Australian Nomads IC musings (REQUIEM)'s Journal|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in
Australian Nomads IC musings (REQUIEM)'s LiveJournal:
|Wednesday, February 6th, 2008|
A Nomad's Guide to ... Melbourne.
What can you say about a city where the locals are treated to a public transport maintained so lovingly by the local Kindred that it runs smooth and true with almost Nazi-like efficiency? A city so relaxed and so peaceful that the Seneschal has nothing better to do at large gatherings than chat to foliage.
Where the Invictus Prince is still warm from his embrace, and the local Carthians are obviously more than happy to embrace him back.
What can you say about a city where the most feared Kindred of the Domain is not bright enough to realise that a Colours Ball means you’re not meant to wear black, despite being told this repeatedly and IN WRITING, and spends most of their time swishing around in what appears to be a goth bathrobe?
Where the Harpies don’t even pull him up on this?
Where everyone and their dog (literally) queue neatly to meet the Prince like groupies at a boy band signing, and he has to sit there for three hours listening to them explain their choice of outfit?
What can you say except dear Lord, call the Invictus to sort out… oh, wait, they did and it didn’t work.
Oh, okay, I am being a TAD unfair.
Melbourne is a pleasant city in the prosperous south-east of Australia. Called the Garden City, it prides itself on its culture and diversity. Good roads, pleasant people, brilliant Arts scene if you’re into all that Daeva wankst.
Bloodsuckers everywhere, might I add. The court has gone an upheaval so big in recent nights I’m finding my own knowledge hugely out of date after just four months away. Plenty of new bodies and faces about, but I am wondering what happened all the old ones. I mean, Prince Morrow seems so pleasant, if somewhat likely to call out his own name in bed. Surely it is unfair to suspect that his recent rapid ascent to power might be directly connected to the disappearance of so many of the older, prominent kindred.
Actually, having met Morrow repeatedly and really rather liking him (be a dear, and if you’re going to threaten his praxis, kindly do it elsewhere? I’ve only just painted my nails and I do so hate to chip them) I think it would be highly unfair to suspect him. Morrow was a victim of that most irritating type praxis changes, democratic ballot through the means of whinging. I mean, really. If you’re going to take praxis, frickin’ take
it. His (possible) sire Gruber wasn’t getting the people’s vote (I mean, what’s NOT to like about a Nazi occultist?) and Fenris was less than persuasive in his own praxis claim, so the Kindred of the Domain settled on James as a Prince to lead them back in September.
And I am sure he could do it quite nicely if everyone would just bloody leave him to it for three seconds. But no, he has a constant entourage at all turns, each convinced that their support of the Prince entitles them to constantly ask him for favours, rather in the manner of five year olds who are convinced that Daddy has sweeties. The Invictus are particularly bad for this, with the Ragman in particular feeling that he doesn’t even need to ask his Prince’s permission to speak and instead bounces straight into a conversation to whine that people were assaulting him. One would expect the Invictus to actually to bolster their Prince, not completely undermine him by not so subtly implying that his time is so at their disposal they don’t even have to pretend he's in charge.
Honestly, he just needs to kill someone. That’d sort things out nicely.
Nothing says “keep your distance” like cultivating a dangerous aura of unpredictable murderous urges. Well that or BO, or indeed even the horror that is Arthur Chrandle’s velvet pants, but that’s a thought for another day.
Contactwise, Melbourne’s a nice spot to visit. There’s plenty of people worth calling in on. Nomads in town would be well put to chat to, I’d recommend having a chat to Cerise or Britannia (Invictus and Carthian, respectively) who are both very lovely ladies with the ear (and possible other appendages) of the Prince. Also on the must see list is Karly Finch, the current Seneschal, who manages the neat trick of being JUST bitchy enough to be fun, and Ebon Dante who seems to have his head screwed on nicely.
Talking of screwing, Antonio the Security Chief is a good choice. Well, everyone else has. And he’s terribly good with his … blade. Apparently. Antonio is more the “fixing problems so Kindred feel welcome” than the “smush your head” type, and the Sheriff is Arthur “Don’t look at the pants” Chrandle. The city seems reasonably Nomad friendly, so do rock up. Don’t mess it up for me, though, I’m rather fond of the place.
