Vampire Court May 2020

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Date  • 2020-05-19

Summary  • Court is held and the voices of the Praxis of Portland are heard. Some have more to say than others.


Court is always such a bother to those that, by their nature, tend to avoid politics, and yet ... here Lurk is. Her expression is calm, if dour, her attentions focused on the small stack of papers she's sifting through idly. Her hair is a bit of a mess -- which is to say, it's actually a mess of squirming tentacles writhing and gripping at things, occasionally draping lazily across her shoulders in languid slink, the suckers heard as they release with each new happening.

Situated around her are an array of lanterns, each glowing a very dim light, every one of them a different shade, casting long, creeping shadows in a circular pattern.

When people start to arrive, she will finally draw her attentions from the notes she's got before her, legs neatly crossing as she nods to each in turn. "Do find yourself a place, make yourselves comfortable, we've much to discuss." She will then wait for everybody that has congregated here to settle themselves before continuing.

Alistair's so easily ignored. Eyes can drift off -- oh no. Nevermind. As he finishes descending from the human population, he sheds his cloak of noble Obfuscation, and now the yellow-robed weirdo is truly that - a yellow robed weirdo.

He pauses as he moves past Lurk, dipping his helmet down towards her in a show of deference in the Court, and then shuffles his way in to the Elysium. He circles away from the more bright lights of seats and groupings, in terms of both light-levels and social-talking-levels. Both to be avoided. He hesitates as his robed head turns to point his blank mask towards the seating. Official Court. To sit officially, and be sitting out different from everyone else? Or to sit elsewhere, and possibly earn awful scorn politically? The dilemma runs through Alistair's head in a whirl.

To everyone else he's simply frozen in place, staring towards where he's usually directed to go sit when he has to represent the Ordo Dracul. It takes over a minute before he finally starts moving, and he shuffles his way towards his seating arrangement of the Ordo Dracul, and sits on it. Then he shifts his feet up, and with the drape of his robes, appears to simply perch on the edge of it. His arms withdraw into his thick layers of tattered and torn robes, and as he settles, his robes shuffle as he settles in. His mask tilts all the way down, the blank screen covering his eyes pointed down and away from Court in general.

Quinn hasn't been seen around court in a while. But it could just be a Mekhet thing, only seen when she wants to be. They're called Shadows for a reason, right? At any rate, she's making no efforts to play it low key tonight: her outfit is very 90's grunge with a green plaid shirt thrown over a faded gray t-shirt with a long-defunct band emblazoned on the front. Red hair is bright, loose, and free, and while she enters she seems to be in the middle of laughing at something on her phone. The glow of it illuminates her face and the smile that twists the corners of her lips upward. "You've got to be kidding me..." she cackles to herself while her thumbs swipe deftly to snap off some quick reply. Only once she's solidly within the room does she lift her gaze to check what faces she does and does not recognize, and what chairs are or aren't occupied just yet. "What's shakin'?" she asks the room at large in a casual tone, loitering without dropping into a chair just yet.

A warbled reflection of the thin, crescent moon wrapped in an old leather coat of trench stylings. That is Desitarious Cranely; Priscus of the Nosferatu. He makes an entrance with not one, but not one--not even two--but three beautiful Nosferatu. Oubi, Solitude, and Yngve. The former two are on either side of him, while the latter is a few steps behind by choice. He stops just inside the entrance to remove his sheathed sword from its frog on his belt and lean it against the wall as if it is actually a threat to the undead present in his hands. As he comes to find himself a place, his expression is noteworthy in its combinatino of existence and aloofness; eyebrows upturned in the middle as the rest of his expression is flat and judging. Should any stare at him, they'll find his presence less than pleasing for reasons that have nothing to do with his personality. Those will come later. The simple fact is that looking at him causes everything else to seem gradually further away.

Yngve arrives with the gaggle of Haunts. What do you call a bunch of Haunts? A Troupe-de-Boo? A Clique of Squick? A Platoon of Goon? Whatever they're called, he's trailing in behind the shorter of them, which is all of them compared to him. He's dressed as he usually is, but with his obfuscate down the rather elvish-looking monster's suit ensemble of reddish 'leather' revealed the embossed faces of screaming women with open maws and empty, sunken eyesockets. His (physical) weapons are left outside of course, and as usual, accompanying him is his rather ghastly creep factor.

