2021-07-23 Zavarka Memorial Event

Zavarka Memorial Event

Participants: Summer Judith Abraham Alejandro Becky Calla Cheree Edith Esther Fe Hall Harper Ian Javier Cruz Khadijah Quiet Quinn Schultz Shelly Zebastian

Location: Zavarka Salon (and Parking Lot)

Date and Time: July 23, 2021, Evening

Summary: A memorial event and an interruption.

Judith is here early -- even if this gathering were otherwise than somber, she will always land herself without personal fanfare. She's wearing a quietly formal dress, black silk with a pearlescent grey crossweave. Halter straps and a low horizontal neckline drop to the torso of a stiff bodice, enough to skim the curves without forcing them. Simple but expensive black Italian heels, classic medium-red lipstick. Her hair's held with an ornate Moorish silver comb mounted with Basra pearls.

She arrives with Zebastian Oygard on one arm and, releasing him almost immediately from that obligation if he chooses, will simply linger herself just inside the entrance for now.

Schultz has arrived early, dressed in a black suit, as befits the occasion. It is, of course, perfectly tailored and obviously expensive, as are the designer black shoes, shined to a reflective finish. Tonight he is atypically monochrome, with a black collared shirt and a black silk tie. He sports a gold tie clip and a gold-faced wristwatch, both otherwise black - a black face to the watch and an onyx gem centering the tie clip.

He makes his way into the salon under the coffeeshop, having left his bodyguard above someplace. He comes alone, making his way down the stairs and offering polite greetings to any hosts he knows - Judith included. He follows them in, not long after, and glances from Zebastian to Judith. "Miss Delsarto," he greets her with a somber aspect to his usual honied tones. He offers a two-hand clasp to her, for a quick shake, before disengaging and moving off to the far side of one of second-to-the-front row, to take a seat. He watches forward, chin lifting slightly, eyes roaming over the portraits on display. He folds hands in his lap and crosses one leg over the other, a rather more formal and dignified posture than he usually adopts.

Becky has somehow managed to locate appropriate clothing for the evening and such a somber event. The Gangrel is clad in a pair of simple black flacks, a white blouse, and a black vest. Her hair has been securely braided against her skull, with nary a whisp of dark curly hair escaping. Becky even has dress shoes on, in the form of black 'ballerina-type' slipper. Worrying her lower lip with her teeth a little, Becky makes her way into Zavarka. It doesn't take long for her attention to be drawn towards the paintings and she makes her way towards them for a better look.

Calla Lia Sunberry arrives at the memorial service, moving with quiet grace. She is adornec on a simple long sleeved dove gray dress and matching tights. her shoes are black ballet slippers. She folds her small hands in front on her, seemingly demure and somber.

Hall comes down the stairs from the coffee shop on the early side, too. He's worn a black suit and tie, and appears to have arrived with Khadijah, whom he accompanies down to the salon. At the sight of the place, his eyes widen a little, and he leans in to whisper something to Khadijah before he straightens back up again to greet those who are already here with a quiet, "Good evening.

Abraham arrives, dropped off near the front and heads inside. He's dressed in the same colors as many tonight, black dominating. Crisp suit in black, a grey shirt with a charcoal tie tucked into the vest. His normal disposition is fitting to the occasion anyway, so there isn't much of an outward change at the current time.

Shelly arrives not in formal attire but rather her well worn oversized army jacket and beat up converse. For those that sheltered at Elysium the night a year ago, they may recall it's the same exact outfit she wore the night standing with the Keeper. And while each of those portraits get a due amount of attention, it's Deputy Walker's that she stops in front of, staring at it and nervously picking at her thumbnail.

Ian arrives /right/ on time, walking in as the event begins. He's wearing a trenchcoat at first, though he steps aside at the entrance and shrugs it off, handing it to Edith. Beneath the trenchcoat, Ian is wearing something.. strange. A blue suit, rumpled from exercise and use. The left shoulder is sliced clean open, revealing alabaster flesh beneath it - or at least it would reveal that, if the entire exposed portion of flesh weren't painted with bright red blood. There's another slashed section of the coat just beneath his right breast, clearly from a bladed edge, and that too leaks blood. The coat itself is stained a much darker red with the telltale sign of aged, rotted-away vitae, the brighter red of the fresh kine blood almost seeming to make it more obvious, like its outlined. The ripped-open left sleeve of his coat and the dress shirt beneath it hang loosely down over his arm, draped and flapping strangely.

He passes his trenchcoat to Edith, who walks in with him, folding it over her arm and offering her a small nod before he begins to move into the room proper. There's no greeting for anyone, no acknowledgement, Ian simply proceeds forward, scuffed and dirty shoes leaving bits of street gravel behind him as he makes his way up to the portraits for the dead, pausing quietly in front of Francis' to stare up at it in silence.

Having arrived a bit early, given the topic of the memorial, the Brujah Primogen is standing near the painting of the former Deputy. Her attire this night is the same as any other, perhaps for a reason. As the other start to filter on in, Quinn turns to regard them in silence -- her pale blue eyes scrutinizing each from head to toe.

Taking note of the recently flipped Anarchs as they filter on in, she offers them a dip of her head. However it's Ian's arrival that garner's the most notice, lips twisting wryly in recognition of his attire, "I would've thought you'd have burned that suit by now, Stanford. Getting sentimental on us?"

Calla peeks to Hall from beneath the curtain of her dark lashes, giving him a brief somber and yet still dimpled smile

Yes; Zebastian arrives with Judith Delsarto -- dressed in various shades of black formalness, and patting the Toreador's arm gently as he is released from service - leaning in just once to murmur something to her, before he mms and looks around the space-- and stops himself from drifting, almost surprised as Schultz is There, offering Judith greetings.

Oh no; is it going to be one of those ditzy dreamer nights? The Malkavian attempts a smile, glancing side-long back to Judith before he dips his head tand takes a half-step backwards, hands brushing at the cuffs of his sleeves as he turns, gliding off to spend a spell, studying the portraits that hang over by the salon's platform for this evening.

If Zebastian notices Ian? It's on the peripherals, and absolutely zero comment vis-a-vis his clothing is shared -- though? One might notice, the Malkavian nods, once, curtly - and continues looking at the portraits of those fallen.

Khadijah enters with Hall, looking around at all the people that have shown up. A lot. She nods to Hall when he murmurs to her, replying back quietly as they make their way into the salon and find a place to sit down. The Arabic woman is in a very simple, black, mid-length Versace and tall, simple, strappy heels. She notices Primogen Schultz and offers him a smile, but for the most part she is quiet, preferring to take it all in rather than chat people up.

Harper slips in, taking off her coat to deposit it near the entrance. Her hands smooth over the skirt underneath, dressed somberly as fits the occasion. She looks to the portraits, giving each a softly sad look before she drifts over to settle in amongst the other Roses.

Summer is here already, the Primogen seen fiddling with the portraits already positioned in the front. She has on a distracted expression, her gaze a bit dreamy as she cleans a microscopic speck from the portrait of Armand and Celeste. Her eyes seem to see them -- but also not see them -- as if she were looking past the masterful sweeps of oil in search of something behind them. Nonetheless, as guests begin to arrive, she will slowly turn away from the paintings and instead face the gathering Kindred.

Tonight, she is dressed in a fitted black dress with tiny clasps that run vertically up the front. Red roses and green leaves break up the black ( https://tinyurl.com/bdfw68vz ). She wears a pair of red-soled black heels, her hair curled in romantic ringlets that have been masterfully teased and mussed to look more windblown than stiff.

As Kindred file in, she remains standing to the side, not yet taking the stage (which is actually a small platform placed on the back wall) where the portraits are arranged for viewing. Her rose-red lips are drawn up into a soft smile that provides only the barest upturn. Seeing Judith, the smile will flick a smidge higher, the other Rose greeted with a dip of her head. When she comes close enough, she will offer a soft aside.

Ian glances over to Quinn, blinking and then offering a faint smile across at her. He lifts his voice up to be clearly audible above the crowd as he speaks, "We have long memories, Primogen Gallo. That night still haunts us, and its organizer still walks among us. I will burn this reminder when we have burned the man who orchestrated it. And not an evening earlier." He sniffs once and then turns back to the portraits to stare in brooding silence.

Becky looks over at Ian and freezes in place for a moment, clearly surprised by his appearance. Her golden eyes blink once, before she turns and starts to make her way away from the paintings. Catching sight of Hall, the Gangrel moves to stand next to him. "Hey," she greets, ever so quietly.

Fe Han is wearing black.

It comes in the form of a suit, sleek and shiny. The fabric is faux-suede in appearance only, lightweight for LA's heat and patterned with paisley that differs in texture rather than shade: matte over shiny. Her black shirt is buttoned to the top and complimented with a silver bolo tie, the fastener of which is an anatomically scaled human skull, sans mandible.

Her hair's been cropped to a neat fade: short on top, tapered on the sides. Her lips are espresso, nails oil slick, and she's only applied eye makeup to her right half, her good half. The left, the bad, she hasn't bothered to make up properly.

It stands for itself.

So does Fe, as she moves into the memorial at the tail end of the entrance of many other licks, ferrying a hanbok-wearing Quiet on her left side, arm in arm.

She lingers by the entrance for a moment, scanning over the assembled mob of undead.

"They always so punctual?" She asks the woman she's accompanying.

Arriving just before the event start time, the tall Gangrel Javier is dressed soberly much like the others in his coterie. Dressed in a well-tailored black suit custom made for his tall frame he stops just within the venue and looks around before he makes his way over to settle in with the rest of his crew.

Schultz is facing forward generally, sitting off to the side on his own. His reverie, looking over the pictures with a neutral countenance, is only broken by hearing Ian's voice, and he looks over and studies the Alastor for a moment, before looking forward again. He is unflushed, unmoving, a corpse in a black suit, in attendance to remember those passed twice now.

Hall returns Calla and Becky's greetings. "Miss Sunberry," he says, still speaking quietly. "Miss Cromwell." The portraits seem to have caught his attention, and he looks over them with Khadijah.

"Careful, Stanford, your Brujah is showing," Quinn replies with a slow curl of her lips, leaving the Alastor to his dark broodings as she glances one last time back to the painting of her fallen clanmate. Jamming her hands into the pocket of her black leather jacket, she begins wandering about the room perhaps to mingle or maybe just get away from all the -feels-.

Quiet arrives in something appropriate, a dress of sorts. A thin, black, very high waisted skirt tied off with a bow, and a long sleeved black top with a rose of sharon pattern. All very conservative, all very toned down. Her eyes do an immediate scan about, just a general check of the room, the people in it, giving a soft, slow, nod. Her head then tilting over to Fe, she tilts her head, points to her eyes, the door, then taps her held arms wrist where a watch would be, before she holds up her fingers in two quick signs for two and zero.

Cheree is also here, dressed in somber and formal attire. Upon arriving, she walks over to Summer and offer a quick hug and a quiet word, prompting the Toreador to offer a grateful smile and a softly murmured return. The Ventrue then turns to find a seat soon after.

As Summer's eyes lift, she espies Ian and his torn suit, prompting a long and thoughtful stare. That other-where look threatens to overtake her features again before she blinks and greets him with a polite dip of her head.

Calla continues further in, silent and graceful. The ballet training helps. She looks to the portraits, but at a little distance as if not wanting to block anyone's view. She wasn't there and didn't know those who passed on, but still seems somber and even a touch troubled

Khadijah sits close to Hall and takes in the portraits of those who died that fateful night. She watches the interaction between Quinn and Ian and knows this is going to be a very emotional night. Again, she whispers something to Hall before sittin back a bit, taking it all in.

Already standing at the portrait of the fallen deputy, Shelly scoots a bit to make more room for Ian as the Alastor arrives, looking over his suit and giving an approving nod to both the outfit and the reasoning behind it.

Zebastian's head dips, looking away from the portraits and to Summer -- if he catches her eye or not, the Malkavian still nods to her, in mute acknowledgement - and then gives space, half-stepping back and turning -- giving Quinn a little up-nod, before hands brush at the cuff of his sleeve and he glides, seemingly without purpose, in the direction of---

--if Zebastian was heading Hall and Becky's way? The flight path is abandoned, when he catches sight of Fe -- how could anyone not see Fe? -- and Quiet. Surprise, a brief flash of it on his face; stilled, hands pressed together in three beats of immobilisation -- and then he's moving again, towards Quiet and Fe; speaking softly; "...It's been a very long time -- and yet, hardly feels like anything at all, no?" A pause, then quietly still; "How does the night find you?..."

