2020-07-16 Malkavian Sensation

Malkavian Sensation

Participants: Suelo, Bette, Elizabeth, Karner, Lunette, Hal, Shelly, Sveta, Zebastian

Storyteller: Sveta

Location: The Sprawl

Date and Time: July 16th, 2020 - 23:00

Summary: Initial Malkavian meeting, Take II: The Clan Gets Together

Mood Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=If0qwr_DrC4

       Some undead might be familiar with the Sprawl as a sort of neutral ground of bloodsucker territory. The warehouse turned DIY venue isn't known for being a nexus of power in any respect: its activist roots are anemic at best and any development ventures that may lead to promising investments have been subject to chronically bad luck.
       As such, the place persists as a grungy vacuum of political power, adjacent to downtown LA. Or it has, until two or three months ago when it was "claimed" as a haven by one snot nosed Eastern European neonate transplant.
       That transplant may be known to some of the leeches as Svetlana Serova, recently named Whip to clan Malkavian, and been personally asked to attend this evening's gathering of the defects by her - but to others, the call to assemble may have been delivered by other means.
       A text from a friend, an errant note dropped in a mailbox, or by whispers through the madness network are all viable reasons to have wound through the Sprawl's main, cavernous "ballroom", through the garbage-dump of the walled-in backyard, and into the stopgap Elysium of the converted storage unit.
       Inside, white sage and sandalwood incense smoulder on errant flat surfaces. The smoke filters up toward the ceiling and through the room's dim overhead illumination. Fuzzy electropunk buzzes out of errant speakers, low enough to not be too distressing to those with sensory conditions, but loud enough to provide ambiance.
       The Sprawl itself is remarkably quiet this evening. No shows, no parties, and most of the kine that one is liable to encounter on their way in are residents primarily minding their own business: reading, lounging, socializing, or smoking.
       The Malkavian Primogen, Beau, or Suelo, sits by the entrance to the storage unit with a clipboard, greeting those who arrive with a scrying eye and his benevolently aloof nature.

***

       Elizabeth and Lunette arrived early, the former dressed in a pale-white dress. Modern made but from an old fashioned design circa 1920's. The Malkavian has scrounged up an old fire axe that Sveta has kept lying around and it rests on her lap as she casually sits on one of the sofas. A dull smirk rests on her thin lips as she stares off into space, deep in thought.

***

   Bette has decided this evening to ignore the location and arrive to the storage unit dressed... well as one might be appropriate for a red carpet event; an elegant white silk gown with golden embroidery, white elbow length gloves, high heels, hair in a perfect updo. She looks over Beau with a forced smile when she arrives as if her own attire isn't just as outrageously out of place. "Good evening." She greets with all the politeness she can muster before she heads on inside, nodding politely to everyone gathered. "Good evening."

***

       There on the cushion next to Elizabeth sits Lunette, who has her purse tucked to her side. She's glancing around with a 'where the hell am I' sort of look in her eyes, and she occasionally glances to Liz. Tonight she is dressed in a long-sleeved, white crochet dress that reaches below her knees. The pattern of the knitting allows for her pale skin to be seen beneath in the arm, thigh and midsection areas. She wears matching white heels, and her hair is down and curled, with some pulled back.

***

       Karner Blue has been here before, so it isn't hard to find again. His ghoul is not in tow tonight, alas -- no doubt out there soothing some actress' lawsuit, picking up some outrageous request of his, or looking over call sheets for tomorrow. He is dressed in a black blazer over a gray mock turtleneck, paired with subtly distressed black jeans and Chelsea boots. Around his neck is an enormous platinum pendant hanging from a chain: an eye with a blue iris made from various precious gems. He also has on a pair of small, round translucent glasses tinted the same blue as the pendant, and a pair of black fingerless leather driving gloves.
       He greets Suelo at the entrance with a slight smile and a quip or two, claiming a beat-up leather loveseat for himself that happens to be placed next to Elizabeth's and Lunette's couch. The two of them and Bette all get a little finger-waggle from the director, and the latter a greeting to boot. "Good evening, Miss Bennet. Looking ravishing, as usual." He scooches aside a bit, patting the seat next to him. "Care to sit?"

