a way that should be obscene were it not so conservative. The gown has a plunging V-neckline that exposed the pale, yet golden, side swell of each breast and dips to just short of her navel. The skirt sweeps the floor, but the toe of golden shoes peek out with every step. Her dark hair falls in ebony sheets of shimmering silk along her shoulders and the warm smile from Brunhilde is met with an equally friendly gesture from the Ventrue. Of course, coiled around her delicate neck, like some expensive accessory, is a viper in autumnal red, orange, and gold. Ushered to a suitable spot she takes her seat and crosses her long legs revealing a slit in the gown that exposed the length of shapely golden legs.
~And you can tell by the way he use his walk he's armed as fuck; but not for long.~ Desitarious returns Brunhilde's smile as he undoes his frog and sets his sword down beside her. A stake from the left sleeve follows, then a few knives from his coat. Finally, with a snap of his fingers, he pulls out the butterfly knife he was playing with earlier and drops it into the pile. That weapon isn't his. It just gets kinda nudged over towards the others with his foot sans respect. Once all his archaic tools of destruction have been deposited, he gives Brunehilde a nod--standing a little taller when he looks at her as if trying to get his full height to bear in competition for tallness--and strolls directly to his chair of choice. It's at the far, far end of where the Prince is. Great for visibility, terrible for secrets. If there's a game of telephone later, he's sure to do poorly. However, he seems pleased with this seat and the lacrima offered; flopping into one while sampling the other and seeming entirely in a playful mood.
Eamonn walks in with Micaela at his side he looks around the room and to those he knows or remembers is probably the better term he gives a nod of Greeting. Wearing a black Armani suit with red shirt and black tie. Hell move to find a seat or stand somewhere whichever is preferred.
Not the first, nor certainly the last to arrive, Tiarnan makes his way into the super secrety location where court is being held tonight. Perched on his shoulder, as so often can be found, is the big raven. She is cawing at people they pass as if mocking them. The Dead Wolf makes his way toward one of the side walls and posts up there, crossing his arms as they wait for the Prince. In the meanwhile his gaze wanders over the Kindred who are gathering in the hall, studying them all carefully. He doesn't really greet anybody tonight, mostly lost in his own thoughts.
Alistair doesn't make eye contact. Not with the Ghoul. Not with anyone, really. The yellow-robed one makes his way to his designated seat and nestles himself into it. Limbs slowly pull up within the thick layers of robe until he seems to just be entering into an cocoon of yellow rags. Either way, for a moment he seems content in his place.
Lurk is suspiciously quiet, really, as she makes her way into this temporary Elysium. She seems to be lost in her own thoughts, her motions a bit more sluggish than usual, her gaze directed toward the floor. She stays nearby to Alistair, but otherwise is simply ... here.
A bit late, for once cause it's bound to happen eventually right? Frances makes her way within the establishment having donned her usual attire of a white blouse, black jeans and very worn boots, her only adornment is a faux gold necklace that has something dangling on it hidden in the shirt. She's holding a collection of grocery bags having been triple-covering a bit of something like an over-eager cashier who's decided that your ONE jar of pickles needs four bags because yeah Carol that'll totally help it not smash when it gets dropped since none of the handles line up.
Honestly though, the smell of rotting death makes its way in before she does. It's seriously rank yo, no amount of febreeze is going to hide this and there was an attempt made with babypowder somewhere. Brunhilde will get a simple apology as she steps in though, the other ghouls aren't as cool as she is so they are ignored aside from suspicious gazing, cause ghouls. The bundle will be kept to herself and she'll find a place as far away from the others as is possible, she knows she's stanky as hell.
Micaela is right at Eamonn's side, her black heels clicking along as she walks. Dressed in a black two piece suit that hugs her form, she just stays next to him and wait for him to find his spot. As he does, she simply stands next to him.
Sonny arrives at some point, the spook quiet and unconsciously a bit stealthy in his movements. He's dressed in a well tailored black on black suit that is in stark contrast to his pale skin, dark hair and eyes. Making his way to a seat a bit out of the way he gives a polite nod of his head to those he knows. Standing at a seat he lets his cold gaze travel over the assembled group while using one hand to unbutton the single button that holds his suit jacket closed. Settling in to his seat with a comfortable lean he waits for court to begin.
