Anarch Roundtable

Participants: Mal Sima Vandred Jean-Jacques Fe Keegan Jaxon Shawna Olivia Sylvia Ayande Jack Scar Quiet Zeddy Rotten Bartok

Storyteller: Lascaux Sundance Reverie

Location: Abandoned Radlands Skate Park

Date and Time: December 1, 2021 - after dusk.

Summary: A meeting during which changes to the Westside leadership are discussed and revelations made.

It's a cool, overcast night; thankfully, the torrential rains have abated, leaving only the faint glow of the thumbnail moon to shine what meager light it can through the blanket of clouds above. It's a fitting sort of evening for the forlorn disrepair of the abandoned skate park, which is full as usual of the refuse and detritus of whoever uses this place - there are blankets piled in one of the more sheltered corners, and one of the big garbage barrels has clearly recently been used as a makeshift campfire. But tonight there's nobody here looking for shelter, and the park is lit up with the cold glow of lights plugged into a humming generator.

A circle of lawn chairs and worse-for-the-wear patio furniture has been assembled in one of the larger areas where the concrete isn't so cracked. Standing in the middle of it is the figure of the individual who called this meeting - Lascaux, with most of his hair tucked away in the hood of the ragged black sweatshirt he's wearing. His fingertips poke out from the sleeves; his arms are folded, and he's repetitively scuffing the toe of his combat boot against the ground.

When people start to make their way through the gap in the chain-link fence, he comes back from the middle-distance or whatever unnamed interstitial void he was staring into, and pulls the hood down. A tumble of copper curls spills out, and he broadly beckons to the ring of chairs. "C'mon over," he calls. "Have a seat. Or don't, whatever's comfortable. Thank y'all for coming. I think we got a lot to talk about this evening, and I'm real grateful to everybody who showed up."

Long pause. "Some of you don't know me. Some of you know me and don't like me. That's fine. I know I ain't the easiest pill to swallow. But - when I first talked to Spade... when I first talked to everybody, more or less, and last time I had one of these meetings - I kept saying: We got to stand together, or the Tower's gonna ramrod us, and the Sword and Gui Ren are just gonna kick us when we're down." He takes a breath. "And... the people I was saying that to, some of 'em, they're dead now. Or they might be. The Westside's getting encircled, bit by bit, and if the Movement's ever gonna have a chance to stand against all those threats, now is the time - /now/ is the time - to put aside all the petty shit that we hate about each other and band together. Under a real leader."

Another moment, and then he clarifies, "Not me. I ain't talking about me. But Cruce's out of the picture. If he's leaving, or just stepping down, I don't know. But he's giving up Santa Monica."

       Malachi has been here for a time, burning off some apparent stress by... Skateboarding in a skatepark. It's a revolutionary concept. The ghoul is fairly beaten up, with a cut over his eyebrow, a fading black eye, and a relatively recently split lower lip, with a few bruises and fading cuts on his knuckles and fingers. Far behind compared to some, he's functional on the thing, and seems to be enjoying himself until things truly get started.

       Fe is annoyingly punctual. This means that Shawna and Olivia are annoyingly punctual as well, and in this context, that means early. Long enough toc circle the block once in Fe's highly conspicuous 1972 GT2000 before pulling up front and making their collective way through the chain link. It's here the three have been situated for about 15 minutes, making themselves comfortable, or, as stated: not.
       Fe's done this by sitting opposite Lascaux, taking stock of the undead and undead adjacent as they filter in, and alternatingly texting on a Blackberry with one hand. If anyone happens to look over her shoulder, it's exceptionally boring scheduling work between herself and her clients, ever the life of the party.
       The doctor is wearing a long, hot pink fur coat, hot-teal leggings, a lime-green top, and red, knee high boots. A purple bandana is keeping her braids out of her face. The color clash is either nauseating or compelling. Perhaps both.
       "Spade mentioned that to me, before he went off to measure streams. I tried digging into it, but only came up with some tech-head's name who evidently uncovered the thread. I haven't been able to get in touch with her yet. You been able to independently verify that, Lascaux?"