***

   Shelly might blends right in with the grungy location, combat boots and flannels and all. She gives a nod to Beau as she joins the queue to get in and once into the storage unit, snags one of those bean bags for her own seat.

***

        The Primogen is indeed seated just outside the entrance with his ass parked on a double tall stack of two milk crates. The clipboard he has is smudged with filth and has no apparent paper tacked to it... nor does he carry a pen. Still, he refers to the blank board with an air of importance as people pass him on their way inside. "Mmmhm." A few faces get a second look but none of them seem to break the dopey grin which persists during this portion of the evening. As the storage unit fill up, he lingers on the outside as if to keep an eye on the comings and goings of everyone gathered here tonight.

***

   In Walks Zebastian: dressed in thin black waxy jeans cuffed over some paratrooper boots, and a frayed white longe-sleeved-shirt with some distressed image of various grinning mouths with 'Enfants Riches Deprimes' written above. It looks like it's been through a shredder and probably costs enough to make one's eyes bleed.  After steppin' in and taking stock of the place, the Norewgian kid shrugs out of an oversized faux-fur leopard print overcoat, which is promptly handed to a young woman with a complicated haircut; Mae steps off to the side, giving Zeb space to do whatever. Fucking Westsider's, man.
    
   "Fuckin' a!" Zebastian's hands clap together, then promptly go to his hips as he does a little ocular patdown of those gathered --- giving Karner a wink behind his own rose-tinted shades, before a head bops to Beau, Bette, and Elizabeth in turn --- then the kid makes an exaggerated peed around, hand lifted as if to sheild some light that's not really dazzling his eyes; calling out in that melodic Scandi accent; "Sveta! Where are you? You set us up? A //few// people, =really=? I am sure, yes? English has a better numerical system than 'one, two, many, lots, few...'"
    
   Fucking Westsider's, man.

***

       Svetlana Serova sits inside. She's perched atop one of the gathering space's inward-facing couches, ass on the top of the backrest, feet on the cushions, oriented with her back to the wall and her attention on the door. She's dressed in layers tonight, all black: leather jacket, asymmetrical cut, atop a fishnet top, cropped at the sternum, atop a bralette. A leather choker is strapped around her neck, secured in place with a flush O-ring. Her lips are painted black, and her thick eyeliner, of course, matches. Skintight jeans are secured to her hips with a thin, spiked leather belt, and cuffed over her usual, and perhaps only, pair of combat boots. Her nails are a smoky burgundy and her hair's been slicked back with a bit of product.
       She smokes a purple-papered clove cigarette as the undead filter their way in, watching them with keen interest and only little nods of acknowledgement as she's greeted, or not.
       A little grin is flashed toward Zebastian, crooked, at his theatrical expression of seemed-faux dismay. "And here I thought this would be difficult to assemble - think that is everyone, Suelo. For now." There's a little noise in the back of her throat. "And I think everyone here is more or less familiar with one another. On the off chance you are not, eh why don't we have brief introduction, da? Little circle around the campfire, to avoid bruised egos and teary eyes, before we get into the meat of things." She points toward Elizabeth.
       "Could you start us off, One-or-the-Other?"

***

   Bette's smile brighens when she sees Karner and she heads his way, pausing to do a little turn to show off her tall, curvy form in it's evening attire. "I would love to, thank you Mr. Blue. It's a delight to see you this evening, remind me that I have something to speak with you about when family matters are attended to." She manages a nod to Zebastian as she settles down beside Karner. "I am glad to see everyone's hale and healthy."

***

       Elizabeth tilts her head slowly as Zebastian's antics begin in earnest and her previously distant gaze settles in to watch. The curve of her smile widens and grows crooked as she listens while a small, musical giggle emits from her when the man calls for Sveta. She hushes quickly when the Whip speaks while keeping her gaze focused on the Norwegian and she only looks away when Sveta addresses her at the end.
       "One-or-the-Other. Lulu, write... that... down..." Elizabeth says in a sultry and playful voice. The enchanting quality of her voice is further mixed with a Boston accent, North Shore for those familiar with the region. The woman lifts the fire axe from her lap and rests it against her shoulder as she rises from the sofa and she carries it with as she moves toward the center of the seating area.
       "Oh, what lovely lunatics we have here tonight. Serova you should be -proud-. Hello, everyone. -I- don't have a proper name though some of you know me as Elizabeth Tanner. Funny girl with the thing with the social cues?" Playful pout. "Cat's out of the bag, I guess. I'm the 'Other',"
   Bette's attention slides away from her defacto date who appears to be Karner, "I'm Miss Bette Bennet." She notes, "Miss Bennet is fine."