The Prince enters from the balcony area outside, whisking through the wide French doors with a welcoming smile to all, "Brisk out there tonight. Quite windy. Good thing I decided to employ the man-bun this evening. I'd otherwise look quite the barbarian." He chuckles softly then, as if he'd just made a private little funny only he knew the punchline to. He's dressed in a three piece suit in a dark auburging with a faint hound's tooth pattern in certain light, with golden socks, mustard-colored Italian leather shoes, and a golden tie. His long silver hair is, like he said, styled back into a knot, and his long argent beard is stained with red woad from beneath his bottom lip in a stripe that goes all the way to the tips of his bristles.
He's not sipping lacrima. He's sipping Scotch. And he moves the throne-like chair, picks up the Reservation placcard there, reads it, smirks at Brunhilde, then turns to the room at large. "Everyone will be seated now." A pointed glance to Tiarnan. SIT. But... a glance to Frances. "Save for you. You smell dreadful, my darling." She can stay where she is.
A slow crane of her head and Ursula watches Sonny enter, a dip of her chin in greeting to him before her serpentine green eyes pass over Eammon and provide the same courteous nod. A twitch of her nose and the faint flicker of a forked tongue over her lips follows Frances and Ursula's lip curls, it's not a look of disgust though, more amused curiosity. Only when the Prince enters does her inhuman gaze shift back to the front of the gathering and she shifts as if to settle once more in her seat.
Desitarious got to his feet when the Prince walked in out of respect. He's a killer not a savage. When the Prince says to be seated, he reseats as casually as a lawyer doing it before a judge on the daily. Once resettled, he hooks a knee over the arm of his chair and sits in it a bit awkwardly, but he already demonstrated that he's far more respectful than most. Invictus pride, and all that. Mainly, he's twisted in his chair so he can mean-mug Frances. It's a curious expression at first, but the way his nose is wriggling and his gaunt face settles in a scowl makes it very clear that he hopes she goes first. If she looks his direction, he will simply stare at her and lip, "What. The. Fuck."
Alistair gives an audible huffing noise. You know. Almost like a hound with a scent. The inhales cause the hood of his robe to billow out a few times as his lungs drag in great harsh breaths of it. Then he chuffs it out. The hood remains pointed in Frances direction. Then, it swivels back to the Prince. He rises. Then sits when indicated.
When Raed casts a glance at him after demanding everybody sit, there is a moment of hesitation. A brow arches as Tiarnan peers at the one giving the order, considering briefly before grabbing a chair to turn it around and settle down into it. He drapes his arms over the back, waiting patiently for something important coming their way. The noisy bird does get a look and it promptly quiets down, but then a hand comes up to gently scritch her back and head as a reward.
"First of all," the Prince begins, "Congratulations to all present here. You represent the beginning of a new era, so to speak. There are so many in my Praxis whom I never see, never hear word of -- neither ill or good, and a great many who simply do not attend Court. Those of you here tonight will remain in the good Graces of this Praxis. Those who are not here -- will soon enough feel the pinch in their status amongst you all." Ooo-wheee. Princey's gonna start slapping some folks with high status who he doesn't think deserve it? Sounds like.
Now, you--" A nod to Sonny. "Present yourself to Us. For I do not know you."
Frances doesn't seem at all upset about the encouragement to, 'stay over there' when the Prince mentions her obvious stankitude, she had planned on staying as far away as is not terribly rudely possible. Time over cleanliness, those sensitive noses will just have to get over it and Desi's mouthed 'wtf' won't get answered aside from a single finger held up as if saying 'just wait' otherwise Frances remains standing way in the back.
Lurk is currently giving her attention to the Prince, her brows giving a subtle furrow at the mention of people not showing to Court, or holding positions or status without properly appreciating the responsibilities that come with it. She does not, however, offer any verbal return. Her hands clasp neatly in her lap, and she leans toward Alistair to mutter something to him.
Eamonn remains seated and watches whats going on. "Oh this be in'eresting." He says in a mildly amused tone.
Sonny doesn't stand when the Prince enters but the haunt does watch the man move to his throne. Tilting his head to the side a bit he watches the interaction between the Prince and his ghoul before looking to Ursula to give her a hint of smile and a bit of a wink. His gaze is locked in her direction until he hears his name and is told to present himself.