       Hark: from the tear in the chainlink fence over yonder, enter three young punky types. They do little to obscure their clamouring to join the night's proceedings at the Abandoned Radlands Skate Park; a blonde dude in a Canadian Tuxedo practically frolicking alongside a willowy chick with purple micro-fringe and Spock brows, who grunts and shoves him in favour of practically yelling into her phone:

       "MELODY-- 'sup hooker, where you at?!" A moment of silence interrupted by roughhousing with the blonde - palm shoving his face, holding it firm as she rolls her kohl rimmed eyes and spits before replying; "WHAT? It's sooo fucking lame up there, but /fine/. See you never, biiiitch." Thus begins a quieter interlude between her and the blonde punk dude in the Canadian tuxedo. He looks downtrodden. They're still roughhousing, only less enthused for now.

       The third member of this trio has not engaged with double-trouble's antics; dark haired and sad eyed, dressed like he's gotten lost en route to auditioning for a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds tribute act, this young guy is the only one who seems invested in heading closer - tentatively, slowly - to the centre circle. As Lascaux starts addressing the crowd? This new guy with sad eyes crosses his arms, glances around a the various entities gathered, lingers standing towards the back, and apparently listens.

       It's a nostalgic sort of thing for Olivia Carmichael to be in the skate park. She'll always be fond of it, given it was where she did her very first Official Vampire Task. It was supposed to involve her taking notes and reporting back anything interesting, but, well. She sort of forgot to do that first part, and she wasn't paying close enough attention to do the second. She does, in fact, remember what Lascaux is describing, however. What he's describing and, ultimately, a whole lot of yelling. She's actually wearing the coat that she'd gotten from Maximillian today. It's hugged around her torso, covering a sparkly little dress that may imply she was either out clubbing just prior, or intends to be clubbing shortly after. Who's to say, really.
       She eyeballs one of the chairs and, at least for now, simply elects to stand. A gaze is spared to Malachi, his bruised knuckles and his recently-split lip, but she doesn't say anything further. When Fe Han settles down onto the chair, Olivia Carmichael settles down on her left leg, idly inspecting her nails as the pair of them talk shop.
       More looks given towawrds the trio of arriving, unfamiliar trio. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds? Is that a K-Pop thing? Olivia looks to Fe Han for clarification.

Jack Scar has been here a little while, doing nothing much. He took a seat in one of the lawn chairs and has been there ten minutes or so, smoking his absurdly long white clay pipe and staring off at nothing. He does come alive again when Lascaux speaks, turning his head to look at him.

       Shawna indeed arrives early with Fe and Olivia, as does her prized crow Hanz who is appears about ten minutes later, coming in from the northwest. The crow ghoul is followed by a half dozen other crows who fly with him in a loose and chaotic 'formation' as he begins to circle the skate park on 'overwatch'. Shawna glances up at his arrival before she murmurs something to Fe and Olivia, hushing just in time to catch Lascaux's speech. The announcement about Cruce and Santa Monica don't seem like a surprise to the boyish blonde. Perhaps she knew already?

       Somebody pulls up on an expensive motorcycle, the kind made for speed, not cruising. FOr just a second it wouldn't be too far fetched to think the damned Sword Dogs showed up, but no, just catching sight of the rider would tell otherwise; seriously otherwise. For one, he isn't even wearing a shirt, let alone a helmet. A plethora of tattoos are on display; guns, skulls, angels, demons, a big bat across his upper back, just a lot okay? His hair is covered with a black and white bandana tonight as Keegan Jaxed climbs off the bike and heads toward the affair. He walks with what some might call swagger, others would just say he is wasted as always.

       On approach to the group that has already gathered, the rocker throws up his hands and graces them with a pair of horns as he opens his mouth to show off his fangs and gives a wicked hiss. "ROCK AND ROLL MOTHERFUCKERS" he yells, the sound of his voice reverberating off the landscape of the skate park. "Hope I didn't miss anything good." he states, finding a place to hop on and join the conversation. "You don't really think that punk is dead, do you? Fucker has more lives than a black cat." he mentions likely speaking of Spade.

       There is a fellow here, seeming to be in his late 20s with a reddish hair and wearing red-tinted sunglasses, a brown leather coat and an open collar shirt, that seems a little interested in what Lascaux has to say. He'll give a vaguely familiar upnod to Sima and Vandred, as well. He looks like the kind of guy who sells MDMA to teenagers (and might be), or the villainous fixer in one of those old 60s or 70s exploitation movies who strangles the 'Secretary Who Knows Too Much' with a telephone cord.