***

       Karner gives Zebastian a vaguely interested, two-fingered salute from the forehead, crossing his legs as he scooches over a bit more for Bette. "Moi? But of course, Miss Bennet. Whenever you'd like." He puts a splayed hand on his chest, but then directs his attention to Sveta as she actually begins the meeting. Then he's well-behaved, relatively speaking, his blue-tinted amber eyes turning to watch Elizabeth and Lunette as they start the party off, seeming very amused by Elizabeth's introduction.
       When his turn comes, eventually, he straightens his lapels and also strides to the center of the room with the air of someone wishing he had a megaphone handy so he could do a little, well. Directing. He speaks with a Transatlantic lilt, like Orson Welles or FDR or any number of mid-century educated types. "Karner Blue, affiliated with the Hollywood Anarchs. Much obliged, et cetera, et cetera." Sounding more bored than anything, he goes to take his place again next to Bette.

***

   Shelly picks up a pillow to lob Zebastian-wards as the new arrival starts complaining about numbers. It may fall a bit short as pillows large enough to double as a seat aren't the most aerodynamic thing. "You try organizing more of us than can be counted on one hand and see if you'll have an accurate number of how many show up in three days. I'm Shelly." The Deputy doesn't even bother providing a last name. Or her full first name even.

***

       Lunette's posture stiffens slightly as she scoots a smidge closer to the edge of the couch cushion, wiggling little by little until she's barely on it. There's a momentary glance cast back over her left shoulder to eye the spot where she had been sitting, but it's back to staring forward soon enough. She moves her hands to rest them upon her lap once situated, and she crosses her ankles and presses her knees together while looking over those within the room. The way she looks over each individual is as if she was trying to remember every detail about them that she possibly could.
       When addressed by Liz, Lunette glances to her purse and reaches down into it so she can pull a small notepad and a pen from it. Click goes the pen, and she starts to write, keeping her gaze down until she hears Liz speaking. She pauses to listen, study the woman, narrow her gaze just slightly, and then it's back to the note-taking. "Lunette Faucher," she offers as she scribbles quickly. "I work with Elizabeth," she explains.

***

   A little half-crescent grin from Zebastian is flashed back at Sveta, though he keeps that melodic motor-mouth of his shut, well, for a few moments at least. The idea of 'introductions'  has him tilting his head to the side, hands still on his hips.
    
   Like, what?
    
   A speedy glimpse from Elizabeth to her axe to Bette to Karner to Elizabeth's axe to--- oh there's a pillow from Shelley. The Westsider ophs and side-steps the throw, as if worried the Sprawl's soft furnishings might tarnish his jeans. To Shelly? A little tongue is presented in reply. Just for a second. Get's the motor mouth revved. He can barely wait for Lunette to finish before he's chattering off an intro.
    
   "Zebastian Oygard -- if you know, you know; and if you don't know? Come play in Westside; post-life's a beach." With this, Zeb gives a little salute, then mmms with a half-smile and muses the side of his hair lazily -- languidly -- looping a lock around his finger as he turns, and his other hand gestures airily. "Quick question: what's with the axe? Is this... An American thing? Like a hatchet burial reversal, or?..."

***

        Hal watches on in a trepidatious gleam as people introduce themselves here and there, waiting, it seems, for the proper time in which he can present himself. Vaguely awe-struck, and with that lethargic vision of his parting to a semi-wide eyeing of the proceedings, he makes a quick step forward, inclining his head towards all those who happen to be in attendance before abruptly clearing his throat and readjusting the steel-cased watch strapped to his right wrist. Taking a brief stock of the time, Hal states clearly: "Hal Mann, a defense attorney. A pleasure to meet you all."
    