Slowly standing, Sonny buttons that single button that holds his suit jacket closed once more and then moves out from the chairs to move out before the Prince. A moment of silence passes as the suited vampire stands before the seated Prince to allow the other to study him. With his hands clasped lightly behind his back he addresses the Raedwald in a clear, easily heard voice, "Santino Crea, Nosferatu of the Carthians." Waiting to be questioned more or to be given leave to return to his seat he stands still while waiting.
"Excellent." The Prince is most pleased. "It's about time you Firebrands started returning to the city. Perhaps you can be an example to your fratres and sorores and encourage more to join you. Welcome to my city." He nods to Sonny, indicating he can be seated again and then sends those icy blues to Danu, waiting.
Micaela stays quiet and just glances over to Eamonn as she speaks. Smiling she just puts a hand on his shoulder for a moment before pulling it back to clasp both hands in front of her.
Desitarious gives Frances the stink-eye for two more seconds before he shifts his attention over to the introductions. He takes respectful note during them--offering his fellow Nosferatu a nod of recognition--but finds his eyes slipping over to Ursula here and there trying to see if she'll look down opposite of the Prince towards him so he can lift his chin at her like 'Hey girl; let's talk after.'
Sonny doesn't speak right away, instead he simply gives the Prince a polite nod of the head. "It speaks to my skills still being sharp that I've been unnoticed for some time. Though I am known to move where the cause needs me. I came here back when the revolution went down and this city was liberated. Its good to be back and in the court." With that said, the haunt turns and returns to his seat. Unbuttoning his jacket, he gives the room a quick glance before taking his seat once more.
Raedwald shakes his head towards Sonny, "No, I would have known." Then he looks to Danu, and just seems to get tired of waiting, so he hustles right along.
"Now, moving right along, on the subject of the Will-workers." The old King begins, spidering his fingers together in front of him after Brunhilde moves to take his empty glass. "Apparently they were something of a hot topic at last Court, a discussion I do very much wish I had been present for." A pause as he rubs his lips together, the bristles beneath his bottom lip spiking out as he does so, like teeny quills of a porcupine. "There are a few things I shall tell you about them. Firstly, yeeeees, they are amongst us. And stop calling them 'Magic-users' -- even some of us use magic. Refer to them as 'Will-workers'. That is how they shall be dubbed in common parlance, moving forward."
He pauses again, then, "There are at least two factions of them here in Portland. One group has holdings at OMSI and the Rose City Sentinel. Avoid these places. The other group seeks to threaten rather than dialogue -- their holdings are currently unknown. Will-workers are not territorial like Kindred or the Wolves. However, they too covet places of power. If there are disputes of territory, they will be resolved as in nuisance cases in mortal court; first come, first serve."
The talk of will-workers seems to unsettle Ursula as she uncrosses her legs, twists her hips to the side, and crosses them once more. Lips pursed tightly, the vertical black slits of her pupils dialate to diamonds within the emerald green of her gaze.
A simple, silent 'oh' is mouthed as Frances listens and takes mental notes about these 'will-workers'. Learn something new every night or at least you should, keeps unlife fresh. She'll remain unmoving where she is and offer no retort as of yet.
Rather than looking uncomfortable, well - it's hard to tell Alistair's mood when he's covered with robes and wearing a mask, but he leans forwards as Raedwald describes the subject of will-workers.
Satisfied at some new places to.. Avoid.. The Haunt leans back again.
"At current, I am liaison to the Will-workers, though this may change soon. There are discussions." The Prince says with a faint, non-commital shrug. "Keep your secrets, respect theirs, and there should be no quarrel. Under no circumstances should a vinculum be attempted with them, of course. This should go without saying. I won't condone it."
Raedwald asks, "Questions?"
Desitarious seems surprised, and he doesn't really take cares to hide it. His tongue is working at one of his teeth in his closed mouth. He seems perplexed that this is something the Prince is confirming. He looks over at Frances again, but this time it is to give her a glance like he wrote something off that, perhaps, he should not have. He looks back at the Prince, now, and asks a question he feels is important. Or is about to when the Prince answers it right before it comes out of his mouth. There is a soft snap of fingers in his lap.