Vandred takes the manual route, his hunched and wrapped frame fridge-like in its frame and lumbering motions as it makes its way through the fence, before pausing and using one arm to push the fence's edge - permitting Sima to enter behind him.

From there Vandred seems to be content to make his way in, with his stoop occasionally dropping to him walking Gorilla-armed, knuckles in the dirt before they get to the chairs, where he then opts to simply squat and rest his arms over his knees, back hunching as he gets comfortable in place - rather than take a gamble on the integrity of the chair. Nostrils flare, huffing at the yelling voices before looking over towards the red-tinted sunglasses-wearing 20 year old, and there he lifts up one hand, wiggling bandage-wrapped digits before letting the hand drop, opting to continue looking around than strike up a conversation.

The figure that arrives looks both right at home, and completely out of place.
Sima is a figure that is not exactly familiar to a lot of people, but there are those that have probably seen her here and there, or heard her name just the same. She's currently dressed in her punk-adjacent tribal fusion affair, just enough skin to catch the eye, but not enough to satisfy the greedy eye. There is a smile settled on her darkly painted lips as she makes her way through the fence that's so chivalrously held by the larger figure that has arrived with her, and toward where Lascaux has set up the chairs, her head dipping toward him in greeting without interrupting the speech he's providing.
She decides, instead, to simply settle herself on one of the chairs, neatly crossing her legs. Her head turns toward Malachi as she spots him, a hand lifting to give him a coy, wiggly-fingered wave.
Others that she recognises also receive a nod as she rests back, allowing her attentions to meander over toward those raucus guests that have just arrived. Her smile broadens to a point of dimpling her cheeks, "Goodness," She leans back, her head tilting to one side, a pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes even at night. She is clearly addressing Vandred, but it's not like she's trading secrets. "What style, what thunder."
It could be sarcastic, but it doesn't seem to be.
The reddish haired fellow also draws her attention, returning his greeting, but otherwise remaining quiet.

It will be only a few moments after the arrival of Keegan's motor hog startles a few of the Westsiders present that there might be some kind of posse of Sword Dogs piling in...that just as those present begin to relax...the screaming whine of several high-powered, custom Kawasaki and Yamaha street bikes will be heard!

       However. They're not going to bust in guns blazing, either. It's simply the case that one of you nerds made the mistake of inviting them. That's why - soon after those screaming engines die down - that a trio of Sword Dogs will appear. There's a man and a woman in white, tautly fitted racing leathers with blood piping down their arms and legs and glossy reflective helmets. And between them...well. Quiet has been getting yeeted back and forth across the city on one of these motorcycles lately, that after a few months of this treatment, she seems to be getting the hang of it!

       As the rest begin to arrive, Malachi rolls his way up one of the edges of the bowl, then plops a sneakered foot down to catch himself there as his board is pulled up and tucked under an arm. Taking a moment to glance at some of the bruising on his knuckles, and after seeming to find the lack of blood acceptable, the man makes his way towards the chairs as dark eyes take in those arriving and those speaking.

       A smile is given to all, that greeting wave returned Sima and Vandred's way, as Mal approaches the circle and moves to stand a short distance away. He doesn't take a chair for himself, instead opting to stand a bit further back, closer to one of the back fences but still within speaking and listening distance. Idly, he directly a reassuring smile Olivia's way, which drifts to both Shawna and Fe in short order.

"Maybe J.J. can verify it," Lascaux says in reply to Fe, jerking his thumb toward the older gentleman in the natty suit. "Me? I just hear things. And considering I ain't /seen/ him since the last time he came here to yell at me about - I don't even remember what it was - wait, yeah I do. Camarilla incursions into Bel Air, that was it -" he just shrugs, demonstratively. "Maybe it's some kind of leading-by-absence technique, but I don't think it's been real effective, personally. Y'all know how many clanless and Thinbloods there are in this city? Y'all know how many targets for Sabbat recruitment, or, hell, just - worse things, that is? "

He shakes his head, then scrapes his hair behind his ears. "He kept that seat as long as he did 'cause he was one of them. A Thinblood. But this ain't the time for absentee leaders, anymore. It's been a hard few months. We all just been doing our own things, trying to keep out of trouble. Some of us -" he indicates himself, here, and Shawna; he also gives Olivia a hairy eyeball, although he doesn't point at her - "ain't been terribly successful in keeping out of trouble. But the thing is, the whole time I was in the shit I was in, I kept thinking. Why ain't I got people to stand behind me? Ain't it supposed to be what the Movement's about? Having each other's backs, as Anarchs? And I felt bad that - you know, people don't feel they can come to me, if they need to. But more'n that? I just wished there was - somebody with the - presence, the charisma, whatever. The things I ain't got."