***

       Sveta smokes and sits silently as one by one, all of the undead share as much or as little of their names, titles, and affiliations as they care to.
       She ashes off to the side from time to time, and doesn't bother pulling the smoke from her clove into her lungs: she takes short little puffs into her mouth, gaze hopping to and fro as the various kindred speak up. Once most-everyone's made themselves apparent, Svetlana drapes a hand toward Beau, lurking in the periphery like the cellophane man he is.
       "Elusive nomad, prophetic entity, and refuse connoisseur, Primogen Beau." Her hand then comes to her own chest, lightly tapping her sternum.
       "Sveta. Whip." She answers for Elizabeth, even if the deputy comes up with her own answer for the axe.
       "You would have to ask Freud's ghost. We can speak to the necromancers for solid arrangements." Then, she flicks her cigarette butt aside and lists backward, so she can stand behind the couch she'd been crows' nesting upon.
       "I suppose the first thing I want to make clear is I have no interest in political affiliation. You all seem like a disaffected bunch already, so I don't think this will be an issue, but if I'm to bring us all in one place, I don't do it lightly, and certainly not to prosthelytize my particular flavor of parasitic decorum. Nyet. Today, we are here to talk about existential threats." A pause here. Sveta runs her tongue along her incisors, considering the best way to phrase her words.
       "The Sword of Caine is upon us. As it stands, we, as a city, are likely to suffer their brand of asymmetric warfare to grevious effect. Beau, and The Other -" She nods to Elizabeth, "Have seen this already in the noosphere, and it has already made an unmistakable impact upon our Praxis, whether you partake in the nomenclature or not. Unification is required to defeat the Wave."

***

        Beau never bothered to enter the storage unit but at the mention of his introduction, he glances over his shoulder and leans into the unit far enough to wave and quip out a cherry, "Pleasure to meet everyone... you're all the future." Oddly, he shifts back around as if his main focus were on the exterior of the meeting and not the interior.

***

       Elizabeth arches a brow as Karner joins her in the middle of the seating area and she flashes him a wicked little smile before turning her attention toward the others as each introduce themselves in turn. Lunette gets a lingering look as the woman mentions the name 'Elizabeth'.

***

       Zebastian's question has her holding the fire axe out and glancing at it. "Oh -this-? Don't you worry, my handsome little Anarch friend. It just helps me feel imposing. I wouldn't dare hurt a fly's pretty little head. Spare Freud's ghost the questioning."
       The boney woman in the pale-white dress pauses for a moment as she scans the room. "Lasombra... Shadows... and Darkness. That is what we face. Prince Violeta Madelena Altamirana fell to their schemes. My vision told me that more will fall next." 'Elizabeth' starts to pace back toward the sofa where Lunette still sits. "The Nosferatu Crawley. Bita Sasani. Myself. Others, too, and then finally... Summer Hastings. We do not know when. We do not know how. We do know there is truth to these riddles. Crawley and Hastings both have already corroborated what I saw in my fever dream."

***

       Karner, usually a pointless smoker ala Sveta, hasn't bothered to light up this evening. Legs still crossed, half-gloved fingers splayed thoughtfully across his chin and lips -- now sitting back down along the wall with Bette, mind -- his eyebrows go up as Sveta bluntly details the nature of the threat facing them all. His gaze moves from Beau and then to Elizabeth, settling on the latter as she speaks. He frowns at the mention of Summer's name, lips turning down at the corners just a touch.

***

       Lunette's chin lowers slightly as she meets that look from Liz, and as her head waggles just slightly she mouth/whispers, "Ms. Tanner.." before she looks away and back down to her pad of paper. The top sheet is flipped over and she continues to write, though she does pause once when hearing Liz moving closer. It continues soon enough, note after note.

***

   Zebastian has not taken a seat. Not even Elizabeth's flattery has subdued his spirit. With the way the kid paces? Ain't take a psychiatrist to reckon he's either hopped up on some adderall addled UCLA graduate, or on some kinda manic upswing. ...unless, is he anxious about something? The fire axe mystery --- or the Sword of Caine?
    
   It's no Secret: those who know? Know Zeb was present during the War for L.A. back in the early aughts. Just a little Anarch neonate or whatever -- but midnight tussles with Shovelheads and  War Ghouls certainly make one grow up quick.
    