Other notables? Erich, dear Erich “in my day, we had gas chambers for you” Gruber, is quite my favourite Dragon in the city and adorably megalomaniac at the moment. Well worth talking to, especially if you’re looking for final solutions to your problems. Cronewise, Jay McKenna is good if you can track him down, and a very close friend of mine so don’t get any ideas. Fenris Black is always worth a chat and currently the Harpy, along with Lady Rose Vitelion.
Both Invictus, although, as I mentioned sadly lacking in the balls when it comes to telling the Ragman that he should have been wearing something else. I would have given him a pink tutu, myself. I mean, Fenris Black, lacking in balls. Who’d have thought it?
People will warn you about the Ragman. I'm not convinced. Everyone keeps wittering on that he is somehow hardcore. Surely if he was that fucking hardcore, he would have just staked whoever it was, and presented the body to the Prince to deal with at his leisure, as opposed to mincing up to complain?
But Melbourne likes to complain and discuss and prevaricate and generally pretend that people count. Melbourne’s currently a “young” vampire city, and changing. I’ll be calling in again, to keep an eye on things. And hopefully finding them better organised. It seems odd that Sydney has a Carthian Prince, but an Invictus ethos, but Melbourne seems to suffer from the opposite. Perhaps they should swap.
I can think of a few people who would like that a LOT. Current Mood: bitchy
|Friday, October 5th, 2007|
What I did at Conclave 2007, an essay by Ash, aged lots and a half.
Events over the Sydney gathering were fun - Friday was the opening of the new Elysium in Sydney, and the cream of Kindred society was there. And I do mean cream. Thick, rich and oddly slimy. Pretty quiet apart from the usual politicking and silliness. Finally met Skeffington, a Perth Dragon whose reputation precedes him. It’s deserved. The man, bless him, insulted everyone and everything in the room and made an utter tit of himself socially. People generally avoided him like some sort of particularly virulent plague, possibly one involving pustules and weeping sores. The Dragons had a big pow wow about how mean he was and how he needed to be “dealt with”. Can’t help noticing no one actually offered to do it, though. He roared and shouted and got on everyone’s nerves all weekend.
I adored him. It's always nice to meet someone who makes me look good and he does have a sense of humour. Plus his delusions of grandeur are so much bigger and more entertaining that the normal Kindred smugness. Skeffington LOOMS. There was some sort of incident during the night where an "evil" chair appeared in the building, opposite the Prince's throne. You could tell it was evil because it was black and, you know, appeared. Skeffington sat in it and promptly started acting like a completely arrogant knob. We found it highly amusing that people presumed it was the chair's fault, and some sort of change from the norm.
We being Tommy and I who is really going to have to get some of his baser urges under control. And this is ME saying this.
Saturday was the Invictus party. I use the term party loosely. I heard (okay, I made up) a rumours that we were in the crap bit and there was a huge Invictus party room, complete with disco ball and light up floor, but people were unable to verify this.
The Brisbane contingent were in town, with Stephen being his usual frightening self (terribly good boots though, very nice indeed) and Isabella being pleasantly sociable. I may head back up to visit her, when I’m reasonably confident that Hurricane Huntingdon has moved on and forgotten my existence. Bumped into Fenris. He’s a tad yummy.
The highlights of the my weekend? Chains sticking the bite on me and nearly draining me (do I look like a canape? Seriously? You can tell me.) and then having it made up to me by arranging for a ghoul to feed me. The ghoul brought me a cat. A fucking CAT. What am I on, Weight Watchers?
Lucien has decided I match his outfit (I have the cutest shoes with chains…) and keeps bloody summoning me. I shall have to do… something.
Possibly run away. Sounds like an awesome plan.
Oops. Better let black_jay
out of the basement first. Had to lock him in there to keep him out of trouble. It worked. He never made it to events and he’s still alive. There was a change of Praxis in Melbourne orchestrated at the weekend by Brit, bless her sneaky little socks, and Morrow is in charge now. I know Jay’s pissed at me for attacking him and stuffing him into a cellar for three days, but I really had no choice. He’ll forgive me. I hope. Now he’s safe and sound, and it’s all blown over. He’ll understand.