He ducks his chin. "Somebody with the vision and the moxie to back it up. Somebody who knows what we're up against and -"

He stops and stares at the arrival of the motorcycles, and then shakes his head and just continues. "Somebody who knows what we're up against and has the smarts and confidence and the /trust/ to back it up." He steps back, out of the center of the circle, then.

       Yes, that would be Bernadette, in white leathers with red piping and a rapidly disapearing motorcycle helmet. Here with her near constant female companion, and a man Keegan Jackson once air humped at a party. Can love bloom on a battlefield?

       She is at ease, serene looking, and for a moment seems more interested in bits of graffitti strewn about the place. Paintings of tarot cards and men rising up from slavery. Old memories that soon seemingly pass. She makes a soft motion to her companions before settling her attention vagually on the grouping, silently watching with owlish eyes.

       The cry of 'rock and roll, motherfuckers' has those two roughhousing punks looking up from their antics and over to Keegan Fuckin' Jaxon - the blonde dude in double-denim goes: "Wooooah---" and violet micro-fringe shoves him with an elbow before laughing and leaning into share quiet words together. These two are giving post-ironic snarky audience vibes. They may have missed Olivia and Fe, but Sima's and more so Vandred's arrival has pulled focus. They keep to the back, all the better to shove n' pretend like they're not gawking as they hiss whispered goss or whatever.

       Closer to the circle? The sad eyed dude continues to watch with his arms crossed -- he has noticed Olivia, giving her a cool once over - a judgement of her coat, maybe? Nah, not that spicy. A look to Shawna and Fe, then young sad-eyes is looking back to the--- sound of more motorcycles? Sad-eyes compresses his lips, glancing to the crowd, before the entrance of three cool cats (Dogs) in white leather flank in with Quiet. Arms are recrossed as he takes a half-step back from the circle, and makes an attempt to refocus on Lascaux - brow furrowed, emo-energy persistent as he listens, watches.

       Ohhhh...there's a /smell/. I-it's...it's like if you left a whole ass uncooked turkey, full of tuna, out on the street. Then a rat started eating it, which was run over, then crows tried eating that - they were killed by a cat - which was also run over. It's putrid. Pungent. Sweet. 
       Just as the Sword Dogs enter, comes a call from the fence. "Aaaaaaayyyyyy mami, ayyy mami ayyyyyy! And the girls sang, and the girls sang!" Headphones blare, those cheap ass things with the felt missing. A 40 of 'beer' tilted back to pour down Zeddy Rotten's gullet, and though his spiked jacket with all its 'Set Tyrants On Fire' buttons is closed? The beer leaks - almost like he's pissing himself.
       With the arrival of Zeddy is a large 'bat', a cudgel really. Fit with railroad tie spikes and 'Gimme A Kiss' bedazzled along the wood in Red, White and Blue. The bottle is hurled at Vandred's back. "Fffffffuuuuuuuuck, that tastes like complete balls. When are we going to get something TASTY?" Laughter, loud and shrill even as The Rotten rolls up to the group to stand beside and behind Sima. If Punk's dead, it just rolled out of the fucking grave, for as Zeddy laughs his blackened gums wriggle with thin worms.

       Olivia leans in towards Shawna when the gangrel murmurs her clipped phrase to Fe Han and herself, though Olivia's attention is drawn to Vandred when he arrives a moment later. Naturally, then, the ghoul's eyes track Sima and her broadening smile and dimpling cheeks. A small breath hitched in her throat and subtle parting of her lips, but that's all. Olivia reaches to draw that coat a little tighter around her torso and gives Shawna a nod of affirmation to whatever was said, and then a delicate nip to her bottom lip.
       Talk of leaders always goes well when it comes to Anarchs. Olivia, for once, does the smart thing and stays relatively quiet. Maybe she's waiting for the punching and growling to start? Instead of that, however, there's growling of a different kind! Motorcycle growls! Mwahhhhh wahhhhhhhhh reooowrawrrrrr, skrrrrrr.
       The timing and pacing of the motorcycles arrival and Lascaux speech leads Olivia to what is, this one hopes, the entirely wrong conclusion.
       "You're joking. Bernie?" she asks Lascaux, incredulous.
       Sad Eyes is given an up-and-down too. Him and his weird little K-Pop Idol T-Shirt.