   A ludicrously expensive albeit down-at-heel boot kicks at the concrete floor, and Zebastian spits after Sveta speaks. Well, he would spit if there was spit -- as it stands, he just makes a kind of damp hiss, nose wrinkled with disdain. A quick speed-scan of Shelly, Karner, Bette, Lunette and the others -- then Zeb looks to Beau, Elizabeth, Her 'don't-worry-about-it' Axe, keeps his trap shut long enough to listen and then some. That look, behind rose tinted shades? Would be apologetic, if he weren't so piercingly invested in obviously wanting to hear more.

***

   "I think she gave her father 40 whacks. But unless you're his ghost, you should be fine..." Shelly loudly stage-whispers towards Zebastian but when conversation turns to the matter at hand, like a flip of a switch her goofy grin is gone. All serious and posture somehow excellent despite the bean bag seat. "It's probably wise to assume 'soon' given recent events and duplicated visions."

***

        Beau takes to his feet and ambles the step or two into the doorway of the storage unit with his arms folded over the clipboard he's clasping. "I made a prediction myself, some weeks back... 32 was it?" Beau glances to Sveta absently for confirmation, "Nah, now, now was it 38? 38 days until we have a Sabbat attack? Now, I didn't see nothing about darkness and Lasombra but an hourglass and a calendar can meet a lot of things to the wrong person." Nod. Then glancing back to Liz he asks, "So they took your warnings seriously?"

***

        Hal inhales a soft beat of air, then runs his tongue across his bottom lip in a slow thinking sweep. Reaching into the depths of one of his pockets, a small, quadrilateral metal box of dark, corroded iron is produced. Flicking open the lid with a *click*, the lawyer pivots around on the heel of his drees shoe and traps a cigarette between his molars, chewing on it languidly as its black, unlit end swivels from the right to left side of his teeth. He busies himself with a needless polishing of the buttons of his waistcoat with a thumb, listening to all that is being said without injecting himself into the conversation.

***

       Elizabeth reaches the sofa where Lunette sits and hugs the fire axe close to her body with one hand while she bends over and snatches Lunette's notebook with her other. The notebook is sent flying across the room and then the Malkavian is standing straight and turning away again.
       "Forty-one, Shelly. She gave her father forty-one." Elizabeth calls out as she saunters back toward the center of the room. Beau's words have her stopping in place, eyes wide and face filled with curiosity and wonder. "Weeks ago, right? Your vision? As for them taking mine seriously?" She starts to giggle again. The axe handle is taken with both hands and she hefts it up before giving it a playful wave. "-Why wouldn't they?!-"

***

       Sveta bobs her head along with Elizabeth's words, although she notes:
       "29 now, Suelo. I have personally visited their forward operating base South of the city limits. Well fortified, coiled like a tiger in the bush. They're preparing. The prince's assassination was a test of our resolve, of our inertia-ridden response and to soften us up, turn us inward to deal with hierarchy and infighting. While I can't speak to the full detail of efforts being devised to counter them, I am not one to bank on the first strike against the Sword being a decisive victory from which we all retire to suck our blood dolls in peace." The Whip sucks her teeth and clasps her hands behind her back. She digresses somewhat:
       "Malkav's children have a role in undead society that causes me mild chagrin," Sveta drawls. "A punchline at best, an enemy borne of distrust at worst, I can't say that I haven't fantasized about my sire having a fascination with art, or a mild temper, instead of full blown mental disorder. Our position to peel back the veil and divine the entrails of reality is selling our usefulness short. I am not beholden to stereotype, and I trust you all share this sentiment. So, while the primary directive I wished to disseminate in this meeting is: 'keep your eyes open, listen to the noosphere, and do not fear your tongue outrunning your head', the secondary is this: the war is already upon us, and I desire our blood to be a weapon built to parry the Sword."

***

       Lunette's pad is taken mid-note, and it leaves her holding her pen as she sits perched on the edge of the couch. Her posture goes rigid once more and her fists clench tightly, perhaps a bit too tightly, for her pen snaps softly and leaks its contents over her right palm. Her jaw sets and her lips pinch together as she digs feverishly through her purse with her clean hand, soon yanking out a small packet of wipes so she can get to cleaning her other hand. She keeps quiet.