Once the moment and the energy in the room seem right, and she's greeted and clasped hands at the door, received the quick murmured exchanges to her, Judith strides down the the default middle aisle between the seating to the front of the room, up and behind the podium. Anyone lingering near the portraits flanking stage is wordlessly invited to stay and keep doing just that if they wish, indicated by a slight incline of the Toreador's head.

After a brief fiddle with the volume to low-but-clear, she speaks. "Good evening and thank you, fellow Kindred, for your attendance at this memorial gathering." She'll pause a few tics to let the room settle a bit, if it will. Then, "We all know why we are here this evening. There are many who fell in a night of betrayal and burning, and many here who stood and survived it. Some of us were not here at all for the tragedy, who will only benefit in warning and wisdom from hearing the story told truly. All of your stories."

She sweeps one lingering, memorizing look over the room before continuing. "First and most appropriate, Karner Blue will not be in attendance tonight. The format is simple -- this gathering is called by Primogen Hastings and it is her prerogative to help us remember, or learn, what must be remembered and known. She will recognize anyone who wants to speak, in turn, and this gathering will not be concluded until all who wish to have spoken. Please see me in the back for any matters of logistics tonight. Primogen?" She extends a hand towards Summer, stepping back slightly from the mic.

Ian flicks a smile back over at Quinn, inclining his head - seeming to take it as something of a compliment. The turning of his head allows him to catch Summer's look and her nod, which is returned in kind. Then he lets his eyes sweep the room. Briefly, they linger on Khadijah, and a faint frown creases his lips as he stares at her.

Then Judith is speaking, and Ian turns slowly to face the announcer. His hands fold neatly in front of him, his left hand holding his right wrist. It is, for all intents and purposes, a posture of near military precision and attentiveness. His expression is neutral, his countenance severe. Until the mention of Karner Blue's absence - that gets a firm nod of approval from the Alastor as its said. Then back to that severe neutrality as he lingers near the portrait of Francis.

Abraham makes his way to the portraits, the occasion not seeming like one where idle banter is fitting. He stops in front of each. Despite being new the man regards each with care. Studying, as if ensuring he will remember them. He does spot some familiar faces, and he doesn't shy away from looking at them even though he lets them handle their business from afar for now. Seeing Shelly in what looks like normal clothes wouldn't normally be all that odd, but as he sees some others the picture presents itself and he nods as if realizing why. Ian gets the longest look. Eyes lingering at the wounds re-imagined for the evening. His words, too, bring the Brujah's lips a bit tighter. Whatever emotions it might bring are stifled back behind his steady eyes and firm expression though. Quinn as well, another seemingly dressed more for the occasion than might be realized at first, is regarded slowly. The greeting and introduction has him moving past the portraits, each already given a respectful stop, and he moves to find a spot further in.

Calla tries to slink quietly into the background. Just before she gives Khadijah a polite and somber smile of greeting.

Alejandro sneaks into the remembrance affair with as much stealth as he can manage, which is to say he walks into a table and knocks over one of the vases, barely catching it before it hits the ground. Glad, not for the first time, that he has no constitutional ability to blush, he looks at Judith as she speaks about Karner's absence and nods grimly. He doesn't raise his hand to speak, he's here as the Primogen of Clan Tremere as a show of respect. His Clan didn't lose anyone to the Sabbat, this time, but the treachery stings none-the-less.

Edith, as mentioned, is accompanying Ian, and the trusty ghoul is dressed for the occasion in a black midi-dress and black court shoes of excellent quality. There's a black handbag over her shoulder, and of course she's carrying Ian's trenchcoat neatly hooked over her arms in a sort of efficient almost-hug. For some reason she doesn't seem to want to hand the garment off to someone else just yet. Otherwise, not much to say about her presence. She's staying appropriately close to Ian, remaining silent and respectful, looking where he looks. A few dips of her head in greeting, a murmured greeting here and there when it's expected, but that's pretty much it. NPC mode activated.

Khadijah then begins looking around, mentally checking off who has come and maybe who has not come. She nods to Hall, agreeing with what he responded back to her with. Calla passes by and offers her a quiet smile, which is returned back warmly. She pats the empty chair next to her with an invite to sit with them if she's so inclined.

Quietly, Ian stands there and listens, the quietude and stillness of his presence lingering on. Though the room itself is not quiet, the man is.

Calla quietly sits with Khadijah and Hall. She seems grateful for the invite.

Becky tucks her feet under her chair, as she sits next to Hall. Khadijah, sitting nearby, is offered a small smile. Turning her full attention to the speaker as the event begins, the Gangrel slowly tilts her head to one side.

"Twenty," repeats Fe, after doing her best impression of putting two and two together. Or maybe it's not an impression. It takes a noticeably long time. "If you say so." Whether this is flippancy due to the inability to parse Quiet's pantomime, or actual acceptance of her response, is anyone's guess. Perhaps even Fe's herself. Han then directs her attention to Zebastian upon his approach. "Better than you, I'd wager, Harpy Oygard. More static, at least. Glad to see you're at least physically intact." It's here that Fe's speech tapers off, as the address to the room at large begins, and she shifts her attention over to Judith. There's a grunt from the doctor, then, as the Tremere Primogen bumbles his way in. She looks at the man as if he's just scraped dog-shit off on the carpet, a little wrinkle to her upper lip that fades in short order. "But perhaps not for long, if this is how their affairs are handled." This is lower, and faintly mirthful.

Schultz retains his respectful silence, lifting his chin slightly as Judith speaks. He nods slowly at news of Karner not being welcome - that very subject having been the subject of harpy chatter recently - and he gives a small smile. His gaze flickers over toward the rest of the audience for a moment, but he retains his silent vigil.

Shelly turns away from the portraits as Judith begins to speak, and she flinches as Judith mentions Primogen Blue, even if she's saying he won't be attending the Memorial given the circumstances. And then eyes turn towards Primogen Hastings as the mic handed off.

When Judith speaks, Quinn pauses in her roaming and turns to regard her in silence. Unlike some of the others, she doesn't bother to take a seat and instead selects takes up a lean against the wall, arms still deep within her pockets.

Quiet doesn't have her phone out at a memorial service, and not a book in sight. Unheld hand moving in front of her for moments, shifting into various symbols and movements.

"--- ---- -- ---- -- ---- --- ------."

There is a pause, to listen to the announcement before her wide eyes settle back on Zeb, hand reaching out with two fingers to rest on his forehead as she lowers her own gaze. A blessing perhaps before she tilts her head to Fe, hand softly motioning to the memorial itself.

Alejandro catches the look from Fe and narrows his eyes, committing her face to permanent memory. He lets his stare linger malevolently for just a hair more than is appropriate and then smiles one of his predatory smiles before nodding just a smidge to the woman. He shoots Quinn a respectful, discrete, upnod and over the course of the public speechifying, he nods to Shelly, Ian, Judith, Schultz and Summer and waits for his turn to speak. It occurs to him, in a moment of reflection on something that has been said, that he does have a statement to make and gives Summer the same raised two fingers that he uses to use to gesture his intent to speak at Primogen Council when he was only a Whip and needed leave to speak. A subtle gesture of deferential respect, one likely lost to any but the other Primogen and Council attendees.

When Judith takes the stage, Summer turns to follow her journey. She remains silent and attentive, offering little nods and delicate smiles as the hostess speaks. When she concludes the opening, she moves over to offer her fellow Rose an embrace, a quick word, and then, after pulling her face back, a grateful smile. Judith's shoulders are squeezed and then Summer steps forward to take her place on the platform.

"Thank you everyone," Summer says, her voice rising to address the seated Kindred. "And thank you, Miss Delsarto, for not only hosting us this evening in Zavarka -- one of the locations worst hit the night of -- but for your continued stewardship. Zavarka is a beloved haunt, not only to the local Toreador but to the greater praxis who has long enjoyed its bounty as a Rack."

Summer pauses long enough to fill her dead lungs with more air, permitting her to continue, "And a final word of gratitude to Alastor Ian Stanford who helped the previous owner, Jenet, rebuild after the attacks. He contributed his own funds for this endeavor."

Summer hesitates here, her hands briefly fiddling together before folding together in front of her waist.

"As Miss Delsarto already stated," Summer says, resuming, "Tonight we gather to remember the Night of the Burning Roses, a horrific evening that left numerous Kindred, ghouls, and kine dead. In the past, I have heard some mention this as a tragedy that struck only the local Roses and the Arts District itself, but I say that this was a night felt by all Kindred in the praxis. Until this night, many of us felt safe and complacent -- oblivious to the dangers beyond our city's borers, without realizing how vulnerable we truly were. Unfortunately for the Sabbat, in the wake of this tragedy -- as happens after so many tragedies -- we were able to unify as a praxis: Toreador. Ventrue. Malkavian. Noferatu. Tremere. Brujah. Gangrel. One of the brightest moments was seeing how we all, regardless of clans, pooled our influences and resources to keep the citizens of downtown Los Angeles safe. But...I digress..."

Summer forces a smile and shakes her head, her body turning to look at the portraits. One presumes that she will begin speaking about the fallen momentarily.

Zebastian's head dips, hand pressed to the centre of his chest at Fe's banter; hint of gold from that nail-shaped bracelet glinting, as he accepts her words without protest, though whispers; "Just." No more chatter, Judith has started speaking -- and if the Malkavian has noticed Alejandro's little brush with the table n' vase? No he hasn't -- instead, he watches Quiet's hands and gestures for---

Stillness? As Quiet touches his head, and Zebastian does nothing for exactly one point five seconds --- and then he does something, which is move back a pace and gesture for the two of them to take a seat or do whatever, before gliding to give them space and go be still again -- his attentions turned towards Summer, in mute anticipation.

Fe's face is not hard to remember. In fact, some people work quite hard to do the opposite. She returns the smile to Primogen Lopez, teeth all the glimmering contents of a bank vault, and then redirects her attention to nod at Quiet's suggestion. "Join us," she says in amplitude beneath the standard deviation for a library whisper to Zebastian, but with no lack of command, as she leads her culturally appropriated arm candy to a seat to watch the proceedings. Hastings, now, is the sole subject of her attention, stoic, but not entirely pensive. She folds her legs and listens.

Ian offers a nod back to Alejandro, head deeply and respectfully inclined and then he turns back to the dais where she speaks from. At the mention of his name, he offers a lower bow of his head toward her, and makes an expansive gesture with his arm. It encompasses the room, and seems to indicate it - but the subtle flick to his wrist at the end dismisses it. Paired with the expression on his face, it seems he considered it his duty, and a just cause. He returns to his stately pose once more, left hand once again gripping the wrist of his right.

Khadijah notes Becky's smile her way and she returns it. Obviously not the time for chatting now but her smile holds a promise for later. She glances over at Schultz, seeing if she can make eye contact and offer him a smile as well. Then she listens sombrely to Summer and the beginning of the telling of the events of that night.

Judith leans in for the Primogen's embrace, returning it with one arm -- careful to not, say, knock the mic over with her other -- and offers Summer a slight smile, warm enough, but not inappropriate to the occasion. She decamps the platform, not detracting in the least as Summer begins to speak, takes the long way around the room behind the side bar, and takes up a quiet, watchful, attentive position near the entrance. Standing at respect, as she may have learned to do in some former life. Alejandro gets a quick wink, though he may well miss it.

Abraham picks a spot behind the seating area, choosing to stand rather than sit. His hands move behind him, clasping behind his back as he looks to the stage, Judith passing the baton to Summer to speak, as it were. He listens intently, though his gaze does pass around those in attendance now that things are getting under way. His gaze ends on the portraits once more, as Summer seems to linger there. His jaw shifts slightly as he watches her, but then he is looking away back to his kindred watching.

Cheree, as previously indicated, is seated in an out of the way spot. She's dressed in fine black couture, but with her hair braided back into a respectable bun, and a wide-net black mourning veil over most of her face. Tattooed legs are crossed, hands folded in lap, watching Judith and then Summer speak with a solemn, even grave expression.

Hall watches Summer begin speaking, and looks where she indicates, silent himself.