       Olivia also gives Lascaux a: 'what the fuck did I do?' expression when he gives her the hairy eyes. The hairy eye. -A look-.

       Fe settles a hand on the small of Olivia's lap and pockets her phone. She leans her opposite elbow against the chipped plastic armrest of her chair and briefly assesses the newcomers. The trio. The older fellow. She doesn't greet them with much but a blink, but Sima, a brief:
       "Pleasure to see you out and about," and Malachi? An extension of the doctor's hand, to give him a pound. Keegan gets a flash of a smile, but she doesn't humor the digression into musings on genre. She lets it hang, as she does Zeddy's self-heralding. She waits for it to finish, before sparing the man a glance. Back, then, to Lascaux:
       "I wasn't refuting you, Lascaux. Just asking for clarification. It does seem like every metric regarding the matter is indicative of the development, but, in absentia? The shadow of Mr. Aslan looms. He's a fan of the current Baron, as much as the rest of us are loathe to notice..." Fe indicates generally around herself.
       "A void of leadership." There's a brief pause as the crotch rockets play counterpoint to Keegan's hog, the motorized one, and she waits, again, before continuing her tangent:
       "There could be a vote of no-confidence, but what does that mean when the only institutions erected for that cause have been subsumed by the leech they're propping up? Would you have us war over it?"

Jack Scar sits there silently and fidgets with his pipe, slowly tapping ash out into his palm, thumbing more tobacco onto the bowl from a little oilskin bag. He does it all very slowly, watching people arrive. He doesn't seem surprised at the unexpected ones, nor the ones whose smell counts as a plus-one to the party.

       Hanz lets out a warbling caw-caw as the motorcycles first come in to view and the crows around him flutter and follow, more as an extra distraction that might confuse anyone trying to target the little bugger.

       Shawna glances up at the corvid, then over toward the arriving motorcycles, briefly tense before relaxing a bit at their arrival. She turns her light blue eyes back toward Lascaux after a hesitant moment and stares somberly before calling out, "Who are our options, then? When some of us heard that rumor 'bout Cruce, we heard a few other things, too. One of em was... he had picked his successor. Not that a Baron's title is handed down and shit. Do we even know for sure if that shit's true?"

       "Cruce ain't gone yet." pipes up Keegan Jaxon. "He's still in town and around. He is tying up some loose ends and he will have an announcement to make before he does go." he claims and it would seem the rocker has been keeping in contact with the Baron of Westside. "I'm not going to speak for Cruce and I don't know what he was saying back before I retired and decided to come back and settle my ass down in LA, but I can talk about what he has been telling me recently." KJ claims with a glance out over the crowd. He returns the smile to Fe, a quick grin and upnod.

       "He fucking knows. Cruce fully understands that without unity the Movement is doomed here in LA. Might as well pack up and get the fuck out or march into the meat grinder. Cause those are about the only two options soon as shit gets rolling." Keegan Jaxon states with a slow headshake. "Which is seriously fucked up cause this is an ANARCH CITY! But the fucking Cam has pushed it in and taken whole areas of turf through deception and plain ol' tomfuckery. That shit aint gonna fly. It can't." He glances at Shawna when she speaks, arching his brows.

The bottle smashes on Vandred's back - as if Zeddy had thrown it at a brick wall, shattering and.. not actually doing much to the current atire that the slouched figure is wearing in the first place, and his head turns to stare at Zeddy for a moment. There's a sucking inhale of air, before he utters a few choice, chosen words in French. They won't be repeated here because of the vulgarity, before he lets out a sucking, hissing 'ssskkh' noise from behind the mask that sits over his face, shoulders shaking as it becomes apparent it's laughter, and then he swivels his head back forwards again.

       "Can't hand that kind of shit down. What the fuck kind of joke is that? Oh, I'm done with being Baron. Here, let me hand it off to my friend, tee-hee." The disdain is about as thick as Vandred's french accent, followed by an snarl and snort of air. "I don't think you get to run off and then tell people who takes over for you."