That full no-nonsense Frances is a bit distracted at the moment though her beast is strong and her attire is clean, hair brushed and she's even wearing new black pants with those worn combat boots. The blouse is white and there's a faux gold chain around her neck with something dangling within the shirt otherwise it's her usual. She'll offer nods of greeting to those that she passes by, a deeper one offered to Alistair and then to Lurk before she'll head over towards Alistair since no official declaration of who goes where has been made and it's just WEIRD being her first court as an actual real title that has a spot or whatnot. She'll likely have to talk at some point so it's just easier to remain standing at the moment, besides the fact that the 'pretty' distracting ones just walked in, ugh.

Yeah, Frances stares them up and down like a total creeper because why not?

Solitaire is freshly bathed for the evening, her skin aglow with a near otherworldly appeal. The woman enters as one of the bookends to her priscus, slowly detatching from the murder of Haunts once he has dispensed with his weaponry before letting those cold dark eyes of hers sweep the room. She knows so very few present, not having had the chance yet to network. Yet she does take note of Frances, dipping her head in silent acknowledgement of the other woman before turning back to regard her companions silently in wait of their seating preferences.

Oubi is dressed in layers of black satin, tulle and lace that almost completely swallow her from sight. Her arm is delicately woven through Desitarious' and the much smaller woman moves demurely along with sharp clicks of her smart heels. She is a mystery at first glance and a heavy veil is worn to protect her from the light in the room. Her parasol is currently closed and folded under her other arm to keep it close to her body.

Lurk knows full well how much it's likely to have killed Alistair inside to offer her that nod, and discreetly it fills her blackened little heart with joy. And yet, none of it truly shows on her features, aside from the gentle uptick of the corners of her mouth so slight and so brief that only the most observant might catch that secret pleasure. Her hands with fingers too long and horrid talons making them seem all the moreso clasp atop the table neatly as she observes the others. Once everyone seems to have found their place, she nods and takes in a sharp breath in order to begin addressing the Praxis.

She's told she has to do this now.

"Greetings, and welcome," She begins, "Many know me, or know of me, but for those that do not: I am Lurk, Seneschal to our Prince." It's such a weighty thing to be stated so simply, so bare of flare or pomp as it is. "The Prince is," She gives an airy, dismissive wave of her hand as she seeks the right word, "Occupied currently in Seattle, and so I speak to you in his stead."

She doesn't wait long before speaking again, "I am a woman that prefers efficiency over most other things, and so I will be brief and to the point, and shall answer your questions to the best of my abilities. The first order of business: ..." Her eyes dart to the pile of papers before her, "It has come to our attention that there is a roving gaggle of, eehhn..." She squints at the paper before raising her gaze toward those gathered, shoulders lifting in apprehension. "Trouble-making bikers, I suppose, known only as 'The Swarm' causing damage to holdings of this Praxis. Clearly this is not something that can be tolerated, and in His wisdom, the Prince has declared Lextalionis upon those known as Spider and Wasp, and has suggested that a great reward shall be given to any that are able to carry out this blood hunt to satisfactory end." Her brows lower, "Any who would assist or otherwise call themselves an ally to this meandering group of try-hards are considered to be aligned against our Prince, and shall share their fate."

There's a soft smack of her lips, gaze falling back to her papers. "There is also the matter of a collection of renegade Ghouls who are capturing and abusing loyal members of this Praxis. They are also attempting to convert other Ghouls to their cause. May it be known that this is unacceptable - as this is an issue of the Praxis, we recommend that all questions and offers of assistance are directed towards interim-Sheriff, Henry Pettygrove, and information be directed to both himself and myself in relation to the Swarm, and this mysterious issue of the Ghouls."