Schultz retains his controlled, emotionless observance of the vigil, listening to Summer and bowing his head slightly, where appropriate, before returning to his neutral, stoical observation.

Harper continues to stand to the side with a cluster of the younger Roses, her attention fixed on the stage as Judith and Summer speak. There is a soft look of sadness lingering on her face, especially as she glances to the portraits presented. She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath before returning her attention to her Primogen.

Glancing sidelong in time to catch Alejandro's nod, Quinn returns it with one of her own, gaze slipping to briefly land upon Abraham before again focusing upon the Rose Primogen as she takes the stage. Those pale blue eyes of hers narrow a fraction as the atrocities of that -fatal- night are painted over with a broad stroke, her jaw tightening as she bites the inside of her cheek in response. Her posture visibly stiffens as she fiddles with something in her pockets -- listening for now.

Quiet nods to Fe, and again to Zeb, but also she pulls away from the two. Her face soft, and her eyes still slightly wide, her footsteps drift herself off towards the portraits, looking them over softly, studying them with an intentness that is often missing from her face.

There is a look from Zebastian to Fe at her words; brief, complex, a touch droll and a smidgen sharp -- not mean exactly, just, complicated. No he is not joining her and/or Quiet -- he's drifted, and so has his attentions; back to Summer, expression somber - listening, pale eyes scanning the space - melancholy, bordering concerned but not quite getting there. Physically he ends up in the proximity of Ian; standing in stilled silence to his right, his hands held together at his midsection - fingers brushing, as they oft too, at the cuff of his own sleeve in soft repetitions.

Zebastian as sunk into some kind of mute reflection - presumably on what is being shared by Summer, though who knows with these Malkavians. Still; at least there's no yelling -- just dreamy contemplation of the ambiance.

Shelly catches that nod from Alejandro and returns it, like for like. As Summer starts with the speeches, Shelly stuffs her fidgety hands into her jacket pockets.

When Summer pauses, Cheree turns her head, to look around at the others assembled and briefly make moments of eye contact with the folks with whom she's familiar and acquainted and friendly and so on. If this is you, then you have been looked toward.

Summer first gestures toward the dual portraits that feature a small blonde plummeting from a glass window, her hair sweeping behind her like a blonde banner with her arms outstretched as if caught in mid-flight. The portrait beside it shows a beautiful blonde Kindred with a sunny smile whose blue eyes gleam with a mischievous light.

"Carrie Swells was one of the first friends I made when I returned to Los Angeles," Summer says, gazing at the woman's smiling face, "We were both around the same age. I had just come from the Courts of Paris where the social scene is...much different. More formal? More...dusty, as she likely would have said." Summer's lips twitch into a fond smile. "She was a delight to all who knew her -- capricious, yes, and prone to flights of fancy -- but possessing the sort of joie de vivre that made you forgive her, again and again, for /always/ being at least thirty minutes late. Everywhere. Every time."

Summer lets out a short laugh, a hint of amusement touching her eyes. She stares at the portrait for a moment longer, simply admiring, and then slowly blinks, adding with a softer tone, "Carrie is presumed to have been diablerized before being thrown from her top-floor loft and left to spatter on the ground."

Summer lets that hover in the air before turning to address the dual portrait off Armand and Celeste.

"Harpy Armand Bellaume," she begins, already cracking a smile, "Hardly needs any introduction from me -- at least for those who knew him. He was...a character." She lets out a laugh, a short but sharp sound that is barely contained by the time she continues, "He was intelligent, charming, and apolitical -- a quality that endeared him to just about /anyone/. More than anything, he adored his Childe, Celeste, whom he would have gladly moved mountains to please. The two were never seen far apart after her Embrace, and even in death, remained together."

Summer looks over at the crowd and murmurs, "Harpy Armand and Celeste were beset upon by shovelheads."

Schultz listens to the warm sadness manifested by Summer, and allows a small echo of her smile to rise on his lips, but he says nothing - familiar, if in passing, with all of those referred to, but certainly not closest to any. Not by a long shot.

The Ventrue Primogen remains still and silent, engaged with the speakers, and otherwise remainnig unobtrusive.

Fe Han is left an island, abandoned by Quiet and Zebastian to the mercy of seating arrangements. There's a tension in her jaw, brief, at the descriptions of the night's victims - an errant twitch in her hand. Her face remains impassive.

Cheree looks over at the space of empty seats next to her -- a space of empty seats between herself and Fe. She stares a second too long at the fucked-up side of Fe's face. Then looks away, the damage done.

The Toreador Primogen is an easy subject to be captivated by and, so, Alejandro allows himself to spend his attention on her. He doesn't laugh at the remembrances, he keeps a grim look of determination on his face instead. In truth he didn't really know any of the people mentioned to date, but the attack happened on his watch and his countenance shows the frustration he keenly feels at it.

As Summer explains about Carrie and Harpy Armand, Khadijah stays right close by Hall, almost for comfort. As predicted, the stories are very moving, and difficult to listen to. She has stopped looking around the room, her focus on the portraits and Summer speaking to them all.

Ian listens with a quiet and respectful air about him. As Zebastian comes to stand beside him, he glances briefly down and offers the man a faint nod before he looks back up to Summer where she speaks. His lips purse very faintly as the dead are mentioned and their stories are told. The subtle purse denotes a stately and silent mourning. Beyond that, Ian remains entirely still, watching the goings on. He, like Alejandro, seems captivated by the tale, his head tilted, looming with his faux wounds quietly next to the portrait of Francis.

Quiet's attention will shift back to Summer, watching, soft and attentive to her story, hand resting on her purse as she gives the speaking woman a slow nod.

Abraham refocuses on Summer as she begins the recounting of those in the portraits, who they were, and their fates. He lets himself show the emotions as she does. The description of Carrie has him suppressing a soft almost-laugh, looking at her portrait in a way that hints he may have known someone like that once upon a time. Hearing of her fate has that expression souring though, a scowl bordering on disgust. The next, Harpy Bellaume and his childe Celeste has him giving a soft, almost forlorn smile. His eyes close, a sigh let out at hearing their fate, a slight shake of his head at the loss so far described. He is otherwise silent, listening, and watching the others for their on reactions.

Edith remains in Ian's vicinity to an appropriate extent, neither too close nor too faraway. Her facial expression is neutral, calm; her posture is upright, respectful. Her arms, over which Ian's trenchcoat is folded, are crossed in a comfortable (maybe comforting) way. As Summer speaks, the ghoul tilts her slightly head to one side, thoughtful and solemn gaze drifting over the portraits that the Toreador gestures. Edith's another enchanted listener in the audience, it seems, but Zebastian does get a small, soft nod of greeting before she goes back to watching.

Fe feels someone looking. She turns her head, and her functional eye comes out from the eclipse of her false one. There's a long stare. Perhaps it's the lack of reaction that informs Cheree of the faux pas. Eventually, she turns back to Summer's recounting. Her thumb counts off the pads of her digits in a slow, regular fidget.

Zebastian makes a low sound, at the start of Summer's-- well, in a way it is a eulogy for the departed. The repeated brushing of his cuff stills, and instead his cradles his hands by his midsection - his head tipped ever-so, expression... Slightly hazed out, though the dreamy caul has no amusement about it - and a sense of presence remains, even if the Malkavian may be taking some minor trip down an associated memory lane. Still; it hasn't kept him from returning Ian's gesture with a slight nod of his own, albeit a touch out of sync with agreed temporal reality - Edith he sadly misses out in the haze. Eye drift, around where the portraits are; breaking the otherwise statuesque aspect of his stillness as he listens.

Summer moves on to the final portrait, the one illustrating a beset upon Zavarka. The perspective reveals the beloved haunt in a state of chaos: windows shattered and glass littering the pavement, with a few bleeding and dead kine hanging half-out. The shop is filled with almost imperceptible blackness, save a lone and heroic figure who is illuminated by a pair of burning fists. He faces a barely-seen shadowy figure that radiates tendrils of black in all directions, dwarfing the lone hero who nonetheless faces his foe -- and certain death -- with stoic resolve.

"Despite obvious danger," Summer says, speaking once more, "Deputy Francis Walker pursued the vile Kindred we now know to be Dusty into the chaos that was Zavarka. Over a dozen kine were killed by Dusty," she says, speaking slowly, "And at least a dozen more would have been murdered without his intervention. There is no doubt that Deputy Walker entered Zavarka that night knowing that he would likely die -- that he would be sacrificing himself for the sake of kine -- and perhaps all of us, if he successfully bested the then unknown Lasombra inside, but he went anyway, guided by his lion's heart."

Summer stares at his portrait, dips her head, and says, "I believe Deputy Francis died the way he would have preferred -- in the service of others. We thank him for his sacrifice."

Summer slowly turns around, once again facing the crowd. Her smile is now gone, her hands fiddling and then lacing in front of her waist.

"There were others," Summer says, sounding thoughtful, "Armand and Celeste's ghouls, for one. But I would now like to take a moment to discuss the nature of their deaths -- and why it happened."

A long pause stretches, the Toreador Rose simply staring out at those gathered here tonight.

"My fellow Roses were killed," she begins, "Because an infiltrator had endeared himself to them and gained entry to their haven. He was in employ to the Sabbat, specifically instructed to gain entry into these prominent Toreador havens and then relay the information back to them. I will not say the name of this agent. I think we all know who I am referring to. I will say, since then, it has been claimed that he acted under duress -- that the Sabbat held his singular love hostage. Alas, that love was deemed more important than the love of Celeste and Armand. Or Carrie Swells. Or the denizens of Zavarka. Or, my own safety..."

Summer's hands flatten on her stomach, fingers curled against the fabric. "Dusty later came to my haven as well, having been tipped off by this individual. I credit the Seneschal and another Nosferatu for my rescue. But..."

Summer's lips wryly curl, a pause provided. "I will not say anything else about that. Instead, I welcome anyone present to speak of the deceased and offer their own testimony. Primogen Lopez, would you like to speak first?"

Frowning for a moment from where she stands, the Brujah Primogen slowly pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket. Still paying attention to the proceedings, she glances down at it and lets her fingers brush over the screen several times before finally sliding it back into the jacket pocket. Quinn lets her pale blue eyes fan around the room again, taking note of each of those seated before letting her attentions drift back to the Rose Primogen just in time for the tribute to her own clan. Again her jaw clenches tightly, lip twitching at the circumstances concerning it all.

"Fuck Blue," the quietly escape her lips, perhaps only audible to those nearby or with exceptional hearing.

Judith has not moved from her position by the door, seeming perfectly naturally equipped to stand, and to stillness, for as long as it suits her. Her focus moves subtly, lingering on a few in particular, always gravitating back towards the platform. Expression watchful as always but the hawkishness softened by the remembrances of others. By the various reactions in the room, those that she can observe from the back.

There's a moment of silence as Summer completes her speech, a pause in the air of the room before Harper has time to step up and speak it. And from the back, near Francis' portrait, there's a quiet sniff from Ian. Somehow it carries frustration and outrage all at once, the rangy looking man in the torn suit glancing back to the portrait of Francis, before he quiets himself once more, eyes drifting over to Khadijah, Becky, and Hall where they sit. Then they move to the stage.

"Fuck Blue." repeated after Quinn, but louder, taking advantage of the quiet in the room.

Cheree listens to Summer's tale and looks down at the ground as it goes on. Her expression is downcast. It's hard not to feel that way, hearing a tale like this. Besides, she's wearing a mourning veil. She would look ridiculous if she was smiling and whistling, or something like that. Just patently ridiculous. At a certain point in the story, Cheree looks up and focuses her gaze on Summer. Her expression remains a downbeat one.

Fe looks mutedly bewildered. She cocks her jaw to the side and leans back in her chair with a metallic creak. The creak was probably the chair.

Calla remains very quietly here, listening to Summer with somber attention.

Javier watches and listens with a somber expression. Standing still he clasps his hands lightly behind his back as he looks to those who speak then to the various paintings and back. Nothing is said as he keeps that respectful silence.

Quiet watches, and there is a respectful bow of her head to Summer, reaching out towards her for a moment, in the same two fingered motion she gave to Zeb earlier. But it withdraws after a second. Instead she turns back to the portraits, and opens her purse. Her head tilts, and she does make a motion, to Judith of all the people she could have chosen, a flicking lighter gesture. Then, while speakers start, she removes a rice ball to place in front of each portrait, as well as a small cup. Unobtrusively setting the table as it were.