       Double-trouble - that is the two punks that've been roughhousing, slow their roll as they spot The Rotten. Blondie looks shocked, fascinated - Violet Baby-Bangs is ribbing him with an elbow, and the two are scampering over to be less blatant a little upwind of the stank. Whispers between them both, come through as: "--the fuck?".

       For the first time in a bit, Sad Eyes looks over to them, head jerked in a shake. 'Be cool'? Could be. Or a 'shut the fuck up', maybe. Violet Baby-Bangs sticks her tongue out at him, then falls silent. This gives Sad Eyes an opportunity to look at Olivia again - sadly - then back to where folks are talking. Fe, Keegan and Vandred et all are considered glumly, as he keeps his arms crossed tightly by his body. Sad Eyes isn't uncomfortable, uh, he's just built that way.

       Fe's offered fist bump is returned by Malachi as he passes near, a smile on his face as he slides in near the trio. Not to interrupt, or to take up a permanent standing spot. Instead, it's simply to whisper something to Olivia, before he's moving on and around to find himself a spot to stand. His attention finds Quiet and her companions, briefly considering their arrival but apparently happy enough that it's not anything hostile, as he's still here. No, he's listening quietly, following what people say and how they say it.

       Olivia watches the fist bump between Fe and Malachi and giggles a little. She holds her little fist up and bumps his own when he leans in to whisper. He can either choose to bump her back, or just sort of get punched on top of the hand. Whatever he says makes Olivia smile and tap the side of her nose with the same hand that did the bumping. Still, she does tuck herself a bit further back against Fe, and keeps an eye on Shawna and the sky.

       Quiet, is well, mostly that. But as Olivia comments on how she is apparently the chosen baron replacement, her eyes do move that way with an expression that could only be read as amusement. Her voice, when she breaks the silence is soft, and far to airy.

       "Would you take anothers weapon as your own? First answer me, would you take anothers heart as your own?"

       There she gives a very small shrug, nodding her head once.

"The sword that cleaves the horizon has to be swun from the center of the chest."
<English>

Sima's attentions are a flighty thing; her head always on a swivel, her curiosity on display as those motorcycles arrive. Though the expression isn't seen beneath the protection of her shades, there is a slight crease, a tension in her cheeks and lip that suggests a squint in their direction.
It isn't long, however, before Lascaux has her attentions again.
Her lips press to a tight line at his words, a soft nod bobbed along with what he's saying in apparent agreement with what issues he's voicing. She looks Fe's way as she's addressed, "The pleasure, as ever, dear doctor ... is entirely mine." She states, before she moves to stand at Lascaux's final words, smoothing her hands down the front of her attire before pacing forward.
"I have lived in LA for quite some time now," She begins, "Some of you know me, and many of you do not... tonight, that will change." There's still that smile on her lips, "For better or worse."
Her attentions scan over those that have gathered here, from one group to another, before settling on Vandred and Zeddy in their collective where she had just been sitting, oddly unbothered by Zeddy's unique fragrance and vulgar manner. "I have taken claim of the Palisades, and have served quietly, but tirelessly as its Baroness for some time now ... I have watched as any number of threats have built around us, the snarling, biting dogs that slabber away at the edge of our table, waiting for the scraps to drop, so that they might steal them away." She continues.
"There are those that would vie for this position without understanding what weight will be placed upon them. They have not considered that to hold this place, they will have to bleed for it." Her brows lift, "They will have to fight for it ... and they may meet their final death for it." Her fingers lace with each other, resting before her, palms down against her abdomen.
"When first I crawled free of the shadows of this place, to return, I found myself in Hollywood. I found myself -promised- a battle to rival Kurosawa ... and then?" Her head gives a shake, "Within days, the surrender came. At that very meeting, when first I asked that the others not surrender just because the Camarilla said we must, I was not simply ignored ... I was told it was hopeless."
She takes in a breath she doesn't need, and lets it out in an exasperated sigh.
"I have never stopped fighting." She states.
"Long have I stood for those that could not do so on their own. I have stood for the Thinbloods that now drown in danger, I have freed," She gestures toward Vandred, "Slaves from their masters, and I have found beauty in the most monstrous of things... once known as the Mother of Monsters. I, a Rose, have invited them into my garden, and tended them as I would any bloom... I have made a family of the unlikely." She seems to be winding down.
"I wish to do the same for the Anarchs of this city."