Alistair's head tips slightly, the visor sweeping over the newly arrived cluster of Haunts. Then it snaps towards Frances as she gets closer - it's like he hadn't even noticed her for a second. It takes a moment, and his head bobs towards her. His right hand slithers out of his robes, and he offers her a gloved thumbs up. Then the hand slides back on in to the robes and he's done with all the social stuff.

His head sweeps over towards Lurk as she inhales, and then he simply hovers there on his seat, rocking a little back and forth with the flexing of his toes. "I will donate financial resources to people needing some equipment in handling these two main items. Send me what you need and I'll send you what you'll be getting." There's a long pause, and he's leaning forwards like he has anything else to say.

Then he leans back, and lets his head tilt back down and away again - done with conversation once more.

Yngve listens to the info-dump from the Seneschal, nodding to himself. Blood Hunt. Delicious. "I'll seek out the 'interim-Sheriff' and offer my assistance," he volunteers. That's really all he has to say.

Desitarious sees both Oubi and Solitude seated before he makes his way to the inconspicuous chair between--that is in no form of power position other than that fact--and sets himself into it unceremoniously; immediately slouching back, stretching his legs out beneath the table, and crossing them at the ankles. One elbow is jutted back over the back of the chair as he digs for something in his inner pocket and removes first a small, spiral notepad. He places this in front of Solitaire. Then he fishes out a pen, places it on top of that notebook, and ignores any glances he might get at the word that the Prince is in Seattle. It's complete coincidence that Desitarious just arrived back from there last night. He sniffs and looks at his nails. They're more interesting than any looks.

After he listens, however, Desitarious does speak up. "If there will be no repercussions for the dispatching of this 'Swarm', I always enjoy the opportunity to ply my trade." That trade being the slaying of Kindred. "Consider them engaged." He glances over at Solitaire as if conveying some message and then returns his eyes to the table.

Solitaire listens silently to the words of the Seneschal as the woman gives a brief rundown of the situations at hand. Granting a momentary glance in the direction of first Yngve and then Desitarious, the woman finally offers a single solemn nod in agreement. She does not move to take a seat and instead appears content to stand poised for now near the rest of her Haunt contingency.

Oubi takes her seat and maintains perfect posture thanks in part of her tight corset, the parasol is placed over lap longways and she folds her lace covered hands atop it. She is a silent figure and the expressionless black void where her face should be follows the flow of conversation around the room impassively.

Alistair's thumbs up is noted and that's that as she remains standing near that robed one while listening to the declarations of the Seneschal and whatnot. As the comment regarding Seattle comes up, yeah, Frances can't help but let out a smile. It's an awkward thing, a half smirky bit with a gaze of pure malice linked with it and yeah, she'll let out a soft snort, just one, that touch of laughter. Apparently something has GREATLY amused her, yeah, talk about irony. She of course knows it was out of place and she'll handle that later if someone deems her extra rude but once that snort is finished and the others offer their bits, she'll go ahead with hers.

"I've passed information to many of you and have attempted to warn the Praxis and the other inhabitants of the city, we will receive no guarenteed help from the wolves or the magic users but they will not interfere with our hunt. I will offer further information as I get it and know that our Sheriff and Seneschal will get it to those who will be in the battles."

"Recognised and appreciated," Lurk asides when Alistair pledges his financial support in aid of these very important endeavors. (tm)

She then nods toward Yngve at his statement, "Keep me informed of findings and actions that I might relay informations to the Prince as I see fit." A simple response to a simple offer.

Her eyes then meander toward Desitarious and his entourage, her head tilting to one side, the tentacles that coil about her going weirdly still for a moment or two as she considers him. "Very good. As with the Knight, keep me informed, and do not hesitate to reach out for resources or informations. Both myself and the Ordo Primogen," She indicates the awkward fellow in the yellow robes, "Have an extensive history in investigations and esoteric things and may be of aid in unexpected fashions. This 'Swarm' is nothing that should be taken lightly. Remember that there is power in numbers, and it is a power they will take full advantage of." She nods, "Let us not give them the advantage in our pride."