…oh shit. Current Mood: accomplished
|Tuesday, September 25th, 2007|
A Nomad’s Guide to … who you want to be in charge.
I have said it before and I will say it again – my favourite type of city is an Invictus City. There’s something reassuring about them. Yes, the laws may be somewhat draconian and everyone may have had a sense of humour lobotomy, but at least you know where you stand. And that’s in front of some very scary old bastard with a title, who has better things to deal with right now and would like you to go away please.
Cities are, quite simply, at their safest and most efficient when ruled by Invictus. And this is not, I would like to point out, because the Invictus have a better grasp of the paranoid and anal aspect of kindred nature. It’s not that their reading of the copy of “The Dummy’s Guide to The Prince
” has actually yielded some useful ideas, or that they have better tailors than any other covenant. It’s not even because predators need tough taskmasters and only the Invictus can do that.
No, it’s because the fuckers whinge and pule and throw all their toys out of the pram on a constant basis when one of their lot ISN’T in and generally make life a living bloody hell for everyone else. You see, no else actually cares that much. The Sanctum are generally off being weird, the Crone are having naked fun and the Dragons are too busy complaining that they are spending so much time complaining they don’t have any time for work. The Carthians, bless them, are so used to life in second place that they haven’t the bloody foggiest what to do with a city when they get it. A truly happy and peaceful city will have an Invictus in charge, some Carthians to feel smug about subverting the system from within as Prisci and then everyone else getting on with their thing. The Dragon to be the wallflowers, the Crone to party with and the Lancea so you can someone to leave off the party invite and give yourself the impression that you are being selective. You see? Everyone’s good.
The Invictus rule. This is what they do. This is their raison d'être
and all that. They’ve had rather a lot of practice at it and they really tend to be quite good. There’s a lot to be said for stability when you’re a Nomad. The local residents may be pissed off and downtrodden as all hell, but at least you don’t have to worry about new titles and having to get hospitality off a new Prince when you just nipped out of the domain to get milk. Plus those downtrodden residents? They tend to have uses for the freedom that only a Nomad can offer. I like Invictus cities. All that misery makes me rich.
The Carthians? Argh. I mean, I want to like the Carthians. They tend to be truly great people, have a sense of humour, throw by far the best parties (and, according to anecdotal evidence, are the best in bed. Just sayin’, is all) and are generally a hoot to hang about with but their cities are a damned mess. Kindred don’t like change. You are talking about a group of people who routinely wear the same corset or fluffy fucking shirt every single night for three hundred years (you know who you are, and please, if it’s just that you can’t find a late night dry cleaners, I can advise free of charge) and still haven’t worked out that wearing sunglasses indoors at night makes you look like a prat. Carthian cities tend to be a glorious parade of councils and advisors and title changes and committees and arguing and nothing every bloody gets done. There’s no point making deals, because the deal changes three seconds later when someone else takes over. One second you are talking to the Prince, then they decide that’s too monarchist and demand everyone equal but ranked by knob size and the next thing there’s some law saying that everyone in the city has to be called Bob.
And of course, nothing gets an Invictus pissed like a Carthian city. Drives ‘em NUTS. So you have a bunch of people running about trying to decide night should be compulsory yoga night, and who’s turn it is to bring the dip, and the Invictus whining in the background and sharpening knives. The Invictus won’t rest until they’re back in charge.
Carthians are the Greens of Kindred – you need some about to keep the major parties acting honest and well, but the last thing you want to wake up one morning and discover that they’re in. If they had a cohesive philosophy they would be dangerous. They don’t. You find me a Carthian city that is stable and works – and I’ll show you a bunch of Carthians that rule like the Invictus would.
The other three covenants? Okay, the Dragons claim to never have the time as they are working, the Crone claim to never have the time as they are partying and the Lancea claim to never have the time because they are evil mofos and busy practising their scary face. Hardly helpful. If you’re after creative chaos, it’s all good. If you like to be able to nip outside for a leak and still know who’s in charge and what everyone’s title is when you get back, not so much.