Alistair shakes his hooded head from his perch.
Frances doesn't seem to have any immediate questions either.
Lurk also shakes her head.
Eamonn leans back shaking his head.
Desitarious sticks his lip out at the 'should go without saying' part, but keeps his silence.
Ursula clears her throat and stands up, "Ursula Antoun, Priscus to Portland's Lords, and while you giving us our boundaries is appreciated, what of theirs? Have they also been given warning in regards to us? I have meet Will-Workers before and they are...", she pauses and purses her lips in though, "Not to be underestimated.", she finally finishes. "If we are approached by such a creature or, heaven forbid, provoked or even attacked, what is our recourse?"
Another silent headshake registers that Tiarnan doesn't have any questions, nor does he really seem to care about this topic. He listens and waits, tapping his foot to an unheard beat while hanging his body partly over the back of the chair. His brows are furrowed, lost in his own thoughts.
"A fair question, dear Lady Priscus," the Prince replies. "I... have known many Will-workers in my nights, and I can assure you that my Praxis is safe from them in all regards, so long as there is mutual respect. They do not and cannot possibly know of all our territory -- nor frankly, can we know all of theirs. Should any issues arise, merely bring them to my attention immediately. If you are attacked, of course you may defend yourself, but I do not believe that will happen. At least not in regard to the first faction I mentioned."
"Very well.", her tone a soothing velvet, her lips a slight smile. A respectful nod of her head and Ursula once more takes her seat and crosses her legs, a hand reaching up to stroke the viper around her neck.
Eamonn continues to sit and watch not having much to add on things at the moment.
"How can I tell them from the others, though?" Desitarious blurts out. "I'm not experienced with these Will-worker-motherfuckers or whatever. Do they blend is as well as we do? Better? If so, what's gonna happen if I pull one into my happy van and give them the sweetness? Am I gonna get my fucking ass turned into a fireball? This is great information to have--that which you've provided us--but I feel like there's a few more details we should cover."
Frances lifts up a finger as if she's got something to say but doesn't immediatly ship in to Desi's question.
Raedwald slow-blinks towards Desitarious. "What would you do if you accidentally dragged a Lupine into your candy van and tried to give it butterscotch?" Yeah, not only does he look like an old man, apparently his taste in sweets runs the same, too. "The moment you found out, you'd apologize. You'd cease and desist and back the fuck up as gracefully as possible."
Raedwald nods to Frances as if to say, 'Go ahead.'
Desitarious chews on this figuratively as he nods literally and leans back. Those that know of the Nosferatu Priscus might understand his interest in the subject. He's quite picky about those he feeds from; narrowing down that margin catches his interest fast. That said, he dryly asides to Sonny or perhaps someone else near the area farthest from the Prince, "Maybe she's going to explain why she dragged her home nephrectomy kit and collection in here." He gives a little upnod towards her bags; upper teeth exposed due to the way his lip curls.
With a bit of a nod towards the Prince, Frances will merely offer up an, "It doesn't just work like that. Like the masquerade we keep, same sort of thing applies. If they go crazy with what they can do, of course not all can from what I was told, but if they try somethin like that, stuff might get weird or dangerous and it's not exactly something they want to do unless it's a need. Besides... I'm sure they'll know what you are before getting into some random van." There's a shrug and a slight bowing of her head towards the Prince as she returns to her silence. Yeah, apparently Frances asked the mage the fireball question directly Desi so pffft.
The stank isn't explained as of yet, that's a different topic.
Alistair pauses for a moment to take out a small notepad. He begins scratching down notes, writing left to right as he goes down the page. He pauses, and raises his gloved hand holding the pen. "I'd be more worried about being cursed than set on fire. Fire is just fire." The pen goes down again, and he jots down after Frances' statement.