Schultz listens quietly, eyes dropping for a moment and lips drawing together as the culprit involved is spoken of. His hands remain laced together and his affect remains controlled. He says nothing, but listens respectfluly.

Abraham listens as the last of Summer's re-telling of the events. His eyes are locked to that portrait, the fiery defiance against darkness. His lips are slightly pursed, eyes slowly looking over every detail of that painting. The entire time her words give remembrance to the deputy, and as they come to a close he nods, and then focuses his attention back to her as she turns to address everyone once more. If she notices the Brujah he gives a reassuring nod. Not a smile, but an expression of support to her with recounting the tragedy and trauma of the evening. He does look to Quinn, but Ian's echo of her words has him looking to him as well. He otherwise remains unmoving, still standing near the back with his arms behind him.

"While I do not, in the least bit," Alejandro says seriously to Ian and Quinn, possibly loud enough to be heard in the silence "share the Prince's belief that Primogen Blue is redeemed; and I do not believe he should be welcomed back to the arms of Camarilla society; if I had my way he would be added to the Red List. No member of Clan Tremere will deal with him, or his Whip. But, I remind you all that he is Primogen of Clan Malkav and due the respect of any of our august council. To those uttering 'Fuck Blue', I would remind you, the correct form is 'Fuck Primogen Blue'."

Becky remains in her seat, quiet and with her unblinking gaze on on Summer as she speaks. Expression somber. As Summer finishes, the Gangrel dips her eyes towards the floor.

"For now." Ian's reply to Alejandro's comment, crackling out over the crowd.

Zebastian listens in that same still silence, inert -- well, not exactly inert; those eyes scan the portraits as he listens. Only when the subject turns to Summer herself? Does the Malkavian look back up and over to her, posture poised and expression gentle - complicated, bittersweet and a touch pained. Eyes fading in and out of focus...

When Alejandro is called to speak? Zebastian turns -- though he gets distracted, first by Quinn and then Ian -- pained sort of smile, his mouth moving-- does he speak? No, but his lips move -- silent, soundless -- and turning? To listen to Alejandro? Oh there's polite attentiveness -- and then, at the very end? Dull teeth bite back an expression that was surely not a prelude to a laugh, because that'd just be absurd. A low sound, and Zebastian looks up to the ceiling again - contemplative, not laughing, muted.

Three beats, then Zebastian turns back to take in the ambiance - and activity - of the night's gathering.

Judith's eyes narrow slightly at Quiet, of course she was watching and caught the gesture. She says nothing across the room but shakes her head, slight but stern, apparently in firm answer.

Summer turns to show proper respect to Alejandro when he speaks, her expression remaining surprisingly neutral during the calls of 'Fuck Primogen Blue.' She remains politely angled toward him, listening along as he continues to speak.

Edith -- still standing by Ian, and still holding his neatly folded trenchcoat -- looks once to her domitor, before respectfully turning her focus to the tips of her perfectly-shined shoes. Her posture is still perfect, but her chin is dipped down.

Hall wasn't in Los Angeles a year ago, and some of the history that's related appears to surprise him. By the time that Summer closes her commentary, his eyes are wide, and his face is chalk-white. He bites his lip, looking troubled. But he does glance back at Ian, blinking, after the Alastor looks at him and the others sitting nearby, before Alejandro issues his correction.

Cheree is glancing around the room. She herself doesn't join in the calls to fuck Karner Blue -- the entire room can say it, but they're not her bosses, and she'll fuck who she pleases, not who they pressure her into -- but she is looking around, perhaps taking stock of not just who's joining the call, but who's reacting in what ways. A Harpy's work is never done.

"Primogen Blue... a man whose Mirror is physically incapable of reflecting anything but blue itself," Shelly adds in merely a whisper after The Tremere Primogen Pro Temp reminds of the correct address for those calls.

The Tremere Primogen stands and nods at Summer and then nods at each of the portraits. "I didn't know any of these Kindred particularly well and, from Primogen Hastings' eulogies, I believe my unlife is the lesser for it. I was Sheriff of Los Angeles during the Night of Burning Roses, a night that marrs an otherwise satisfactory career. Deputy Walker I knew the most. He was earnest, brave and loyal, these are singularly rare qualities among Kindred and devoted to his crusade against the Sabbat. Though I lack her eloquence, I second Primogen Hastings' summary that he would give his life again given the choice. I fear we will likely not see his kind again soon."

Becky glances up a little when Hall looks in her direction, before reaching over and lightly patting his knee in a comforting gesture.

"Thank you, Primogen Lopez," Summer says, offering him a small smile. "Despite your humility, I think everyone can agree that your service record remains spotless."

The Rose turns her gaze toward the crowd and says, "Keeper Campbell, you are welcome to speak next."

Harper nods as Summer addresses her, reaching out to lightly touch one of the Roses on the shoulder before she steps out of the cluster and towards the stage. She pauses by her Primogen, leaning in to share a soft kiss on the cheek before she moves to stand before the microphone. Her fingers tangle lightly in front of her, taking a moment to gather herself before she starts to speak. "Armand and Celeste." naming the pair she intends to speak upon. There's a soft, sad smile on her face. "I don't mind if it labels me as a hopeless romantic...when they entered a room together you could feel the life of the love between them. They were each other's sun and moon, and they were kind enough to share that warmth with those around them. Their devotion was something to behold, something to aspire to." A small pause and a quiet breath taken before she continues. "We are less today, because they were taken from us too soon. Two creative and inspired souls that were devoted members of this Praxis. They died in their home. The one place we all rely on to be safe; we call them havens for a reason. They trusted their betrayer enough to let him into that sanctuary, and now we do without because of what was done with that trust." Her eyes close briefly, gathering herself before she finishes simply. "It is small consolation that they died together, and hopefully if there is more for us after our ends that they've found each other once again." She then inclines her head before stepping down off the stage, thin fingers reaching up to brush at her eyes.

Unobtrusive and not inteupting, from Quiet's purse comes a small bowl packed with sand, and a bottle of wine. Chianti if anyone was that curious. A stick incense stuck in the bowl and remaining unlit as Judith didn't give her a lighter. Three splashes of wine to the bowl before she steps back, bowing twice to each portrait, then turning to bow once to Summer. Her head lowering, respectfully to the floor.

Summer listens to Harper's recollection with a sad smile, the faintest tinge of red forming in the corners of her eyes. Thankfully, with her fiery lashes, it is easy enough to blink them back, but it is obvious that Harper's remembrance strikes a meaningful cord.

"Thank you, Keeper Campbell," she says, speaking in a soft murmur, "One hopes we all find such a true love one day. Harpy Crowley?" The Rose looks out to greet Cheree with a delicate gesture.

Abraham looks to Alejandro as the Primogen pro tempore speaks. He gives the man an approving nod at the words spoken about the Deputy, and his smile at Summer's correction deepens. As Harper's turn comes, he listens as well. Her recounting brings back that sadder look he had before. In the moment, this event, he doesn't seem inclined to hide it as he normally does. He gives her a look as well, similar to the one he had given Summer. One of support.

Zebastian makes a low sound, as Harper speaks -- the hopeless romantic aspect may not be lost on him, judging from the way he refocuses - thumb brushing at his cuff three times before going still again. No words, no interruption - though a slight tip of his head, and a pale crescent of a solemn smile to Harper as she departs the sage - fading away to dreamy contemplation...

...subtle distraction, though no concern in Zebastian's features, as he spots Quiet over there, with the setup -- watching the sand, the unlit incense, splashes of wine. For a short spell, he studies them in continuing silence, then turns to consider the portraits again.

Cheree rises up out of her seat and smooths her dress. She's wearing sensible heels, rather than her usual platform ones. Between that, the dress, the funeral veil -- why, if you took away all the macabre tattoos, Cheree might even look downright respectable. "Thank you, Primogen Hastings," Cheree says, once she's at the microphone. "I've only dwelled in Los Angeles... what, two months? Two and a half? Obviously, I never had a chance to meet any of the Kindred we're gathered here to remember. That said... I'm a Harpy. And a year ago, a Harpy was lost. So I thought I should say something, on behalf of the Harpies." Cheree looks over at Khadijah, as if to say 'hello, fellow Harpy.' "The Harpies are the arbiters of the social order, and in the course of doing so, we collect gossip -- which is to say, we collect /stories/. It's the Harpies' collective memory that catalogues the acts of every individual lick. The good. The bad. The unfashionable. The astonishing. The beautiful... all of it. Tonight, gathered here together, we're all doing the Harpies' work. We're remembering the good -- and the bad -- and using these memories to guide us in our future, without losing touch with our past. We all know what we are -- ghouls excluded -- and we all know that if we're lucky enough to make it a few hundred years, we might not remember what it's like to be human anymore. The only fortunate thing that can be said about all of this is that... well. These Kindred remembered tonight, they'll live forever, just like us. But they'll forever be in our memories, and the memories of anyone we tell about them, in their prime. We'll remember their love, as with Harpy Bellaume and Miss Swells. We'll remember their valor and heroism, as with Deputy Walker. We'll remember their humanity, and that humanity will never be allowed to ebb." Cheree pauses for a moment. She seems like she might have more to say, but then she stops herself. She dry-swallows, and then moves to hand the microphone back to Summer, and return to her seat.

Khadijah listens to Alejandro and Harper make their speeches. She looks truly devastated to be hearing these accountings of a time she was not here for and never knew the details of. But Cheree's speech truly touches her. She bites hard at her lower lip, willing red tears not to spill as Cheree talks about memories living on in those who choose to share them.

"Thank you, Harpy Crowley," Summer says, looking exceptionally touched, "What a beautiful rumination. As a former Harpy, I agree with everything you've said -- and am grateful your illumination on the role. I know that I will carry the memory of these Kindred until my dying nights -- both the treachery that fell them, and the happier times before."

Summer draws in a breath and then looks out into the crowd, saying, "Deputy Marin?"

Zebastian's focus returns to the sage, as Harpy Crowley takes her place there -- and that soft dreaminess of his consideration lightens a tad, the more Cheree speaks; it's not quite a smile, but it's a prelude to one. Low sound made, a soft tip of his head--- and when she looks like she stops herself from speaking?

Well, Zebastian's not going to make a scene about it, but if he happens to catch Cheree's attention, there's something of a look shared. Encouragement? Simple acknowledgement? Hard to say - it's brief, and as she's not returning to the stage ... attention slips on, back to Summer-- and then over to Shelly; smiling, bittersweet kind of look, but no interruption with words.

Pale blue eyes darken a little as she listens, Quinn still holding up the wall with her lean. She glances in brief around the room before settling her attentions back upon the stage, quiet for the time being.

Ian continues to watch, arms moving up now to fold neatly across his chest. The sleeve of his jacket slides down just a little further, revealing more of his blood-smeared arm as he does. His expression is serious through the introduction, and he nods once at the end of Cheree's speech. But other than that, he simply stands quietly beside Francis' portrait, stern and forboding.

Alejandro watches Cheree intently, paying her the due that is hers not only as the Harpy that she is but as the current speaker at a memorial and then transfers his attention to Shelly in turn.

Shelly steps up towards the stage, wiping her hands anxiously on her pants despite the lack of functioning sweat glands. "I'll second what the former Sheriff had to say about Deputy Francis. I... didn't have that long to serve with him as a fellow deputy but it was Francis' words that actually nudged me into the position. For a while, after the unfortunate death of my own Sire, I was wandering a bit aimlessly. More so than even before my Embrace which says a lot... especially for one of my clan. Up at Griffith Observatory, going to see the stars, chance had me and Francis run into one another. We talked a talk that's the kind that doesn't //seem// important until much, much later. While the conversation touched on many things, his words on duty and purpose stick with me still. As Harpy Crowley mentioned, given enough time it's easy to lose touch of humanity and our pasts. To lose yourself in a way. Many try to find something bigger than themselves to be an anchor, keeping them grounded. Deputy Francis' chose duty to be his anchor, security of the Praxis, maintaining the Traditions. His final actions showed he was more committed to that duty than many of us can ever hope to be, but we can strive to be a little bit like Francis in the future, smaller sacrifices contributing together so that there might not be another need for such self-sacrifice of one man's unlife in the future. We all have a responsibility if we want to continue to live and tell the stories and see our own stories grow." And with that, she gives a nod to Summer and heads back to stand with Quinn and Javier.