She glances between the others that have congregated here, obviously awaiting the next offers or comments that should be coming her way. Frances' snort daws he attention. There's a brief, palpable sensation of dread that ripples from the epicenter that is Lurk's position, there and gone in scant seconds as she observes the gruff woman. Finally, a slow smile creeps across dark lips, her head dipping forward. "It is hardly their fight, but knowing that they will not interfere is a bit of a relief. I do believe there are methods we could use to pursuade them into assisting us, but at this time I believe it would be better to keep it in house, as it were." She takes in another slow breath, letting it out in a chilly sigh.

"And what of the Ghouls? Is there any new information regarding this issue? I do not believe these matters to be connected, but I'm not going to deny a possibility that they are if any have evidence to suggest otherwise."

"I think seeking help from outsiders to contend with an enemy that seeks to hurt us and us alone, is poor form," Yngve volunteers, havin heard Frances.

"It is their city too and warnings must be made to maintain proper alliances, their aid, if given, is of their own choice as is ours when they need it." states Frances towards Yngve's comment in a flat and stern voice since obviously someone struck a nerve on someone who's already on the barest edge of an edge. That being said she'll return her attentions towards the Seneshal, for now keeping her mouth shut with whatever other information she might have.'

"Disagree." Alistair replies to Yngve. "It is an efficient use of resources. Also, excellent study opportunity. Minimal threat to us if they accept the task. They either help kill threat, or they die and provide important resources and political gain as we direct ill will towards enemy. Treat their deaths as great tragedy. Pomp and ceremony. Bond through loss. Enemy now hated." A pause, "On the other hand. Chance of loss of further diplomacy through loss of sympathetic allies. Still gain positive opportunity for study of others. Possibility of corpse recovery to further aid." He pushes the words out, as if it is some struggle to vocalize himself in a public forum. Either way, it makes him sound forceful, with that ever handy hint of arrogance that's sure to win people over every time(tm).

"Also increases chance that we would be invited to things similiar to this on their behalf. Increase chance for political gain, as well as the chance of access to things that other Kindred would not. However, chance of making enemy of friend increases. There are gains and losses on both sides. Either way. A risk not taken is a possible treasure lost. Ordo Dracul supports the idea." He rocks forwards so hard that he actually slides his feet loose. He's forced to land on his feet. There's a small impact - apparently heavier than he looks, or he's been doing leg day - and he wobbles before standing fully upright. His spine pops audiably during the act. His head swivels back towards Frances. He then slowly begins to hunch back into himself, withering after his.. Outburst.

"If that is all?"

The deadpan Yngve fixes Frances with would turn hair white on any mortal. But it's only given sparingly, because then Alistair's going on. "And puts us in their debt. And, makes us look like weak, blathering idiots that cannot manage our own problems. We need to consult magicians and lupines about ghouls? Really?"

"What the fuck is meant by 'magic user'?" Desitarious asks the question he must be assuming isn't only on his mind as he looks around the table. He doesn't try to derail any other conversations with the question--cursed eyes slowly shifting from face to face as he seeks his answer, but then he just has to focus in on the conversation between two of his constituents; Alistair's response to Yngve causing one of his eyebrows to momentarily flatten as the other lifts. They return to their upturned jump slope afterwards and just smirks. It's not a smile, but it's almost a shit-eating grin. Just a knife-thin stretch of lopsided mirth.

"Priscus Frances and Primogen Alistair have the right of the situation. A liaison," Lurk begins, "A position bestowed Youngblood by the Prince, is a legitimate one. One that werves a purpose the Prince wishes to see bare fruit, which is precisely what she is attempting to do. Pride," Her attentions rest directly upon Yngve, "Is a weakness. You believe that asking for help makes us look weak, I feel that dying because we were not willing the ask for help makes us look worse." A quick breath, "Furthermore, she was speaking in relation to The Swarm, whom are very certainly not ghouls, and a mounting threat severe enough to draw the attention of this course." The lanterns around her flicker brightly for a few brief seconds before dying down again, her beast thrashing against the tenuous bonds she's put in place.

Finally, she draws her attentions, and her welling temper away from the Haunt. "If you have further issue with how we have chosen to approach this matter, please do feel free to speak with me after all items on the agenda have been addressed."