Invictus cities are dangerous places, but there are rules. Sure, one of those rules is “hey, if you didn’t realise you were being used a playing piece, you’re too stupid to live” but at least the rules are there. You can find ‘em, use ‘em, stay alive. And occasionally break them for huge amounts of money or just the sheer fun of it. There’s no place more dangerous when you have a bunch of cranky anally retentive corsetwearing morons than a city in flux. It just makes ‘em cranky. They may not know it, but they want the Invictus in charge.
No really, when it comes to city ruling, you have to hand it to the Invictus. Because otherwise they’ll take it off you, whinging all the way. Current Mood: bitchy
|Tuesday, September 4th, 2007|
And they say that road trips make you nuts.
And sometimes the online scenes make you laugh so hard you end up snorting coffee on the keyboard. I mentioned black_jay rocks, right?
Travelling with Jay is fun, if a little unnerving. It’s the speed with which messages keep hitting me about various praxis changes and bloodhunts involving his close family members that make life interesting. We negotiated the me telling him that his Grandsire Fenris was bloodhunted for his part in a praxis claim that was turning into an Invictus circlejerk quite well.
In other words, I waited until just after dusk when I’m that bit more awake than him and had a stake handy so he didn’t tear off in my damned jeep.
It went well. There was a long moment where he nearly ran off, and then another longer moment where he warned me not to even consider sleeping with any of his relations (would I?) and then we got into a discussion on sanity which can only be reflective on the fact that we are either going insane or have been on the road too long.Jay
: Hey, I’m sane.Me
: You're a CRONE. All the Crone are nuts. In fact, I’d go so far as to say all Crone, Dragons and Lancea are definitely nuts. The other Covenants just probably are.Jay
: I have a point.Jay
: Look, once you accept the basic fact that any group of people who wear sunglasses at night while INDOORS are insane, everything becomes much easier. Even the giant squid attacks become interesting occurrences as opposed to sanity threatening encounters.Jay
: When have I ever worn sunglasses inside... at night?Me
: ... you must have done it. At a gig. While hungover.Jay
: You sure? Do you OWN shades?Jay
: No. No shades.Me
: I do. Bugger. I'm mad. You're sane. This must be why I see the zombie squid.Jay
: Obviously. But I love you anyway.
And with that he takes out shades from his pocket, puts them on and says, in his best rawk and roll voice; “Now, it’s 500 miles to Sydney, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.”Me
: Bastard. I knew you owned shades.Jay
: Nope. These are yours. I stole them from the glovebox.
Bastard. Current Mood: drained
|Thursday, August 2nd, 2007|
A Nomad’s Guide to … Brisbane.
So, you’re new to being a Nomad in Oz and you’re looking for the inside deal from someone who has already been there. You need to know the low down on cities and where it’s safe to hang your hat up for the night, or where it’s more like to have just your desiccated head attached if you try? Well, you’ve come to the right place. You’re thinking of visiting Brisbane? Let me give you a word of advice.
Seriously. It's nuts.
Brisbane is one of those dark places on the map. Ask people in other cities who lives there and you’ll get a shrug. Ask the various covenants who is in charge there and people will look confused.
Ask Lucien a few minutes after your visit to his domain of Perth has coincided with a Giant Squid attack, an attempted Praxis seizure, and twenty hunters chasing a group of thirty stupid Kindred around a hermetically sealed subterranean bunker for seven hours with acid-filled paintballs and he will rather pithily say, “Brisbane deserves you.”
(I still maintain him calling me a Harbinger of Destruction is affectionate. Well, partly affectionate. Look, he hasn’t killed me yet. I’m counting that as ahead of the game.)
Brisbane is half way up the Eastern Coast of Oz, a pleasant stop on the map in the two thousand mile trip between Sydney and Cairns. Drenched in sunlight, but not inclined to the sort of tropical heat that causes your face to melt in the cities further South when Summer arrives.
If I didn’t have an issue with bursting into flames when I try to top up my tan, it’d be getting my vote.