Quiet is listening, maybe, just busy. A few moments more, and she travels around the portraits, pouring a bit of wine in each, and careful not to bump Ian before she returns to the unlit incense and bow to each portrait in turn once more. Head lowering as her mouth moves in silent words for a moment, and she walks around to pour each cup into the bowl of sand. This will repeat two more times over the next following minutes.

By the end of Shelly's words, Summer's eyes are once more swimming in red. She blink-blinks her lashes, keeping them at bay, but this time she's forced to lift a crooked finger to press against the side of her eye. "That was lovely, Deputy Marin," she says, inclining her head to the Malkavian. "Deputy Walker was indeed a Kindred who clung tight to his humanity -- may he be an example to us all. Thank you."

Summer looks back and dips her head to Quinn, saying, "Primogen Gallo? You may now take the stage." As the Brujah walks up, her eyes drift over to Quiet to watch with curiosity, watching the Anarch as she crafts her portraits. Then, it's back to the stage.

Ian bows his head about halfway through Shelly's pose, his head angled down toward the ground. He doesn't say anything - he barely moves save the drool of his head, he just lowers it in acceptance and acknowledgment of her words.

And when she's done, it lifts back up - Quiet gets a faint nod since she's passing by, and then Ian goes back to watching and listening.

Esther slips in quietly. Knowing she's late, and not wishing to make a big thing of it. Tucking herself near the door for a moment as she assesses the situation. Watching, with an occasional glance toward her handbag. Just long enough to have good track of what's in there. Nothing comes out of the slim black bag, though. She's dressed in something for the evening, at least. Her normal pinks and denim replaced by... Well, a black t-shirt, and black jeans. Her wardrobe is not expansive. But she's quiet enough for the moment.

At the mention of her name, the Brujah steps up to the stage -- her hands sliding out from the pockets of her leather jacket as she lets her pale blue gaze fan out across the room.

"Tonight you've all heard tales of the bravery of Deputy Walker of the Rabble, the compassion of Carrie Swells of the Roses, the infinite charm of Harpy Bellaume of the Roses and his love for his childe Celeste. A year ago tonight, our city was on fire with multiple simultaneously coordinated attacks by multiple Sabbat packs all due to the intel provided by one of our own," Quinn pauses for a moment before adding, "I did it -all- for the sake of my love. That's only justification given during his confession. A -love-, mind you, that apparently has faded given the various women who have graced his arm and company since. A -love- of one person justifying the loss of many," she glances sidelong back to Summer, "Must have been some fucking Helen of Troy."

Pausing to let her words sink in, the Blonde Brujah glances back out among the audience as she continues, "These nights are long, but our memories are longer. We will -not- forget the betrayals. We will -not- forgive the slaughter of our own. We will -not- rest until justice has been served. Justice for Carrie. Justice for Armand. Justice for Celeste. Justice for Francis. Karma is a bitch and she's coming for her due."

Hall's expression remains grave, and his face rather pale, even compared to its usual state. Shadows in his eyes give them a look like deep pools of water into which stones -- words, images, gestures -- have been thrown, leaving their surface troubled and dark. Although he continues to listen attentively, at the sight of Khadijah choking back tears next to him, he stirs, turning towards her and putting a light hand on her arm.

Cheree's sixth sense of quasi-maternal support figures pings immediately. Esther is no sooner able to slip in, than she's beset by the tiny Ventrue, who guides her over to a seat. Cheree's goal is probably quite obvious to the Malkavian Whip: Cheree wants Esther to sit, so that Cheree can sit next to her, and then lean against Esther's shoulder in a morose but comforted/-ing sort of way.

Edith's still standing around the vicinity of Ian, still holding his trenchcoat neatly folded over her crossed arms. All throughout Cheree's speech, the ghoul allows her gaze to drop to the ground, though the posture of spine is still perfect. When Shelly gets up to lend her words to the memorial, Edith looks up again, head thoughtfully tilting to one side as she listens to the Deputy's words. Once Shelly finishes up, the ghoul looks aside briefly to Quiet, a couple of slow blinks given. What Edith's thinking is anyone's guess. In any case, her gaze and attention go to Quinn as the Brujah speaks.

Fe Han has been watching Quiet with an expression that's halfway between concerned and amused as she runs through her silent respects. When Quinn finishes speaking, Fe clears her throat and brings herself to her feet. She waits here, gaze set upon Hastings, for invitation.

Ian listens to Quinn now, a derisive snort as she explains the 'reasoning' behind the betrayal. Disbelief is carried heavily in that sound - derision too, dismissing it as an excuse and shaking his head once. As Quinn's speech continues, he straightens his back once more and begins to nod along with the woman. Ever the Ventrujah, Ian's his body language is clear agreement with the content of her speech.

"I had him to my garden just the other day, and he tried to put his hands down my pants." Ian says, calling out during the change in speakers. "He tried to come on /to me/. Whatever 'love' he had.." Ian turns his head to the side and sniffs again, re-starting his statement, "He doesn't know the meaning of the word. I nearly cut him down where he stood."

Abraham is not moving much as the speakers continue. Cheree is given a nod, as another who wasn't here for the events being memorialized this evening her words strike true to him as well. Shelly speaks more of the fallen Deputy and her words bring a slight smile to the man's lips. Not of joy at the passing, but a mix of happiness he had touched others as he had, and sadness at the loss. Another deep breath keeps him centered, but he is otherwise still in that same, stoic posture with hands behind him. As Quinn is called up to speak the other Brujah watches her move to the stage. Something about one Brujah speaking to another seems to resonate. His jaw sets a little tighter, head raised a bit more as he listens. Even a slight flare of nostrils as he breathes a deeper breath in as she finishes. He gives her a nod, many things spoken in such a small gesture. Ian draws attention too and there is that look of disgust growing on Abraham's face. He shakes his head at the retelling, but remains silent.

Alejandro nods at every word out of Quinn's mouth. The 'here here' that comes from his mouth is either involuntary or calculated to appear as such in an act of cynical manipulation. He looks genuinely surprised at Ian's revalatio, not that Karner might be fluid in his proclivities more that he foolishly tried it with the Archon in particular.

Becky's head swivels in Ian's direction, followed by a slow blink. Clearly, the Gangrel is more than a little surprised by this.

Summer listens to the Brujah Primogen with a straight face, practiced enough in courtly graces not to give too much of her emotions away -- at least with a mere glance. Still, with the mention of the Malkavian's lost 'love', there is a distinct *twitch* at the corners of her lips before they immediately downturn. She looks ready to say something -- maybe to move along to the next speaker -- but that is when the Ian joins his voice to the proceedings.

Summer shifts to give him proper respect and due attention...

But the Alastor's recollection leaves her briefly dumbfounded and blank-faced. Then, there's a sharp sniff, then a sharp laugh, before the Rose lifts her fingers to her lips. It's a funny how grief and humor can blend together, but the Toreador looks like she might be on the cusp of laughing or crying. Thankfully, Fe stands up, and she is able to compose herself.

"Doctor Han," Summer says, sounding still amazed, "Please. Speak for us."

Javier doesn't smile but does give polite nods to Quinn and Shelly as they all end up clustered together. Leaning over he speaks softly with them both as he offers words of praise and encouragement for all they said without being disruptive to those still speaking.

Own words concluded, Quinn leaves the stage and moves to return back to her prior post, those pale eyes of hers taking in Ian with a visible shudder. She does pause briefly near him to lean over and whisper something quietly.

What's going on? Esther doesn't seem to be with the flow of conversation for the moment. Letting herself be lead around by Cheree, providing plenty of shoulder to mourn on. Esther frowns, her head turning. She leans in, hand moving to cover her mouth. "Did you... Know... Any of them?" she asks, tone hushed. <English>

Calla is still very very quietly present in her dove gray dress and dove gray stockings. Brown lock are pulled back with a dove gray headband and upon her tiny feet are black ballet shoes. She is seated still at the same table with Hall and Khadijah, well if they are still at that table anyways. She hasn't moved and has tried to keep herself very very still. Her expression is somber. While her lashes are mostly lowered, she occasionally lifts her to gaze to look upon the vampires speaking.

Cheree has her hands on Esther's arm so that she can properly lean in against Esther's shoulder. When Ian tells his story, this is the face that Cheree is making while still in that pose: O___O It takes Cheree a second to register Esther's whispered question. She's still making that face as she shakes her head 'no' against the taller woman's shoulder.

Judith shifts her position, clears her throat delicately at the back of the room. But her look's dropped, and she's briefly lifted the back of one hand to cover her mouth. A few seconds of 'impossible to read' before her attention's back on to the far end of the room, mostly on Ian for a moment before her expression schools itself back to watching receptiveness.

Ian glances to Quinn as she approaches, smirking at whatever's whispered and shaking his head - in amusement? In a 'no thanks' sort of way? Who knows. Then he looks back up to the dais and his arms re-settle across his chest, that stern and unapproachable look resuming.

Edith gives Ian a side-glance when he drops that revelation, and the gaze remains there for a few seconds. She shifts his trenchcoat in her arms, thoughtful, getting it nice and comfy. Then she looks up at Zebastian, eyes a bit wide, assuming he even notices her.

Zebastian's head tips during Shelly's words -- contemplative, dreamy, not disconnected but not particularly extroverted, which is probably a blessing given the circumstances. Still, the talk of duty... One might imagine it gives the Malkavian a lot to consider, by the way he's temporarily zoned out... and there's a blink, refocusing; following Quinn's words, and there is simple grim acknowledgement in a nod--- a nod that gets cut short, around about the time she starts mentioning love. Justifications.

This causes Zebastian to tip his head a fraction, frowning. It's the first significant frown he's had all night -- eyes narrowed a touch, as he looks off to the side and squints further. Displeased, openly, at the concept of--- but hark; the world spins along faster than the Malkavian can keep up, and by the time it looks like Zebastian has something to say? Ian does, too - or has - has shared mention of some moment in his garden,.

A blink in silence, and Zebastian looks over to where Khadijah is, and then in turn Cheree. Nothing is said. What needs to be said? Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing /here/ at any rate -- it's a memorial, zomg. A beat, then his attention turns too--- where is the focus? Edith, briefly - a look given -- then Judith, whom he shares a silent moment--- and then back, towards--- who is, who speaking-- was it Fe? He looks to her. Someone must speak--- but not Zebastian. He's speechless.

Fe Han approaches the stage. She gives Ian a sideways sort of look as she goes. Whatever that can of worms is, she looks as though she sincerely does not want to unpack it.

"Primogen Hastings," she greets the evening's orchestrator with a dip of her head, before turning to face the assembled, almost exclusively, members of the Tower.

"Ordinarily, I would not speak at a service in which I have no personal connection to the victims. Ordinarily, I wouldn't be attending a function on this side of town. These are not ordinary times." A prelude, brief apologia, as Fe folds her hands together and begins a more formal address.

"My first real brush with mortality came in a classroom." The woman, familiar to only a few in the room, begins.

"Cadaver dissection." Her delivery is short, punctuated, and staccato. Fragments of thought joined together at rough angles.

"Academic. Impersonal. Educational."

"It made the phenomena of desisting simply that: an inevitability, one we were to study, learn from, and do our best to retard the punctuality of."

"It wasn't until I was in my residency that I felt its impact in full. Car crashes, bodies intermeshed with steel like they were designed to fit together. Degenerative disease, robbing their victims of their memories prior to their ability to draw breath. Infants, born with mesenchymal growths in place of healthy encephelatic tissue: the chance for life erased by parasitic cellular development despite the persistence of their bodies."

"It was a rude awakening. I wasn't in a laboratory. Real people. Real stories. Real ends. Over and over."

"It prompted existential crisis. I navigated this with the very nature of the condition itself: its inexorability. The solace of universal constant. Death happens. Always. No rhyme. No reason. Rogue nucleotide. Inadvertent exposure. Loose bolt."