She then looks between the others, pausing as Desitarious asks his question, "Those who are able to manipulate reality in ways that I am unable to classify or quantify with my current base of knowledge. I admit to not knowing much about them, but I have witnessed some terribly fascinating things."

Alistair wobbles on his feet for a moment, as if attempting to rouse himself to some great uproar - some form of vocal response to Yngve's comments. Instead, he simply hunches himself back over again. One leg raises up and sweeps out, curling back, and he pushes his foot into his seat. Curling limb helps heft him back on to his perch on the seat, and he settles himself down once more. His right hand reaches out, and he shuffles his robes around himself like a protective cocoon.

"Many opportunities for such a request. Benefits outweigh costs in own analysis. Differing analysis is acceptable, but own opinion has not changed. Apologies for interrupting." His voice is muffled, quietened down from his previous outburst by a softer tone of voice and a lack of effort to get through the vents in his blank mask, but the tone is apologetic all the same. He doesn't even bother trying to make eye contact now, staring instead at the shadows cast by his robes.

When the lights flare up Oubi looks away and to the ground, directing her darkened gaze down until things dim back to their original cast and well after Lurk is done speaking.

Dark eyes sift back and forth among the various speakers, Solitaire equally dividing her attentions in silence. Her face remains an unreadable mask of silence--lips carefully sealed and quite content to listen for the time being. Desitarious' question and the Seneschal's response are also duly noted upon her brow the woman finally slipping a sidelong look back to the other female Haunt present, Oubi.

Yngve looks intensely amused by all of this. He casts his eyes towards Desitarious, and he's actually smiling, which is a gruesome thing to behold. Too many sharp teeth. "I will take my concerns to His Grace," he finishes quite simply, addressing Lurk. He doesn't need to say a lot to get his point across quite poignantly.

"Dying?" Desitarious now does lift his voice with intent to kick the conversation right in its damned shin. "I've seen zero evidence that this threat is even one that should be feared by the entirety of those present or it is the fears of a few attempting to be projected onto the masses, but-" His legs uncross at the ankle in a blur as he suddenly sits up in his chair, pops an elbow onto the table in front of him with a nice little thump, and folds his feet back under his seat as he leans foward. "-you are very wrong in your thinking if you think that we can afford, within this Praxis, to show that we cannot handle our own shat bed." He stands from his seat and looks from Lurk to Alistair to Frances and back. "Take it from a Lord of the Underworld," he self-proclaims, "your misplaced fear and-" His face twists in disgust. "-lack of self-respect is truly appalling." He starts towards where he left his weapon by the door at an unhurried pace. "I'll keep you well informed of my progress."

After that's all said and done and apparently that topic has been tabled for now, Frances will continue with a different bit of information. "My mortal magic user stated that teleportation is possible if that is what happened that night that the Hound was entrapped but it also seems that higher levels of obfuscate can be learned in a ghoul and that could have been the reason that he disappeared and then came back having been dominated. I haven't had time to search for the lost animals and try to speak with them to hear their thoughts since Spider and Wasp have come and I have not heard anything from the mortal news about unusual things happening in the zoo." And then Desi is doing his thing and it won't matter what she says but she still will say it, "He's my sire... I know his strengths are greater than most." And back to silence since drama and herding cats and hopefully Spider and Wasp get dead even with cat herding.

There are once again a few moments where Lurk observes Yngve, her upper lip giving the most subtle of twitches, before she allows a shallow nod of her head, "Very well. So too shall I, Dragon Knight. So too shall I."

With that matter handled, she looks to Desitarious then. Her brow quirks as he rises and moves to leave, but she doesn't stop him. She only allows her smile to grow, "Most appreciated." She retorts, and says nothing more. That bait can be left to dangle for less clever fish.

She then listens to Frances and her informations, nodding again. "Very good. That is, at the least, something. If you need help tracking down the beasts that fled, please let me know, and I will assist as best I am able. Currently I do believe the Swarm is a more pressing issue, but we cannot allow this to be overlooked. Thank you."

She then does a sweep over those that are here, and concludes: "If that is everything, I bid you all adieu. Do be careful out there."