People to watch out for include;
- The Daeva. There’s a family up there called the Styrine, I think, they’re tight and probably pulling all the strings. Vaguely related to the Vitelions, apparently, and I know that the Vitelions are big on being in with the family. They’ll fight like hell internally, but don’t be the stupid sod that gives them something to focus on externally. On that note, notable amongst the Daeva is…
- Steven Huntingdon. He’ll be easy to spot. He has an enormous beast (and no, that’s not a euphemism) and everyone there seems to do his bidding. Understandably enough as he is remarkably entertaining and cute. And nuts. Nuttier than a nut sundae made by the King of Nut People on International Nut Day with extra nuts.
But cute. Did I mention the cute?
He’s a Daeva, probably in charge, and interesting to talk to. He appears to like new shiny people. As canapés or as conversationalists, I have no idea. Probably someone to avoid antagonising or fancying. Add to that list of people to avoid antagonising Isabella, who is probably related to him and was embraced because she, and I am quoting here, “ as an act of kindness as she found dealing with humans too difficult”. She’ll usually be nearby. No real reason, she just has that creepy “I keel you in your sleep” vibe. And a floppy hat.
- Richard Drew. Richard is a good first contact. He seems pleasant, if totally bloody obsessed with how you feel (he’s either a psychiatrist or a bloody journalist for Hello) and generally seems to know what is going on in the city. He is a Mehket, I suppose. Nearby him, you might find the Gangrel child Becky. Literally a child, which is pretty sick, to be honest, but she seems like a pleasant enough thing. Worth watching because a) people always underestimate kids and she hears stuff and b) you know the only reason people embrace innocent looking types. It’s that whole the Antichrist is cute thing. Chances are she’s going to go nova someday and you don’t want to have your back to her when that happens.
It’s the tourism capital of Australia and there are countless guides to the city available wherever you go. All of which are completely frickin’ pointless if you are a vampire. So what you actually need to know about Brisbane is;
1. There’s no Prince. Officially.
2. Any time anyone tries to take Praxis, they have a tendency to have a very nasty accident.
3. This makes getting hospitality a pain in the tits.
The official line is that in order to get accepted in Brissie, everyone has to say you’re welcome. The unofficial line is that if you’re still alive a few minutes after meeting the prominent Daeva family of the city, the Stryne, you’ll be alright. Unless you are Invictus. They seem to dislike them.
Oh, or unless they’re bored. Or cranky. Or peckish. Or you happen to make this mistake of sitting on a chair they like.
But some oddly tasty looking ones.
(These are all my character’s thought on a brief night in Brissie, as she would tell another Nomad, or someone asking that she actually liked. If she disliked them, she’d recommend that they march in there, declare themselves Invictus to get on peoples’ good sides, and then antagonise Stephen, as every hates him.
For a more official version, check their wiki HERE.)
|Wednesday, July 25th, 2007|
A story, as opposed to a diary entry.
“Ash, a chroí, watch the road.”
She’s not listening. Ash currently has her head in the glove compartment and is looking for a tape. Hardly a difficult manoeuvre, unless you are currently doing nearly a hundred miles an hour on a narrow road on a rainy night. And there’s another truck coming.
"...did you say something?” Her head turns for a moment and she grins at him. It’s a huge curious grin, gormless and innocent, and only someone who knows Ash as well as Jay does would be able to spot the fact that she knows full well her driving is terrifying him and is enjoying every moment of it.
Jay goes for his best laconic drawl as he adjusts his shades. It’s a good drawl. His voice is pure smooth Irish rock god. Women have killed to be close to that voice.
Well, tried. Shame they didn’t realise the person they were stabbing was already dead.
“I was just sayin’, sweetheart, that you should be looking out the window. You know, at the road. Where the cars are, like. Can I not get whatever it is you’re after?”
Ash has one hand on the wheel and one in the glove compartment. “I’ll get it myself. You don’t want to know what’s in here. Squishy thing, pointy thing, stake, stake… how the hell did a frickin’ tampon get in here? I mean, it’s not like I need them. One of the few benefits of being undead...”
The truck's lights are getting very big now. And the car is listing towards it. He knows Ash is good, but is she this good?
His fingers have clenched into fists. That truck really is very close now.