"This perception, again, shattered, when I was brought into the fold of our masquerade. Death /doesn't/ need to happen. Immortality is not only achievable, it is ubiquitous. That some of us are bestowed this, and not others, still vexes me. "

"It also means that death, to us, is, in almost all cases, purposeful. Every expiration is an action of intent. Be it our own, or those of our enemies. The comfort of oblivion as Mother Death, welcoming our base molecular structure to the earth once more never comes without the sting of defeat, without the burning glee of our foes. Without knowing that it could have been avoided. Halted. Fixed."

"It hurts so much more to have what was given to you taken by force than to have it lost."

"It's a violation."

"Not just of tradition, but of every member of your hereditary that fought to give you the gift of life, abstracted from the fallibility of biology. "

"These were unnecessary deaths. Thefts. Borne of spite, of greed, of dogma. Of imperialism."

"As all kindred death is."

"Every. Last. Time."

Fe lets this settle across the room. Her jaw works for a moment, tension about her masseter, but her lips remain shut. Finally:

"Rage is a very reasonable response, and the city's under its spell now. Righteous. Just."

"Necessary."

Break.

"It is within the power of this room to chose what to do with the sentiment."

"It is within the power of this room to prevent its spread."

"I share your grief this evening."

Fe Han unhurriedly returns to her seat.

Cheree, head still tilted against Esther, intensifies her O___O while making eye contact with Zebastian. Then, her eyes return a little bit to normal as she listens to Fe speak. She silently wills herself the entire time: 'Don't look at the weird eye, don't look at the weird eye, don't look at the teeth, don't look at the teeth...'

Suddenly, there will be heard a loud, window-rattling roaring sound - a muscle car revving its engine just outside Zavarka. Anyone who might have heard a similar sound this time last year will feel their Vitae run cold with the demonic echo of the Midnight Reaper.

Fe stops halfway to her seat. She frowns, and looks toward the window. Her lips purse.

Abraham is one of those that has no idea what the sound outside is. He is in the process of processing everything Fe had said before returning to her seat, so it gives him the chance to look towards the sound of the revving engine. he otherwise makes no plans to move, remaining in his place.

From beneath his coat, Ian draws out a wicked Bowie knife. He lays the blade in the kine blood that rests on his shoulder and, resolutely, he gestures to Zebastian, "Take Edith and go." a growl, low and purposeful. Then he moves toward the exit - "Tell Blue about a gathering, and Dusty shall appear!" he shouts.

Esther loops an arm around Cheree's shoulders, giving the girl a squeeze. Then the growl of muscle car. Her lips press together. She presses on Cheree's shoulder, "Get," she urges, as she pushes up to her feet. As the Malkavian herself readies, already beginning to fade into the background. <English>

That sound that has haunted dreams past... Shelly hears it but she doesn't freeze. Like that night a year ago, her hand reaches into her army jacket and brings out... a plain utility knife. It's not a much, but it's what's on hand.

Calla doesn't know what is happening, she wasn't hear the last time. Still she sees thoe around her starting to panic and move. She rises to her small slippered feet..

Becky stiffens up in her seat, unblinking golden eyes going wide as she looks around the room and takes particular note of Ian's reaction. Standing, she grabs Hall's arm and gives it a tug. "We need to get you out of her," she growls.

As Esther fades into the background, Cheree loses track of her -- so she does what comes first to her mind. Well, actually, first she does the second thing to come to mind -- she kicks off her heels. Then, she does the first thing that came to her mind -- rushing over toward Summer, sticking close to the taller redhead. If Summer flees, Cheree flees with her. If Summer stays, Cheree stays in front of her like a little black and white buckler shield.

Quiet is still in her ritual, and final two bows to each portrait in turn. Her eyes move, head tracking to the sound, and there is a soft sigh. She looks back to the portraits, then moves to stand near the downstairs door, waving at others for the back.

Fe looks at Quiet. "Something I said?"

Hall lets Becky drag him from the room.

Judith also abruptly has a bowie in her hand, drawn from gods know where considering how she's dressed. Somewhere behind her. And reacting on some visual cue from Ian, maybe, or the anticipation of trouble tonight. She backs slightly away from the entrance, but that's temporary, she's ready to launch herself upstairs after Ian. "Kindred. Go, if you can. Key behind the cash register, take the elevator up if the exit's blocked. Jenet's old apartment is yours for the night."

Summer watches Fe with open-faced amazement. The doctor's speech is deeply intelligent and insightful -- somehow marrying together the plight of humanity and the bitterness of supernatural death. She is in the process of lifting her hands for an applause when //that// sound rumbles through Zavarka.

Summer's spine stiffens, the beautiful Toreador's face freezing in a mask of twisted horror. If she were still breathing, one might expect to hear a gasp. Instead, her head merely *jerks* in the direction of the muscle car. She doesn't flee.

Harper's head whips around at that sound, that horrible sound that likely haunted her days for months. She shudders, backing up before she seems to catch herself, her fists clenching at her sides. Strangely she reaches to hike her skirt up a bit, but only so she can get to the rather girly knife holster around her thigh, slidding a dagger from inside.

Edith's eyes open wider at Ian's reaction. Wide as saucers. His trenchcoat bunches tight up in her crossed arms, and she stares at him in horror, her voice crackling out in a confused, chill whisper. "Mr Stanford..."

Eyes turn to Zebastian, who will probably have to pull her out of the room if she can't move her feet.

When Summer doesn't flee, Cheree doesn't flee, either. She focuses her will, making her hide tougher.

Ian snarls suddenly at something, and then re-sheaths his knife. He heads toward the stairs, grabbing his discarded trenchcoat from where Edith dropped it while being dragged off by Zebastian. "False alarm." he says in a tone that sounds almost disappointed. Apparently, he's going up there to check it out, absolutely, alarmingly, furious. Someone's getting a talking to.

There is heard, an obnoxious, cackling peal of giggled laughter from somewhere out in the parking lot. Followed by the burning squeal of tires.

Ian is rushin' on out, wrapping himself in his trench as he does, knife put away.

Abraham sees the reaction of the other Kindred, the fleeing of some, and he looks concerned, though a little lost. Spotting Ian heading for the door he does fall in behind, moving out with the Alastor.

Shelly follows on the heels of Ian. Or at least as much as she can with cut through the crowd.

Quinn's ears perk as if sensing something, growling in tandem with Ian's snarl as she follows him on out, pausing to recollect her knife on the way, "Mother fucker."

Quiet will stay with Ian, if only because she seems concerned with the man and this being a two layer ambush, her senses sharpening, time almost seeming to slow as she brings up her Auspex.

When Ian rushes out, Khadijah follows the rest of everyone out too, wanting to see who is there or was there.

Fe doesn't produce a weapon. She doesn't look perturbed. She has, however, neatly removed her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. Her arms are windmilling a bit, in unnecessary, but habitual, warmup - and then Ian is storming by her. She watches him go, frowns, and collects her jacket. It's here that she stands a little awkwardly, until Quiet makes a move. That's when the doctor follows along, perhaps with a faint air of disappointment.

Judith slowly puts her own knife back from where she drew it, turns out it was sheathed upside down under the back of her dress, which is actually a two piece ensemble. Clever. She follows after Ian and the others, grim. And curious.

It takes Summer a moment to loose the fearful paralysis that has rendered her an alabaster statue, but then, slowly, her stiffness relaxes. "It's not him," she says in a voice that sounds far away, and then, more certainly, "It's not him. Everyone -- it's okay."

While others tear off for the door, she seeks to bring a sense of calm back to the room, her hands lifted and meditative. "False alarm, indeed." She shoots a glance toward the door, a flicker of rage crossing her features -- rage at the Lasombra, rage at the pranksters -- until she is able to settle herself again.

"This is a good reminder," she says in a grave tone, "Of the trauma that still lingers from that night."

Only then does she follow after the others, moving at a brisk pace but not among the first as they tear off.

Zebastian looks so attentive, as Fe speaks -- do they know one another? Because there's no shock at the way the scarred woman speaks - no shock at all...

...the shock comes at the sound of an engine, somewhere. Head tipped, eyes turning to Ian. After the Alastor has indicated that he take Edith? The Malkavian is on the move -- taking hold and hurrying the Ghoul along, other arm outstretched, as if to usher along the others fleeing first----

O', o' how deft Zebastian was -- such speed--- and when Ian calls back to them? 'False alarm'? Shoulders shift--- and the grip on Edith remains. No humour, though. The Malkavian just closes his eyes briefly.

"Slow down," Cheree huffs at Summer, her voice almost a squeak. "I'm barefoot and your legs are like seven feet long even /without/ the heels." Even so, Cheree hustles to keep close to Summer, close enough that she can keep Summer within arm's reach at all times.

Moving with a focus lent to him by his mastery over the sorceries of his Clan, Alejandro springs into offensive action, readying sorceries in his mind as he moves to the defense of the memorial.

Becky is at the back exit, having made certain that Hall got out, before turning to face the potential attack from outside. Slightly hunched over and with her arms out on either side of her, the Gangrel's nails have grown into wicked looking claws. The peeling of tires and the cackling causes her to stand up straight, a look of utter confusion on her face. As some rush forward to see who was outside, Becky does the same.

Harper wavers slightly, clearly shaken by the sound. Her eyes flicker to the doorway as people start heading up to see, but it's Summer's words that seem to put some of the starch back in her spine. She tucks her knife back into the strap and tugs her skirt back into place, moving to follow as well.

Esther is vanished. And remains so. Letting others peek out and about in this sort of situation. Why notice her? She's strictly a featured extra.

Reacting more to the rest of his Coterie than any real understanding of just there being danger, Javier preps and follows Quinn, Shelly and Harper to make sure all is well.

Khadijah closes her eyes, the fear of the moment catching up with her finally as she hears it was a false alarm. She looks around to see who stayed in the face of something so terrifying... there are a LOT of people...

In the parking lot just outside the Zavarka, there will be seen a battered old muscle car. It's not nearly as frighteningly impressive as the 'real' Midnight Reaper, although it has been given a black paint job. (Which just further demonstrates their ignorance, as those who have seen the real deal are unlikely to ever forget its menacing, steel gray exterior and highway yellow racing stripes). It appears to have three joyriders. There's one young man doing a tire-squeeeealing donut with it, although he'll aim the nose of the car back out towards the street the moment they catch a glimpse of Ian. There'll be a mohawked young woman in the front seat with him, and then there'll be a third - a younger, black guy sticking his head out the rear window and flipping you the bird, "Fuck you, fascists!"

Fe doesn't laugh.

Ian steps out in front, eyes flashing to the muscle car, there's a moment - a flicker where Ian does nothing, his face gone cold with the stiff-upper-lip of the wealthy and put upon. Then - directly aimed at the driver, Ian's nose wrinkles up and he *snarls* across the parking lot as their eyes meet. He straightens his back as he does, a sudden monument to bestial fury - and then, a moment later, his face relaxes, and that overly calm, steely-gazed demeanor resettles over his face.

He says and does nothing else, save to watch.

The Sherrif's hand makes a claw and he readies fire to summon down upon the car. The thought clearly crosses his mind, but he looks to the store fronts which doubtlessly have CCTVs. "Not worth the hassle that a potential Masquerade breach cleanup would require." He turns back and heads down to the Zavarka basement. "There is no need for concern. Anarch trouble makers looking to cause offense by literal profanity."

Becky squints at the muscle car and its occupants, as her arms hang down loosely at her sides. "What the ever living fuck is even happening here?!"

Quiet... Quiet is not Fe and there is for a moment a look of amusement on her face. She reaches up, hand in a small wave that turns into an extended middle finger towards the car bound trio. A soft, non stressed sigh before her hands move in front of her for a moment.

"----- ---- -- ----- ------ ---- -- -----. --- ---- -- ------- --- --- --------."

"How short some memories are. Would they find memories of Huntington Park quite so funny?" Shelly asks as they get out and see the crude mockery of the demon sportscar.

Not only does Fe not laugh, she actually manages to click her tongue in distaste. She folds her arms under her chest and taps her foot, jacket folded over her forearms, standing just off to Ian's side. After a moment, she begins to roll her sleeves back down and rebutton the cuffs. "Embarrassing," she mutters after a moment.

Wincing as the car sideswipes Summer's BMW, Cheree reaches over and takes gentle hold of Summer's arm. "I know a guy who can take care of that," she murmurs. "Ari Suad, in East Hollywood. I can get it for free."