Red nods, "Thank you, Frances," then moves along, "Alrighty then," The Prince says, leaning back all cozy in his high-backed chair. "Now, I have named a Keeper of Elysium. She is, even as We speak, sourcing our new Elysium. The loss of Revolution Hall is of no great burden to us. In fact, I only kept it our of respect to the former regime. I'm not one to just swoop in and demolish all the symbols sacred to those before me. But, it was time for a change, at any rate. The new Keeper is Solitaire of the Haunts." A pause, then, "Going forward, Court will hopefully be a bit more enjoyable. After business is taken care of, there should be time for you to to rub elbows, to gossip over what each other is wearing, to whisper in corners about attempting to overthrow me. That sort of thing. You know, fun." The Prince smiles thinly.
Sonny stands and buttons his jacket, a nod is given to Desitarious before he slips out of the room.
Alistair visibly deflates at the prospect of 'rubbing elbows'. The term 'gossiping' makes him positively sink into his seat. The word 'fun' is thrown in there, and Alistair has fully given in to despair.
A nod is given towards Alistair because really, fire is predictable, curses are not.. smart reply for sure. Now that that cat has been let out of the bag regarding the closure of the elysium, Frances will attempt to maintain patience but if it looks like the meeting is winding down to a close, she'll be sure to raise a finger again.
Desitarious gives a double hand drumming on the table momentarily in approval of Solitaire's post; smiling that thin-mouthed, thin-lipped rat smile of his. Following that, he returns to stillness until his nose twitches again. Again, he looks over at Frances and her rotten luggage like she farted in his elevator and now they're both stuck in an emergency stop. The lacrima is taken up in both hands, sipped, savored, and sniffed at slowly in succulent suffocation of that spreading stench emitting from her.
Paying enough attention to hear about the new Keeper at least, Tiarnan gives a brief and light applaud for the new position. Then he glances around, attention drifting away for a moment, but returning to Raedwald. His gaze lingers on the Prince for a while, probably too long, but then he returns to petting the big raven perched on his shoulder.
"Now, the subject of the renegade ghouls." The Prince looks expectantly to Frances, then to Tiarnan. Your time to shine!
The baggie is held up but thank the Gods it's not opened, "They are fusing humans and animals into monsters, this is a piece of a failed experiment so that.." looking towards Desitarious straight on, "I could be believed." and then back to the Prince. "This one was in the shape of a human but had all different kinds of animal legs and arms, two heads and the stomach was just one huge ass mouth with fangs. It wasn't safe to move the whole thing but I know the location of this lab, I didn't see the ghoul or anyone else there but the corpses, the other two were normal animals missing some pieces."
She'll hold out the bag, an offering, it is the sludge within that is the stank, not her exactly, to an auspex user... tag not it! "Niles Jameson went into the warehouse and hasn't left yet but I did not see him tonight in there. The place is monitored, and that ghoul was the one who bugged the elysium." The past info can be dumped later or maybe Tiarnan can offer some too.
At Frances' newest statements, the description of the thing that she's found, Lurk's brows furrow anew, eyes somehow dark and too-bright all at the same time shifting from her, to Alistair as she says something new to the robed fellow at her side before fully returning her attentions to the Gangrel Priscus. It's very clear she has questions. Notions. -Theories-, even. But it's equally so evident that she's not yet ready to voice what might be meandering through that labyrinth she calls a brain.
"Perhaps you might like to have a whiff." Lurk speaks dryly aside to the Ordo Primogen.
"I think I might."
Alistair picks himself up from his seat by standing on the part where, you know, you should sit. Then he lowers himself down one foot at a time. He seems to move slower than he'd like - hands gripping his robes so he doesn't accidentally stumble on it. There's the chuffing, sniffing sound as he goes closer. Apparently, he doesn't mind the charnel stink of some gross abomination.
He pauses as he makes his way to Frances, and then - if he's not stopped, for all the love of common decency, sense of decorum, general care not to open a bag of wretched awful something - he's going to open it. And promptly stick his head in to take a look into the black bag.
Now for the reason he came tonight, so he stands up to address the crowd of Kindred as Tiarnan swings the chair around back from where he got it. "Frances got a great deal of this information. The lass did well." he notes with a tip of his head. "Because of her we know the ghouls responsible visit the zoo and deal with the vet, but we donnae ken when. If anybody would like to volunteer to observe and report the coming and going, let me know." the Dead Wolf declares. "Second, we have reason to believe they are holding a Kindred in torpor to get their blood supply. We cannae allow this. I will need volunteers for a rescue mission to retrieve him." Tiarnan tells them with a glance over the crowd. "Then once we have a clear understanding for when the ghouls are meeting at the zoo we will ambush them and end this." A pause before adding, "Be wary of your havens if your ghouls are missing. they may be bugged."