Ash is still in the glove compartment. Jay closes his eyes. And misses the very slight twitch of the wheel to spin them just clear of the truck. The truck driver honks, the noise deafening as the jeep clears it’s the huge bullbar by less than a foot. Jay yelps and when he speaks the rock god drawl is gone, replaced by an annoyed Irish snarl.
“Jesus, Ash, would you watch the fuckin’ road? That fucker nearly clipped us!”
Ash looks out the windscreen for a moment. The receding lights of the truck’s make her red hair flame. She looks at him, and in her eyes he sees the steel that very few people have spotted there. She hides it better these days. But it's there.
“I don’t need to watch the fuckin'
road, a chroí. You’re perfectly safe with me
. You, of all people, should know that.”
Jay sighs. She’s still annoyed at him for being in danger. Funny that she’ll put up with her putting his life on the line, but gets snippy whenever someone else gets a look in. Time to up the charm. If she’s not going to play nice…
Jay smiles, and his Daeva charm is irresistible even to a cranky Gangrel. He dazzles her when he wants to, to stop her getting annoyed with him. He knows this. So does she. And lets him anyway. Because being angry at Jay is something she hates even more than the thought he might be in danger.
“I’d prefer if you would occasionally look out the windscreen. That way I get to see your pretty profile, as opposed to the back of your head.”
Ash shrugs, but she’s sitting upright and smiling slightly. Her hand brushes off his as she drops a gear. It’s the closest he’ll get to an apology. Ash settles into her accustomed position in the driving seat, relaxed but alert. The jeep is comfortable and warm and the road stretches out ahead of them.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve done this.”
“You’ve forgotten how well I drive. When was the last time I crashed the car?”
“Well, there was that time we were got attacked the Brood in um, ninety six…oh, and last year...”
“That was deliberate! To blow some of them up.”
Jay presses on. “...and the time in Waterford, when the Prince’s ghouls were on our tail, and that time in London when we walked in on the demons...”
“They were all deliberate! You can’t count using the car as a weapon as crashing. That’s not fair.”
“How about the time at Donnington Festival?”
“Dude, I was stabbed in the neck by a bloody human! One of your jealous ass psycho groupies, might I add. I had to play dead! The silly cow thought she’d killed me. For no reason!”
“Other than saying the only reason I’d ever sleep with her was if my waterbed was punctured and I wanted to ride the waves.”
A smirk from Ash.
“I was just being a good bouncer. Letting things… bounce away. Oh, check out what’s in the back! It’s ace, you’ll just die.”
“I thought the point of this trip was me not dying.” Jay looks at the back seat. It’s hard to see but... oh, bleeding hell...
“Ash, they’re bloody boating flares. FLARES! What the hell have you got them in the back seat for? I thought the plan was no explosions, fire and me dying!”
Ash looks wounded. She always gets upset when people don’t like her toys.
“But they have a slight time delay! So you set just em’ off and throw fast, and anyone they land on frenzies like a little bitch and runs away. Here, let me show you...”
“Ash, darling, we have a long way to go. 2,000 miles across the desert and no bloody petrol stations. Good job we won’t need to drink water. Probably not a good idea to take side trips.”
She looks mutinous.
“...and there could be people after me.”
Less mutinous now, and the jeep speeds up. She might have the attention span of a crack fuelled squirrel, but she can be deceptively single minded when she wants something.
And he knows she wants him alive. More than anything. She’s turned down two contracts for him and rearranged her next month, a big concession for a nomad who needs the money. She won’t mention it, but he knows. And knows that no matter what, she’ll be there on his side. Possibly driving, and probably driving blind. While fishing for her gun in the glove compartment.
She’s the best friend you could wish for. If you can survive it.
Jay sighs. They’ll get there eventually. If he can just get Ash to keep her eyes on the damned road. Current Mood: amused
|Thursday, July 19th, 2007|
|Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007|
Kindred Say The Funniest Things
“Let’s all go hunt an Elder Gangrel?”
I mean, it’s not going to be anyone’s idea of a good night out, really, is it. Ten hours of wandering around the desert in circles, then by a one second moment of “funny, it wasn’t misty earlier” , followed by a quick disembowelling.
Yum. Disembowelling. I mean, where do I sign up?