Judith has stepped aside, away from the rush upstairs and slightly towards the window. Snap of attention to the car -- obviously and specifically, the car. Make, model, color, license, any and all of it, eyes slitted. "Shit, Summer, sorry about that." But it's said a little absently.

Ian and his infamous stare seems to beat anyone else to the punch, leaving Quinn fingering the knife under her jacket. Clearly, it's not necessary at the moment. But the Brujah glares exceptionally hard at the muscle car occupants. She says absolutely nothing. Turning as the other members of her coterie join the gathering.a

Abraham is standing there, looking at the car peel away and almost wreck, his eyes closing at the sound of it scraping off Summer's. When he opens them again, everyone seeming to show signs that this was all a prank he shakes his head. "You'd think even they would understand how fucked up it is to play at being with the Sword." The first words he has spoken tonight, and they are nearly spat out with disdain.

"I'll pay for that." It's the first and only thing Ian says after the car sideswipe's Summer's BMW. Then he turns back toward Zavarka and, laconic as ever, makes his way back inside.

Summer walks out at the rear, thankfully tall enough to see (loom) over most of the crowd when they filter out of Zavarka. She watches as the Demonic Charger Lite peals out of the parking lot, her body relaxing -- not tensing -- when she sees the modded vehicle and its occupants.

"Oh for fucks sake," she says, not exactly in character for the typically prim and well-spoken Toreador, but it's been a night. She's calm...right until the other vehicle almost clips her BMW.

"Hey..." she says as it veers closer, "Hey...Hey...HEY!" Skrrrrt! It scrapes the side an then tears off, prompting her to let out a huffy gasp and then narrow her eyes, apparently more invested now. She focuses on the car as it tears off, eyes slightly narrowed.

What's that? It's some hotel grade art. And an actress. How interesting. Esther stays back until whatever the situation is seems more... Resolved. The sound of engines and minor car accidents isn't exactly reassuring.

"There are those tonight that faced an opportunity to protect the Camarilla," Alejandro says with a dark determination, "even though the threat proved false. You will, each and every one of you, be remembered for it... as will those who, when provided an opportunity to protect the Tower instead fled."

Schultz reacted with surprise at the noise, blinking and looking around - surprised, but not actually alarmed. He makes his way upward at the tail end of the rushed procession - quite content to be the last to emerge, out into the parking lot. He watches for the licence plate of the departing car, squinting in that direction, and drifting back to the wall of the building, pulls his phone free to key something in. He then looks about, keeping a vigilent eye, lest someone - or someones - be looking for an opportunity to have so many kindred all clustered together. He keeps out of the cluster, best he can.

Cheree attempts to sneak her way under Summer's arm. Like maybe nestling into her usual side-hug configuration with the Primogen might help soothe her nerves a bit. (And keep Cheree close. So Cheree can protect Summer? So Summer can protect Cheree?)

"Defending dignity, Primogen Lopez. Not the Tower. Don't ruin my street cred," Fe responds a little flippantly.

Khadijah looks shaken but determined as the car speeds away, taking out part of the BMW. She watches Ian move back inside and Schultz too -- she follows everyone back in.

Judith's already moving away from the window towards the bar, and towards her very startled staff, grabbing a pad and a pen from somewhere behind the barista counter. A quick few murmured words to whoever's on the clock tonight at the same time she's writing things down, bent over what she's doing and her profile quietly hard. Focused. Scene report reflexes, from somewhere. "Fuck's sake," she grumbles, because she must.

Quiet tilts her head a little, watching the street for a moment, before finally she takes her phone out of her purse, tapping away at it.

Becky's nose wrinkles up, as she lifts her hand and she places a clawed hand over her face.

Summer gives the plates a good long look and then ends the stare with a mechanical blink. Her body language relaxes as Cheree shimmies up under her arm, the Toreador giving her a distracted squeeze before looking around. "They don't know better," she says, sounding bitter but not angry, "Just a harmless prank. Cruel. But harmless. Everyone here is fine..."

She looks down at Cheree, offering her a small smile and a gentle squeeze. She looks over at Alejandro and nods, then glances around the crowd. "Thank you, everyone. Although, if it had been him...there would be no shame in running."

The corners of Summer's lips flick up into an attempted smile -- only to immediately drop. "I suppose this concludes our evening," she says, now only sounding exhausted and more than a little sad, "I appreciate everyone who came tonight. And the words spoken."

As everyone starts to flood out the tall Gangrel in a black suit steps back into the cover of the building and starts to shift, out of sight of the cameras and storefronts on the street. It feels like a painfully long transition before Javier takes the form of a goshawk and flies out and up, trying his best to get eyes on the car in an attempt to follow.

"Dignity indeed," Shelly nods towards Fe. "And this is a reminder why these memorials are important. Camarilla, Anarch... the Sword will cut us each just the same. The Anarchs had a Baron lose her head, partially due to Sabbat infiltrator's trickery and leaking of plans. Defense of the Praxis, defense of the City as a whole... it's our mutual interests to work against the Sword."

Schultz drifts toward Summer's sideswiped car, phone still out. He glances around and then takes a few careful shots of the damage - scratches and paint smears, before he tucks his phone back away. He sighs then, softly, and then turns back toward the door. On his way back, he drifts toward Summer. After she concludes addressing the group, he speaks softly to her. "I wouldn't get it fixed right away, just in case some paint smears will be useful. I'm sure you can get yourself a replacement car, but if you need one, I'm happy to provide. Just let me know." And then, leaving her to the comfort of those better equipped to give and receive it, he moves off again.

Judith straightens, tearing off not only the top sheet of whatever she just wrote on, but also the two pages beneath it because she was a little fierce with that ballpoint. "Memorial plaque can wait. And my pretty little concluding speech," she says, calm but through a clearly gritted jaw. She folds the three pieces of paper in half and offers it to Ian without further word. That coiled contained tension is going to need to go somewhere tonight.

Abraham makes a point to let everyone else re-enter, just keeping eyes on the lot and waiting to move in last to rejoin the group inside.

Esther fades back into the evening. She's been standing next to Cheree and Summer for a few moments, actually. Now that the air has cleared, the tension leaving everyone's system revealing her presence. "Well... That was something. Honestly... I mean," Esther shrugs, "Who could blame them?" <English>

Becky's hand drops away from her evening, followed by a loud huff. "I'm going to go and get Hall," she mumbles and heads off to locate the Ventrue.

"Could have been way fucking worse," Quinn adds simply. Her gaze slides over to Summer, shaking her head, "We were lucky." She leaves it at that, finally turning back to regard Shelly and Javier with a frown. Taking note of the missing giant of a man, because really when you're that big, it's kinda hard to miss, she grumbles slightly, "Fuck."

Cheree whispers something up to Summer, but otherwise stays where she is, seeing her duty right now as helping to soothe Summer's nerves through snuggling up close. She glances over at: "Esther," Cheree says softly. In a very much 'c'mon' tone.

"Everybody with a sense of taste could blame them," Shelly blinks at Esther, before adding on in a mumble, "Not like you'd really know much about taste."

Quiet tilts her head upwards, flicking her phone over to text to speech after she finished typing out her message, her nose crinkling at the sound of the synthetic voice as it spills out her message in that odd cadence.

'There's no such thing as a limited victory. Every victory leaves another resentment, another defeated and humiliated people. Another place to guard and defend and fear. Bolstad, Weber. One should not forget many people have many hurts in this city.'

Harper starts to approach Summer, but pauses as Schultz walks over to her. Eyebrow arching lightly, she waits, watching as he moves off away from the group again. Her arms fold around herself lightly, rubbing at one arm before she takes her turn stepping up and nodding. A gentle squeeze at her Primogen's shoulder, "We should finish up, don't let them ruin the night with stupid games."

Judith will linger upstairs longer than most, plying some free lavender espresso drinks for the few patrons left in here tonight, and to soothe her staff as best she can. Given that she herself is more than a little fired up just now.

Summer looks over when Schultz addresses her, a delicate smile forming. "Thank you, Mister Schultz," she murmurs, using a less vampiric term while they're out here on the streets, "That is a very good suggestion -- and I think I'll follow it. I do have access to another vehicle, but thank you for the generous offer."

The Toreador leans her head down to listen to Cheree's whisper, her expression scrunched and then smoothing, appearing touched. She nods her head and whispers a reply.. but Esther's commentary seems to stop them short.

Summer straightens back up and gives the Malkavian a long look. "Excuse me, Miss Rosewaffer?" she says, peering at her, "What do you mean by that?"

Alejandro's eyes fixate on the Malkavian and flicker momentarily to Summer when she addresses her.

When Hall comes back in with Becky, Calla trailing close on their heels, he looks frustrated, maybe at having gotten tossed out the door courtesy of Air Gangrel earlier in the evening. "What was that?!" he asks, scowling. But at the sight of the faces inside the basement of Zavarka, his sour look starts to dissipate, quickly overtaken by something between confusion and astonishment.

Ian accepts the note from Judith and nods at her in quiet thanks. He tucks it into the pocket of his slacks. "Thank you Ms. Delsarto." he says aside at her as he heads back down the stairs to join the others in the basement of Zavarka. He moves back over to his original place next to the portrait of Francis, and re-folds his arms across his chest once more.

Fe arches an eyebrow and a half (the sum total of all of her eyebrows) at Shelly in recognition of her words, but it doesn't quite come across as concession. A met point. She lists toward Quiet, glancing at her phone for ease of translation, then nods off toward the parking lot exit, as though to prompt an exit. "Unless you wanted to watch..." She looks back at the Camarilla squabbles. "... this..."

Calla tags along with Hall and Becky. The tiny ghoul is still adorned in her dove gray long-sleeved dress and stockings, which makes sense she didn't change back there! She is seems mostly confused about all that is going on right now, but does peek around for Cheree. She seems relieved that the vampires are still here.

Khadijah moves back into the salon and has a seat back where she'd been sitting originally. She isn't leaving; she has a feeling there might be more to be heard. In fact she glances at Ian, wondering if he might be next.

Judith eventually descends to the basement herself and immediately finds Summer, leaning in for a quick private consult.

"I didn't know what the fuck was happening," Becky says, as she flashes her claws in Hall's field of view. "I mean, it's not like you can grow claws." As Hall's sour look fades, the Gangrel grows silent.

Cheree remains glued to Summer's side, but she's polite enough to not listen in on any private whispers others share with the Primogen. She catches sight of Calla, then waves the ghoul over. "My keys are in my purse in there," she says. "You can drive yourself back to the Grand. ...you can drive, right?"

Esther lifts an eyebrow, looking around. Clearly unaware her quip would have caused this much of a stir. "Um... Well, maybe none of you noticed but relations with the Movement haven't exactly been all warm and cuddly recently? Honestly, I mean..." she sighs, struggling with words for a moment in a way she rarely does. A flustered bit of air leaving her nose as her fingers flip back a bit of blond. "Take it as a victory. They knew about this, and that's their big plan for revenge? I understand it's, like, your mourning. Totally-" her hands rise up, "They're dicks, don't get me wrong." <English>

Calla makes her way over to Cheree, moving her dancer like grave. She then nods in response to her words. "I can drive, Harpy Crowley." She says softly in her direction and then leans into whisper more softly.

Quiet, in the end, shakes her head to Fe. Her phone put back away, she gives a respectful bow to Fe, but soon she is sliding back downstairs, seeming to ignore most others for the moment as she goes back to praying in front of the portraits there.

Shelly's head tilts kind of as if she were watching an alien speak but it's just Esther she's staring at like an extra-terrestrial. "That's really like the first stance you want to make since //Primogen Blue// appointed you as Whip against the advice of all the clan? That maybe anarchs mocking our losses kind of had a point?"

"I wouldn't expect one of Blue's close allies to understand." Ian replies to Esther with a shake of his head. "After all, it's a bit like your victory too isn't it Rosewaffer?"

Fe wouldn't ordinarily bow to a white girl dressed in hanbok, but... she's done everything by the numbers, and it doesn't feel super weird. Just a little. So she bows too, if a little haltingly. Then, she's off, across the parking lot.

"Our mourning?" Quinn questions once, her tone calm as she turns to regard Esther, "-Our- mourning?" the question is repeated a little louder, "Are you not one of us now? Nevermind, don't fucking answer that. I'm not in the mood for any more lies this evening. Get the fuck out of my face Rosetwatwaffle. On second thought, I'll leave."