"I have no problem with being called a coward. I am an intelligent, self-serving creature that has no compunction on thoughts of doing what needs to be done in order to survive. I'm just looking at this from a logical, supernaturally-scientific point of view. If I can get someone who can do things I cannot to do something for me, I learn a lot." Alistalr's voice remains dulled and quiet, but still somehow mockingly arrogant. An irritating character trait.

"But, being called out as having a lack of self-respect is something I do take offense at. I take great pride in my efforts and works. I am saddened that such proclamations are taking place in a public place. I thought we were having a debate, but I understand why things got heated." Alistair offers his gloved palms in consolidation, then brings them together. "I hope through effort and toil, we'll overcome these differences of opinion. I hope that you have a pleasant evening with no trouble, and may the Darkness follow you safely to your home."

He then realises that he has stopped rocking, and proceeds to untense a little, as he had apparently clenched during the back and forth that's going on. "Thank you for offering your results." He offers to Desitarious. "I look forwards to giving them the appropriate peer review."

Oubi doesn't mince moments and the second that Court is called to close she rises smoothly to her feet and departs the scene without a word for either clanmate or strangers. The five foot tall faceless Haunt moves with an unapologetic pace that signals her utter discomfort in having had to come topside for this meeting.

"The information you imparted during your recent visit to the Necropolis was very valuable," Yngve says to Frances. "I believe a combination of the abilities to attack outside of the norms your Sire may be used to, such as co-mingled efforts of the Circle and the Spear both, could take them unawares, based on what you told us. Mistress Solitaire and I shall be working together on some ideas based on your intell, and I shall work closely with Mister Henry Pettygrove--" a pause, "--apologies, I do not know his title," his head tilts like some odd heron, "--and see what his plans might be."

Yng shrugs a bit towards Alistair. "Ruffling so in the presence of differing views is unseemly," he comments blithely, agreeing with his Priscus at least on that account. "But, it seems Court is rather short, so, good evening, then." And he departs as well, taking up his battleaxe just outside the door and completely vanishing from view once outside of Elysium.

Grateful that she never really bothered to settle in, the stunning Haunt is more than ready to take her leave when Desitarious rises from his own seat and departs the council area. Solitaire's dark gaze slides to find their mark upon the yellow robed Haunt still upon the council. When Alistair begins to orate once more, she lofts a cool composed brow a fraction of an inch, those dark eyes scrutinizing the man as if beneath a magnifying glass. "Pride cometh before the fall, my dear man. However, I do believe less is more and you have exceeded your word quota for the evening," her words a smooth and articulate as her head dips in a respectful bid of farewell towards Frances, "Until next time..." and with that, she prepares to take her leave along with the rest of her contingency.

Claiming and re-frogging his short sword with a flourish and then straightening it along his leg, Desitarious is wrapping his coat back about his stick-figure frame like one does a fuzzy bathrobe on a chilly morning. He looks back at Alistair with his expression gradually shifting from curious to--with a little lift of his brow--noting to an indifferent shrug. "It doesn't matter if you're right or I'm right. I was originally invited to Portland to do kill Vampires. As Azerkatil, I intend to do just that. Whether it is with a blade or a RICO." He turns, sinks his hands into his pockets until his slouch his leaning on them and his arms are available for the loveliest of ladies, and slinks on out.

Alistair's head bobs for a moment, then dips itself down towards the ground. He reaches out with one foot, and then descends from his seat to his hunched/standing position. His head sweeps from left to right once, and then he just slowly steps his way down the steps, shuffling his way towards the way out. His arms slowly slide back in to his robes to give himself a more shapeless, yellow blob-like form of layered and tattered robes, and he pauses to stand beside Lurk. His head then dips forwards in the polite, formal manner needed at court.

He then proceeds out - after waiting to let Yngve, Desitarious and co leave first. It'd be rude just to barge past them. So instead he just waits. Then leaves.

Frances can only offer out an, "I hope they are successful cause damn I don't see an actual plan happenin..." With a deep frown and a worried look upon her features, she'll do about the same as Alistair and slip out after offering a nod of respect to the Seneschal.