But it was a Gangrel, and his name was Randall before he went beast-shaped, and I was in Kargoolie and they asked for my help. So I said I would.
Of course, if I’d known it involved hopping on a chopper to Fremantle in Perth city and then running around what has been declared a Mortal Elysia (a fang free zone) I might have been washing my hair that evening. The discussion on the chopper was lively and ranged from how we were going to “rehabilitate” Randall (my suggestion of singing group Kumbaya was somewhat unfairly shot down), to what he had liked when he was a bit more human.
Roses, apparently. Gardening is for crazy people, I have said it before and I will say it again. I mean, the bloody things grow ANYWAY, why do you feel the urge to poke them with a trowel?
It becomes apparent that the cunning plan that twenty varied members of different clans and covenants has come up with is “let’s go in there and GET EATEN
Awesome. Phear the genius of the immortal damned.
Apparently, and I can only say what I have been told here, that Lucian the Governor had been advised and approved the incursion into the zone. It may not be the whole truth and it may not have been the correct process, but by the time I found out where we were going we were landing on a bloody warehouse in Freo under orders to run in and help.
It may help with visualising the description if you are familiar either with the workings of farce or have seen the humorous antics of the noted English comedian, Benny Hill.
We get there, there are twenty Kindred in various stages of dress and excitement milling about. And no Randall. Apparently he has been tracked to the building and his presence can be “felt” there (whether this means blood sympathy or just a highly noxious form of cologne, I don’t know) but he’s not coming out to play.
Would you blame him? Ten people with guns, two mad bikers, people in various forms of fishnet and leather, a bird in a dog collar and me with two boating flares duct-taped on to my spine.
And Sparra, who is the Clan Speaker of the Gangrel here and generally a nice bird but a bit anal on the whole Gangrel thing, urgently wanting to give him a lecture of the nature of the Clan. I would have been earthmelded and DIGGING frankly.
We find a hole in the floor. We go down the hole in the floor. It becomes apparent that we’re in a vast subterranean structure, made of plastic and steel and, and you’re going to love this, airtight. You know how difficult that is? How expensive? I can’t even keep the bloody mould off my leather jacket and these people have a frickin’ bunker the size of a football pitch.
So, we’re trapped in an underground bunker by a smart and wiley and OLD Gangrel. So what do we do?
We split up. And tiny holes start appearing in walls and people start getting shot by acid pellets through openings that seal up straight after the attack. People get angry, people get stupid.
I would describe it, but seriously, just do the Benny Hill music and imagine twenty vampires running around a maze in circles with occasionally popping noises as someone gets seriously wounded. For three hours or so.
Do do dodododododo do do dodo doooo….
At least that way it’s funny.
In reality, a lot of people nearly died. People who couldn’t go all invisible or intangible were in a lot of trouble. I was fine, and managed to seep through a wall that hadn’t been secured properly. Behind it was a regular human being, with a paintball gun armed with acid pellets. That was it. Nothing more.
My one got off lightly. He got a little bit of a nap from bloodloss on the floor. A lot of the other ones died.
We got out eventually, managed to bust the roof, seep out as mist and move enough gear so everyone else could get out. But it was close and nasty.
You know what this says to me? Randall isn’t as beasty as everyone says. He’s smart, and he want to take people down with him. That, wasn’t it bloody convenient that no fangs are allowed in Freo to notice the fact that they were building a damned airproof cave.
I mean, what the hell was wrong with just doing DIY on the house?
Right, Perth in summary. Arrive, watch Ordo fail to catch a bullock in a paddock, chase mad bikers, get chatted up by EVERYONE, discover that’s because they all need to drink vampires and I look tasty, get attacked by Giant Squid, have zombie possum attack me in Karaoke bar, get locked in subterranean bunker for eight hours.
I mean, I’ve been here a MONTH.
Screw this. I’m heading back to Melbourne. Current Mood: cranky
|Saturday, June 27th, 2020|
A note on this community.
Please note, this journal is the IN CHARACTER internal musings of a fictional character, created for a game.