Ursula remains silent though she lifts her hand and presses it delicately beneath her nose as the bag is moved and more of the foul stench escapes and wafts through the room. Information on what it is does seem to gain her full attention though and kohl lashes feather to shadow her verdant serpentine eyes. Tipping her head in a curious gesture, Ursula watches as Alistair approaches the bag and will actually stick his head in for a look and a whiff. Covering her mouth she shakes her head as if silently begging him not to before she simply leans back to see what happens. The wheels in her head are spinning though as she strokes her snake and watches, her green eyes somehow distant, though it's really hard to tell considering they are the cold dead eyes of a snake. A glance toward Tiarnan and Ursula will lift that free hand that isn't guarding her nostrils from the heinous assault, "I would be more than happy to volunteer for that rescue mission."
The Prince watches all of this with bright-eyed interest. "You have leave to investigate the specimen further, Lord Primogen," he says, likely giving the Haunt permission to use Auspex in his Domain, should he wish.
Eamonn looks up to Tiarnan. "Aye Oi donnae mind bein' apar' o' a rescue mission either." Eamonn says looking around. "Ye' can be countin' me in."
Giving Ursula a nod of his head, the old Dead Wolf replies, "Aye, very good. Along those lines...I think I have a way to find him, but...if others are willing to try as well, the more the merrier." A nod of acknowledgement is also given Eamonn, "Aye, thank ye, lad." He glances aside to Frances now and adds, "Do ye have anything else to add, lass?" He peers back out at the others and notes, "They can somehow look like Kindred of the city and may try to trick ye in that way. Be wary."
The sound of Alistair inhailing the putrid stench from the inside of the bag is far louder than most noises that the Haunt normally makes. His chest inflates to the point that he straightens his back a bit, and there's a few pops and cracks due to that process.
The breath is held as his mask is shifted a bit, and as he puts his face into the bag, he tastes the air with his tongue. "Vitae." He states, before he leans his head back up - uncaring if he actually scrapes his mask on the viscera. "Magic. Our kind. Smells old. Very old. Flaws. Failed experiment."
Frances probably notices that Alistair now has a.. Grip on the bag. Thin gloved fingers gripping the bag tighter and tighter until there is the crinkling of the bag in his small fists. "I need this."
"Give it to me."
Mica stays quiet, glancing to Eamonn as he speaks up but doesn't speak...for now.
Arching a brow, Ursula leans forward, hands on her knees as she peers at the bag, "Cruac is some of the oldest blood magic there is, but I've never heard of such a thing. It sounds vaguely like something I have heard of, but then again it also sounds like something our previous Hierophant was capable of by her bloodline.", she offers.
Frances will add in an, "The ones that were at the zoo were obviously experimenting on them..." the bag given to Alistair to let him do his thing definitely having NO intention on not giving him the bag, as she continues, "They are military, there are three and the contact vet at the zoo is named Dr. Adaire. One woman, two men usually in fatigues but a woman who's all in black sometimes meets up with them and speaks in a weird language, she has a long scar on her face and looks tough. Information granted from a panther, they are only targeting predators." She'll look towards Tiarnan as she states an, "All Priscus should have been contacted so that they can let their clanmates be informed that if they have ghouls that they should likely move their resting places immediately."
While Alistair does his thing, she just watches and listens, intrigued in more than one way.
Alistair now has the bag. This causes him to shuffle a step away from Frances. He sniffs again, then proceeds to close the bag up and bind it tight, before gripping and pinching with his fingers. "Yes. Your Crone magic is very old. Or new. Or old. Or new. Like everything we do. This is old. Smells old. Tastes old. It puts the things together, but it's failed to make them stick. Otherwise the bag would be wriggling." He gently pets the bag. It's obvious he wished it was wriggling - that'd be a live subject for study. "Oh. Those people. They talked. Almost saw me when I was walking quietly."
He begins to move back towards his seat, but freezes in place for a second. His head turns towards the Prince, and there's visible reluctance in his voice as he is forced to ask, "May I take this to study?"