***

        Beau look wholly unbothered by the majority of the conversation and he maintains his comfortable grin as Sveta corrects him on the count down, "That sounds right, twenty nine." He nods with a soft smile and glances back to Liz without any worry as he explains, "I told the council at the last Primogen meeting that the Prince wasn't ever planning on waking up again but the lot of them still decided to err on the side of hope. Foolish notion, that is, hope is for humans... and the occasional romantic comedy. But in the end, we can't count on hope to lead us through these nights and mount a defense against the tide of war for this city. I told Crawley, last we spoke, you can't hold back the tide... only surf upon it." Beau nods once, seeming to accept all of it in stride as he off handedly admit, "They rarely listen to me, I wondered if you were up against the same. Is all."

***

       Elizabeth fails to notice Lunette's reaction to the taking of her notepad as her gaze never left Beau. She stares at the Malkavian Primogen even as she listened to all of Sveta's speech. Only when both the Whip and Primogen have finished speaking does she dare continues. "There's riddles and signs all around us, my lovely friends. Maybe you see them every day. Maybe you stifle them in a desperate attempt to control your own reality. Either way, we need your sight now."
       Elizabeth lets her 'axe' arm drop downward which causes the fire axe's metallic blade to thud against the floor. "My dear Primogen, I think they -did- believe you. Either way, something about the details of my vision matched their own cleverly snatched intelligence. A dangerous Lasombra is coming soon. This... Dusty... is just the start."

***

   "As for preparations, House Tremere is working on warded safehouses. I was told one will be provided for our clan and the Roses as well. Separate houses," Shelly clarifies, both hands held well apart as if to demonstrate said distance. "An option if one feels they should need it. I however intend to dig up what information I can, not hide away and wait for all trouble to pass. But do so carefully, smartly..." She taps at her temple. "Not all mad. Not all the time anyways."

***

       Listening to everyone in turn, smirking a little as Elizabeth hefts the axe -- and he's watching it, yes, even Lunatics don't usually want to get beheaded in the middle of a meeting -- Karner nods slowly as Sveta encourages them all to look, listen, and speak, after a fashion. As the Tower Malkavians continue to provide their intel, he nods as Shelly taps her temple. "Our Clan's so-called weaknesses can only be benefits to us now." It's basically what the others have been saying. Karner, apparently, agrees.

***

   There's a visible cringe from Zebastian, after Hal gets himself a cigarette from that complicated container -- like either a precognitive reaction to potential flame, or just evidence of the kid really hating cigarettes. Who can say; he's been in Cali for a long while, probably has a preferences for raw-juice cleansed vegan yoga teachers who've never even dreamed of smoking.
    
   The 41-whack-axe concerns seems to have been pushed from Zebastian's mind, although the pacing doesn't stoop -- attention pivoting from Elizabeth and Beau, then back over to Sveta as she speaks. A pale hand raises to adjust his rose-tinted shades, then stroke at the side of his jaw. '29 nights'. Contemplative. Fidgety, but unrushed. No move to interrupt the explanation of the primary directives... But the mention of weaponry? On some complicated shit about Cam politics that the Anarch might not be privy to? The mention of safehosues? Zeb squints.
    
   "Right on, comrades -- but lay it on us; if you're saying, and please, don't take this the wrong way, that your Council are, how do you say? Ah, restraining enthusiasm towards your very generous visions - whether they like them or not, they are valuable, no?" Zeb's eyebrows raise over the rims of his tinted shades, and he gestures with a hand, "So how are you planning on making sure the weapon - however you wish to construct it, and do share - won't be squandered? Look, now, you all know how friendly we are, yes? We'd love for you to party with us --- but a safehouse is safe as houses for whoever House Tremere feels is safe - so, if battle boys like myself wanna take up a position on the front line, and you're asking for it ... well, to what end? What'cha envision doing with empty casings, once the bullet's fired?" Zeb's hand's raise, empty palms exposed. "No insult, of course, comrades, of course -- we are just spitballing, yes?"

***

   "I also told the Nosferatu Primogen that we would be in contact via the rats and the birds, because if anyone is apt to hear when trouble sinks into a city first? It is us and those precious Morlocks. We talk --" Beau's pet name for the Nosferatu isn't exactly conventional but it is catchy! The Primogen looks nonplussed by all the insight and he blinks absently a few times as he follows the flow of conversation around the room with an emptiness in his eyes that belies the intelligence in his words, "I got a letter about the offer of a safehouse, seems Tremere is charging the other clans a boon but we register as in Good Standing with them." Beau nods, lets a dry chuckle leak out and he quips, "I admit, I got a good laugh outta that one. Wizard jokes." He shakes his head with a nostalgic sigh and continues onward without missing a single deadpan beat, "Do we need weapons? I know a few guys."