Ash Quinn is a character in the Requiem Live Action Role Playing Game (LARP) game played by the Camarilla, a world-wide voluntary not-for-profit and all that crap society dedicated to running games based in a setting created by White Wolf, who have probably trademarked every second word in my every post. She is a nomad, a wandering vampire that has no set city to live in Australia, and this is the equivalent of her diary.
Ash is not real. I am not really Ash. I am not undead, I don't need blood to survive and I can not (unfortunately) turn into a ball of mist to escape deep in-depth personal conversations.
I’ve decided to create it as a community as it’s easier to post to from my journal. My character may have lots of mental dots, but I have issues remembering passwords. :D If you are a nomad and would like to join up, cool. Let me know. If you have an IC/OOC journal you would like to friend to this, it’s all good.
This is not public knowledge, this is Ash's internal musings. I'd like to keep this journal unlocked, so please remember that anything you read here is OOC or Out Of Character. If this information comes back to bite me in the ass, I will find you and thump you and then friendslock this whole thing. I will try to avoid leaking info on other characters, but if you see something here on one of yours that you'd rather not, just let me know.
Welcome to the World of Darkness, Australian Nomad style.
|Monday, June 25th, 2007|
No one ever believes me when I say wherever I go, things blow up. Everyone has this tendency to assume that I'm being all "beautiful and unique little snowflake" and trying to make my life sound interesting.
Let's look at the facts, shall we? I get to Melbourne, Amador's haven catches fire and then the Black Elysium falls on my damned HEAD. I go to Canberra, some tries to abduct, torture and kill me, and then I get sent to check out a collapsed building that is, you know, STILL ON FIRE. No matter where I go, three minutes later it all goes pear-shaped and explodey.
But I swear to God, Western Australia takes the biscuit. Seriously, first off I get rotting zombie possums plummeting through the roof in Kalgoorlie and then giant squid try and muscle in on my dates. They have some seriously overly-amorous and repulsive wildlife here, you know that?
It's after a big Carthian gathering on Saturday, and I'm out on a boat - don't ask me where I got the boat - with a Gangrel musician bloke called Rip - don't ask me what I'm doing with Rip - and there's a commotion on deck. Kinda sounds like chanting, a nasty sorta repetitive sound. Not an ice-cream van jingle, you know? So, by the time we get up to the deck whoever was singing is gone (there's a plop off the deck but I can't see what made it, so I'm thinking obfuss… obuss… obfuck… that vanishing trick the Mehket & Nos do) but the boat is held completely fast and there's a whole tentacle thing going on. I get Rip to make a swim for land as he's in more trouble than I am when things go a bit Hentai and I stay there as bait and crash about the boat a bit getting it to try and attack me while I make a lot of noise (which was pretty easy, it was seriously gross, I mean we're talking huge tentacles with suckers and claws growing out of the suckers) and then I go all ball of mist shaped just as it completely crushes the boat and tries to do the old tentacle porn thing to me.
So yeah, my love life continues disastrous. I mean, seriously. People summoning GIANT FRICKIN' SQUID to eat me is a new low. I'm guessing whoever summoned this thing was after Rip, not me, or else they were just going for random casualties. He was the one who was in a far worse position that me as I can, you know, turn into a ball of frickin' MIST, and I have been remarkably public about that. Anyway, I haven't been here long enough to make that many enemies.
As regards the Kraken / Giant Squid / Calimari Dinner for Forty or whatever you want to call it, the Dragons have take an interest, which is good. Hopefully it will distract them from whatever this bizarre issue they have with abducting cattle is. (Aliens abducting your cows? Unlikely. Ordo Dracul nicking them? You bet.) Presuming, of course, I survive helping out with hunting down Randall. What a fricking' vacation. Two weeks chasing bikers round Kargoolie, one dead bullock, two undead possums and tentacle porn.
And after that, a hot date on the water. So romantic. Just the ten of us, a giant squid and a mighty exploding harpoon. And mighty exploding harpoon isn't even a bloody euphomism.
Wow. My taste in holidays SUCK.
Carthian Poker Night tomorrow apparently. Eeek. They wouldn't play STRIP poker, would they? If that happens, I might have to claw out my own eyes and that's REALLY BLOODY PAINFULL when you're a Gangrel.