The Brujah Primogen spares a momentary glance over towards Summer, "Thanks for the memorial service, but I'm gonna leave before I start ripping out spines." And with that she stalks off.

"Miss Cromwell," Alejandro says with a note of frustration. "You deprived Mister Hall of an opportunity to prove his loyalty to the Tower. He may not have the capability to grow Claws. But I have seen Ventrue lift cars and bend steel. He is hardly helpless. And, now, he stands even lesser in the esteem of the Tower than he would have had he stayed. I am sure," he says dryly, "there will be further opportunity for him to prove his loyalty in the future. See to it that you don't get in his way again."

Calla whispered softly with Cheree about something or another. Since she is close to Summer now as well, she gives her a gentle smile that is somber and troubled. "Primogen Hastings." She says, dipping into a cursty. She then starts to back away from Cheree and Summer as if intending to give them space.

"Hey-- hey," Cheree says, pulling Summer's arm around herself. She dismisses Calla with a nod, and then returns her attention to Esther, Summer, and Shelly. "Look, let's not -- everyone's nerves are, you know, shot right now, and -- and we all say stupid shit sometimes, okay...?"

"Read the crowd, Rosewaffer," Esther mumbles to herself, shaking her head. Hands still held up in front of her. "I think I should go. Clearly not... Look, I'm sorry. Wrong time, wrong... Whatever. But I'm going to..." and she begins to peel away from the group with a double step. <English>

Calla looks over to Quinn as she speaks of leaving as if quite aware of such. She then briefly turns her attention to Esther, biting her lip to keep from saying anyting just now.

Summer listens to Esther's spiel with narrowed eyes, her jaw set. "I will chalk it up to you being absent from the evening's memorial," she says, tone uncharacteristically crisp, "But given everything we discussed tonight, this prank -- which I stated was ultimately harmless -- was still in poor taste. You saying 'can you blame them?' in such a cavalier light when they sought to emulate the vehicle and person who //killed// members of this city, does not deserve your flippancy."

Summer is stiff under Harper's hand, her patience with this night having apparently eroded. She looks over at Judith with a miniscule nod and says, "Thank you, Miss Delsarto, you may make the announcement but I'm afraid everyone is ready to disband."

Still the other Rose's words seem to check her anger. She gives Esther a somewhat disappointed look before drawing a breath -- not to breathe, simply to steady herself -- and she says, "Please, go ahead."

It's unclear how long Javier was gone, but at some point he's back, stepping from the building back out to where everyone was gathered. He doesn't get in the middle of the ongoings. Instead, he reaches out to lightly touch his coterie mates on the shoulder, each softly to get their attention before leaning in to whisper to them. Keeping his expression schooled, he nods once he's done speaking with them then looks to the rest of the group.

"You shouldn't have come in the first place." Ian replies to Esther when she tries the pity route, calling after her as she retreats. He glances back to Khadijah, then Hall, and finally Becky before he sniffs once more. Then he turns back to Summer, Harper, and Judith, going still and quiet once more.

With the gathering back in Zavarka Abraham takes a deep breath, letting out as he looks around at the aftermath. He does move over to Quinn as she is moving to leave, a brief word spoken with her. Once finished he looks back over to the words being spoken around Esther's quip. He listens, and watches for now.

"If you hadn't noticed, Harpy Crowley, //Whip// Roswaffer decided to take on a position of //leadership// for our clan. A position I said at the time and still say again here now that she is unfit for and Primogen Blue set her up to look a fool and by extension, the rest of us," Shelly huffs. And remembers she's got that knife out and slips it back into her pocket belatedly.

Judith stalks to retake the platform immediately once she's downstairs and has received some word from Summer. Lets out a long breath. Independent of the mic, and her contralto tighter than earlier: "Thank you. For coming together, sharing, and witnessing. Only one thing formally remains, and you are all free to linger here as long as your night and your nerve allow. As long as this establishment stands, as long as we all stand, so will this remembrance."

She steps to the wall behind the podium where there something has been hung, draped all evening behind a dark crimson cloth. Which she now plucks briskly away to reveal a large memorial plaque, gleaming bronze plate over dense, flame-resistant ebony wood, both a luxurious and a somber piece. The large lettering at the top, clearly seen even at some distance, reads: "In Fierce and Loving Memory of the Burning Night." Smaller commemorative text reads with the details of the night in question, followed by a full list of those tragically fallen in the event, a second list honoring those Kindred who stood and survived it. Underneath, again writ large: "We Will Not Forget."

She adds, with a smile a touch darker than it might have been before the false alarm, "A small thing in the grand scheme, and I am quite aware that some will consider it a mere token. On its own, it will satisfy no vengeance or justice, it will not prevent future assaults or betrayals or bullshit, it will not bring those lost back to us except in memory. But our memories are long, cousins, if we are fortunate, and our losses stay with us for all the time we have. May these names stay written on our hearts that we never lose them, or let them have ended in vain against future grief. Numquam obliviscar. Be vigilant. Do not forget what you have heard and seen tonight."

The entire time Shelly is saying that, Cheree is looking at the knife. She only looks up at Shelly's eyes once Shelly puts the blade away. "...she'll learn," is Cheree's only defense, and it's a weak one.

Shelly stares down at Cheree, her hand tapping on that pocket. You know the pocket. The one she just slipped a knife into.

When Shelly taps her pocket, Cheree shrinks in against Summer in genuine fear of the Malkavian.

Calla is here quietly listening and watcing in the way she does.

Harper sighs softly as she watches Quinn makes to leave, moving over to gather with her coterie as Javier returns. She listens to what he has to say, her lips pressed into a thin line before she nods. Her hand reaches to rest on the Brujah's arm, but she does linger to watch the unveiling of the memorial before turning to follow after.

Becky looks over at Alejandro as she is addressed, a mix of conflicting emotions dancing over her face. Annoyance, frustration, guilt, confusion. Finally, a bit crestfallen, the Gangrel mumbles a 'sorry' in the Tremere Primogen's direction. Putting a hand on Hall's shoulder, she gives it a squeeze. "Sorry," Becky repeats, more firmly this time, a she directs her words towards Hall. Taking her hand back, Becky starts to head off.

Pausing in her departure as Abraham catches her, Quinn reaches to place a firm hand on his shoulder and nods, "We'll talk soon." She says nothing more, the woman clearly doing her best to hold the beast at bay as she takes off -- not even waiting for the rest of her coterie.

Summer watches Esther leave with a lingering stare, the warmth not yet returning to her face. Still, when Judith summons them back to the interior of Zavarka, she will join her fellow Rose to watch the plaque's reveal. She stands a little more stiffly now, not even a sad smile reaching her features. Afterward, she will embrace and kiss Judith, thanking her for hosting, and then move upstairs. Cheree presumably is with her.

She watches as Becky and Hall move off together, then down to the Ventrue. "Were you ready to go?" she asks, "I think I'm going to pop next door to the Moroccan for a snack first. I'm feeling a little peckish, after all of that excitement. The invitation extends to everyone here, of course."

And that is the direction she'll meander -- toward the her nightclub not even a block away.

"Astute," Hall tells Becky. He seems to be keeping an eye on Calla and Cheree, alert to the possibility that Calla may not know how to drive and need a ride, when Alejandro calls him by name. He looks from Alejandro to Becky, not yet clued in to what did or didn't happen here tonight. He blinks. " -- I'm sorry," he says. "I, uh. Really must -- have missed something, or. Did miss something, and. I apologize for that, but. There's no need to. Fault Miss Cromwell for my failings, that's -- I can take responsibility for myself, Primogen Lopez. Please." Meanwhile, Esther's glib remark earns her some splashback. Something that Hall doesn't seem to fully understand, but that leaves him frowning again. She's already starting to back away when he asks, clearly confused, "What -- is going on here?"

Abraham gives Quinn a nod and lets her go. A knowing look at what she is feeling. Once gone he turns and watches as the plaque is unveiled, reading it from afar. His gaze lingers on it longer than it would normally take though. Finished, he moves to finally speak with the other familiar faces. He stops by Summer first, his hand reaching up in a comforting touch to her shoulder and speaks with her quietly, and briefly, before she departs.

Cheree is indeed with Summer. Glued to her side for the rest of the night. She trusts Calla to collect her purse and drive her (Bastian's) BMW back to the Grand.

But Quiet remains, in the basement, restarting, and finishing her ritual. Some things are done simply because they must be done.

Calla will eventually later drive Bastian Fox's brand new expensive care home safetly (barely)!

Alejandro's frown softens and he nods "I understand there will be some ... teething problems for the new arrivals, Miss Cromwell, let this be one of them." He shakes his head at Hall "You cannot, Hall. You are, for want of better terms, a Fledlging who has not been released and has not been Accounted for. You literally cannot take responsibility for yourself until you are a Neonate, which you are not."

As the others begin to leave Abraham makes his next stop, moving over to Ian, likewise speaking with him more quietly.

And after a bit, Ian turns to head for the exit, still wrapped up in his trenchcoat so as not to reveal the tattered mess of his suit beneath it. He looks - well, about the same as Ian always looks. He pauses as Abraham comes over, tilting to listen to the man for a moment. He nods quietly and lowers his voice to reply to the man with a nod before he heads for the exit.

Khadijah stands when it looks as if Ian might be leaving, and approaches him. "Alastor Stanford, could I possibly have a private word with you, before you leave?" She watches his eyes, trying to determine his reaction, hoping for the best.

Summer looks touched by Abraham's aside, the Brujah earning a warm look and a soft touch to his shoulder. She offers a returned aside, followed by an amicable squeeze, and then drifts down the street with Cheree still tucked under her arm and anyone else who would like to replenish themselves at the nightclub.

Ian glances over his shoulder at Khadijah, eyes narrowing briefly as he's stopped before he leaves, and then he ticks his head toward the exit in a clear invitation for her to follow him. "Stay at least three feet away. I can still smell Blue's cheap cologne on you." he replies.

Calla seems like she might follow the nightclub, but Calla does this alot quietly listens and lingers about! Plus she is allegedly presenting herself for sale or something, so might as well be around!

Judith remains on the platform for a time, having curled that dark crimson cloth in one hand and lifted it to the center of her chest. Just watching, again a few more than others, and if there is some opportunity or opportunities missed in the room for her personally tonight, she seems perfectly unruffled about it. Eventually, flicks the mic off and steps aside and behind the side bar, hovering over some establishment business there.

"Thanks." Khadijah resists the urge to look shocked by what Ian has said... nothing shocks her anymore. But she does stay the requisite 3 feet away.

Hall listens quietly while Alejandro corrects him, but if he had further questions, it would appear that they'll have to wait till another night. As the evening winds down, he moves over to Schultz, whom he asks to catch him up on what Hall missed before he leaves.

With a few additional words to Ian, Abraham gives him a nod in farewell and then moves over to where Judith has retreated after the unveiling and close of the memorial. He gives her a nod as he approaches, a silent greeting, before also quietly speaking with her, nice and quiet.

Schultz has said only a few words tonight, a greeting and then calculated words of investigation and response to the prank/political statement. Now, having returned downstairs, he watches the unveiling of the plaque, to a much disrupted air, and he takes a moment to look over those present. Eyes drifting to Summer, to Judith, to Hall, to Ian and Khadijah making their way to a quiet table off to the side. And then, with a respectful nod to any that might happen to catch his look, he is about to go. But then, Hall approaches, and so Schultz engages in a few words before he too, turns and goes.

Quiet remains praying. The entire ritual repeated, even the unlit incense since Judith has yet to give her a lighter. The bowl, the cups, the walking, the bows. Until it ends in a final one to the portraits, a full one, on her knees, hands besides her head, forehead pressed to the floor. Only rising up afterwards with a slow and sad nod.

Summer offer a quiet aside to Judith as she passes by, a hand touching the woman's lower back. She watches Quiet with interest, head tilted, but is forced to leave before the finale.

Judith's look lifts to Abraham at the approach, a tight small smile forming at one corner of her mouth that she immediately attempts to smooth out. And for the record, she clearly has no immediate plans to hand Quiet a lighter just yet, all things considered. She replies to the Brujah, exquisitely soft. Summer's hand, there at the small of her back, lands in passing on the bowie knife now known to be carried there this evening.