***

       Lunette remains quiet in her seat, scrubbing away at her right hand and using a new wet wipe when she needs to.

***

        Hal appears pretty content with gently mashing the cigarette's bridge into a squished, wetted paper wrapping of clumped tobacco. There really isn't much to say. Nothing to argue for or about, nothing to object to, not even a hanging question in his mind. His very silence is his agreement. There is the occasional lift of his eyes towards the Primogen and the others in order to show that he is indeed still paying attention.

***

       Elizabeth drags the axe head along the floor as she once again paces back toward Lunette's sofa. "Svetlana keeps a few blades and things by her bed but don't you dare ask me how -I- know that." She breaks into a fit of giggles that last until she's reaching the sofa and then she is dropping the fire axe to the floor with a 'clunk' and crouching down in front of the ghoul. Quiet words are whispered to Lunette while Elizabeth tilts her ear toward the crowd.

***

   Shelly shrugs as some voice the not-unexpected-suspicion of Warlock offers. "It's an option. Not like anybody's gonna drag you out and toss you into hiding place against your will." As for Beau's mention of needing weapons, she nods. "I'd probably be better off picking things off from afar. But all I got is..." She holds up two not very intimidating at the moment fists.

***

       Karner tilts his head, observing Zebastian with an amused look -- eyes half-lidded, one eyebrow expertly arched. "One assumes that, since this involves all our Clan, those of us not climbing the Tower are protected, at least in this matter, via the efforts of the Camarilla. That was the assumption I made, anyway, based on the fact that we're here at all, privy and listening. The Tower is perfectly capable of shutting us out when they want to, after all."

***

       "The Council will listen," Sveta says flatly. Of this, she seems certain. "They have an ear for my input, be it delivered across the table or not. As for your other concerns, Zebastian, I share your distrust of the Tremere," she says this unapologetically.
       "And they're well aware of it. As Beau said, they have offered us warding. I will not be warding the Sprawl. It would require submission of our blood for whitelist, and I'm sure none of us are particularly inclined to hand it off to them. Speak now if this is not true -" A pause for input.
       "Otherwise, If the Sword wishes to fall here, I will be the first to greet them at the door. Beau, if you could attain weapons and convince the Tremere to ward offensively, rather than defensively, our cousins could do with an arsenal of weapons built for purpose." She opens her mouth to say something further, then casts not-Elizabeth a sidelong look. After a moment, she considers addressing Zebastian's latter concerns.
       "Spent casings are evidence for the victors to worry about. As I said, this threat is existential, but your involvement, individually, is voluntary. This is not working for the Tower. This is working to counter the inexorable turn of Jyhad against your life, your way of being, and your city. Will it earn you a boon? No. Will it earn you the capability to appreciate a boon past a certain date? Da. It will. Assuming we burn them to the fucking ground."

***

        Beau raises a single finger, he is still standing in the doorway but he unfolds his arms long enough to point upward as something occurs to him, "Here's a thought? How many people here, I know we have a few Anarchs among us... how many of you know hide or hare concerning the Southside Anarchs that allegedly attacked Bita? I wasn't there for that one and I haven't had any particular insight but something did seem odd about it all to me. I was wondering if maybe these group were actually Sabbat? Just a hunch though, a cold fishy hunch." A pause and he adds off handedly, "Oh, gross, no, I don't want the Tremere wards on anywhere I sleep, but the offer still stands. I suppose, offensively is better than nothing. How do offensive ward work? I don't understand magic.." A beat and then decisively, softly, "I'll ask someone with a wand."

***

       Elizabeth remains crouched in front of Lunette and she reaches out to fuss with some detail of the woman's pretty white dress. "Primogen Suelo. It's no secret to some on the council that I have a source of information among the Southside Anarchs. Someone high up." She glances over her shoulder at him and smiles radiantly. "From them were only rumors and claims, but no known first hand witnesses. My handsome lunatic, I think you might be on to something." Her brow arches and she rests her hand on Lunette's knee and uses it as she rises to her feet. "That would mean Crawley may be next and then... me." Playful gasp. "-Oh no-."