One can see his hands slowly closing like a vice on the bag. Again.
Raedwald looks momentarily concerned that in the midst of that bag being both clutched by Frances and by Alistair, it could be dropped. Nuuuu! Please don't stink up his happy place. Brunhilde would be most displeased. When she surrenders the bag, he breathes a small sigh of relief. "Do let us know what you discover, Primogen." To Alistair. "And to everyone who has contributed to the defense of the Praxis in this matter: Frances, Tiarnan, Lurk, Alistair, and a few others not currently present, you shall be rewarded in a way I believe you will find most satisfactory." A pause, then, "Sheriff, please make your plans for a task force public so other may volunteer as well."
Ursula arches a brow at Alistair, her smile is tight, the corners of her lips more yanked than calmly curled. "If you say so, Lord Primogen.", she bows her head. Turning to Tiarnan, "Are there perhaps any missing Mara in the area or the surrounding area?", she asks still a bit tense. When the Prince speaks once again, Ursula relaxes back in her seat and falls silent, her eyes go to Alistair and that bag for a moment before she looks away toward the door. Perhaps hoping to see someone or simply hoping for that meoment she might exit it.
"Allow me to aid." Lurk states to Alistair, rising to her feet. "I've some theories that might be worthwhile to explore." She nods to the yellow-robed fellow. "Perhaps some examination of the history of the Kindred of this place might also shed some light," A beat, "If you'll pardon the terminology."
When the Prince speaks again, and her name is spoken, the Seneshal does turn toward him to offer a shallow, extended bow of her head. At Ursula, she then directs her attention. "Part of my theory, ever a possibility, though not the only idea I've got." She nods, then moves toward Alistair again, brows lifting before she turns back to the Prince. "Might we be excused? There are so many questions to be asked."
"Of course." Alistair is either stating this about being excused. Or allowing people to aid. Or telling the Prince about what he finds. Probably both. Despite there being three things.
It appears that the Primogen of the Ordo Dracul has decided to exit paying attention to the world in general. Instead, he's cradling the bag in his hands, his fingertips petting the side of it softly.
Eamonn pats Micas leg and lean in to whisper to her for a moment as he continues looking around at the assembled.
"Of course," Raedwald nods to Lurk, giving she and Alistair and the... bag, permission to depart.
Frances will be sure to vocally explain which warehouse the hidden lair is in to those who are present. She'll offer the Prince a nod as her name is listed but it's a brief thing, she has more important things to worry over.
Tiarnan pauses to listen to the Bruja, then offers a nod to the Prince when he is told to explain the plan. Tiarnan goes on to say, "It will be in stages. But this needs to happen swiftly. We cannae take too long." His gaze settles on Alistair for a moment, then shakes his head and goes on, "First, we need to watch the zoo, the vet to see when the ghouls meet so we can better understand when to set up an ambush. At that same time others will be finding our missing Kindred they are keeping. That will be stage one." The question from Ursula gets his attention and he can only shake his head. "Nae that I ken." he answers lightly.
"Hopefully whatever your Primogen discovers will be shared with you quickly," the Prince says to Tiarnan. "His strength is research. Yours shall be commanding the defense and any strikes that need to be made. See to it he gets back to you promptly. Your plan seems sound, and I agree, it must be in steps."
Desitarious has been listening and silent for some time. Matters of the occult have many betters in the room for he than speaking opinion. There are sorcerers and witches and warlocks and sorceresses and there will probably even be a sorcerx movement soon, and the currently silent Haunt is perfectly fine with all that. He isn't ignoring things, however. He's just saving his hill to die on for random outbursts and matters in which the far more martial and less esoteric man's knowledge lies. Without making a fuss, he has one of the servants run his contact information over to Tiarnan and gives the man a nod. Fortunately, he's used all his outbursts up so his 'You have my sword' that he wouldn't even realize is copyright infringement is withheld for another night.
Raedwald rises. "Very well. Good night to you all." And then His Awesomesauce departs for the balcony where he prompty turns into a harpy vulture and flies away.
Frances simply states an, "You don't.. you're not the prince." Thankfully she barely smells now that the bag is gone, there's likely just a bit of goo on the inner treads of her boots.