***

       When Elizabeth lowers down in front of her, Lunette pauses the furious rubbing at her palm so she may focus on the woman, even if she doesn't look at her. Those red lips remain pressed tightly together, though they start to relax as if forced to a moment later. She cuts her gaze to the side to stare at something for a moment before she offers, "And should anyone need something checked out during the day, please let me know."

***

   "..." Zebastian turns and squints at Shelly --- his mouth opening just a little, as if he is Not Convinced that Warlocks aren't gonna come steal his precious bodily fluids and lock him away in some subterranean anti-tower for indefinite periods of time, but before he can voice any of that dissent, Karner is speaking. He looks to Mr. Hollywood, and he laughs - hand pressed to the side of his face, "C'mon, Gramps; assumptions make..." He trails off. Karner will get it, or he won't.
    
   Zeb turns to Sveta now, and his lips? Zipped. He rubs at the side of his head, fingers musing up that luxurious black metal ready hair of his.There is some fast but deep consideration to the mention of the Jyhad as it applies to his partyboi lifestyle... And Zebastian nods in acknowledgement. "Da. Surviving immolation does, how you say... Till the fields for generous future harvests."
    
   Lips twist as he falls back into silent musings, turning after a few phantom heartbeats to look over to Beau and listen. Another beat, and he admits with a rather somber, contemplative look, "...We do not favour the Southside, in the slightest - but Sabbat? Now that is a curious consideration. More insight needed." A beat, and he turns to look at Elizabeth. "What does your inside man say, about their machinations? You reckon they're gonna pull a pincer attack, twenty-eight nights from now?"

***

   Shelly is as lost as anybody else with actual magic things and just gives a shrug. "There was also some mention of warded weapons. Perhaps that would be preferable than warded building needing our own blood." She's certainly not volunteering her own blood either! "I hear there was trouble out in Glendale last night. The moving too fast, not clearly caught on film, shot too many times and kept running trouble. Haven't had time to look further into that yet..."

***

        Beau hms as he glances between Liz and Zeb, and he seems to clarify, "I think she's saying, her Anarchs don't know nothing about what happened to Bita.. which means, it looks like it wasn't really Southside Anarchs that mounted the attack. Curiouser and curiouser." Beau wraps his knuckle once or twice against the clipboard, "I should probably tell the rest of the council." Afterwards, he turns to listen to Shelly and the mentions of warded weapons causes both brows on his dopey face to loft up with a hm. "Glendale? Interesting."

***

       Elizabeth raises her arm and points a skinny finger at Beau before she says, "The friendly clown is correct, though I hardly considered that thought until now. Elizabeth and I chalked it up to disorganization at first, though Skelter is hardly disorganized. The Southside wants something from us, six 'things' or so I hear, but they aren't interested in making war."
       She lowers her arm and gestures beside her toward Lunette, "My lovely little Lulu here, isn't she so pretty in white? Well, she's been busy gathering intel on the Southside Crips for me. See if they're staging to move on the gangs Downtown or along the Westside, right Lulu? That would be a first sign of their handler's plans to make a move on us."

***

       Sveta bobs her head at Beau's words, then affords Zebastian a faint smile when he comes around. She glances between not-Elizabeth and the Norwegian, and raises her chin when Shelly mentions Glendale, although she doesn't offer comment.
       What she does do, however, is step to a side table and grab a clipboard. She drops it on a table central to the inward facing couches.
       "This is, more or less, the extent of what I had to say this evening. If I don't have your number, put it here. Trade them amongst yourselves as well. We need effective lines of communication. If you don't have a phone, we'll work something out. I think I have burner or two in the basement - prepaid. I have no doubt that further information, directives, and advisories will be forthcoming. Spasibo, all - for coming this evening. For humoring me. Besides..."
       The whip wets her lips and wrenches a grin across her face.
       "This might even stand to be fun."
    
   <OOC> Sveta says, "We're probably going to wind down now, but don't feel like you have to stop. I wanted to get the clan together and make sure all the new arrivals are looped in and have points of contact for RP."