Sylvia comes into the meeting a little late, or maybe she'd been here the whole time and was just making an appearance. What's clear is she is making a beeline for a familiar face in the crowd, but on the way she stops a few times to offer a quiet word of appreciation to Fe, and then onwards to good old Sad Eyes. "Lookin' good tonight Bryce."

As she stops for greetings, her eyes continue to scan the surroundings to check for more familiar faces and once they land on KJ she makes her way over to his side; but not before inviting over Reverie and whoever else was chillin' nearby out of courtesy. Sima's proclamation, as it were, gets her attention though. The Caitiff doesn't speak up on it, instead she just gives nods of approval to certain statements, all the while her gaze is scanning the assembled.

       The louche fellow with the tousled red hair, red-tinted sunglasses and brown leather coat (who will sell MDMA to the Thin-Bloods if anyone looks young enough), will suddenly raise his head at Sima's declaration. He claps his hands, "Fuck yeah!"

       "Cruce isn't gone, but if you're the closest we have to his representation, then you're more than welcome to speak for him, Mr. Jaxon," says Dr. Han.
       "Or, at least, to give us your best understanding of his MO these nights." There's a pause here. She takes a breath, opens her mouth, and then holds her tongue, allowing Vandred the opportunity to speak. She offers him a short nod of confirmation following this. She seems to concur with his later assessment. The former, French and obscene, she could possibly do without, if she even understands it.
       tWhat follows is a long silence as Sima stakes her claim over domain to the North. Fe knits her eyebrow and a half, looking the Rose over, before following up on this with:
       "Are you telling us this, Sima, or are you asking for it? I would highly suggest it be the latter, which we can then discuss and rule on, with the suggestion that our appetites for self-appointed monarchs are vanishingly fleeting these nights... and that having you break off your own turf would further our ever increasing Balkanization."

       Olivia scowls at the mention of Balkanization -- not because she's not a fan of it, but because she has absolutely no idea what it means.

       "You've taken my heart as your own, baby-bear." The Blonde punk in double-denim says to Violet Baby Bangs/Bear, after Quiet Bernadette has shared her peace - this results in Violet BB punching Blondie in the arm and a brief interlude of Slap Fight, which only ends when Violet BB gets distracted by Sima speaking. The two lapse into silence. Blondie doesn't recognise he's a touch slack-jawed.

       Near by, Sad Eyes looks from Vandred, Fe, Lascaux and Keegan and over to Sima as well -- brow furrowed, a single lock of slick-backed hair falling to obscure those aforementioned Sad Eyes as he studies her in glum consideration. Shift of weight from one foot to the other -- then spotting Sylvia?

       For the first time this evening, Sad Eyes almost smiles at Sylvia - it's sad - and takes a few steps closer to her. No greeting beyond a bounce of his shoulders, as Sad Eyes takes in what Sima has to say. No comment from him, though he looks over to that louche MDMA-tout-looking fella, before those Sad Eyes turn to take in Sima and Fe in turn.

       Vandred's French causes The Rotten to cackle again, even as others talk. "Haaa! Got balls in your mouth?" The bat is spun in a wrist-rotating swing. It whooshes. The wood black, stained from - something. But hey, the bedazzled message glints nicely! 
       As people talk, Zeddy Rotten moves from his lil' group, for he has noticed a thing. A quite terrible thing: The look Blondie and the other Punk had given him, and the half-hawked corpse, with is cheeks riddled with holes that grow wider exposing ligaments and teeth - Zeddy smiles at Blondie, closing that distance with the rattle-click of buttons, spikes, and buckles and just as he might talk the right-most eye begins to deflate, and leak down his face. "Ayyyy," The voice, gravelly crawls out of his throat - "You wanna see somethin' cool?" Closer to Blondie...until there's poems, and talking, and Zeddy Rotten turns towards the Talkers to give a shrill whistle: "YAAAAAAS! That's my fucking girl right there! I didn't crawl out of a fucking grave to hear you pussies TALK to The Man! Quick! Quick! Bird Girl! Go get some dirty diesel and rags!" Animated. Excited. "Uncle Zed is gonna show the babies how to make -proper- declarations of independence!" The rot spreads, his nose sucking inwards until it's just...gone.

Jean-Jacques says "Cruce has other interests. His loyalty is to his pockets, not the movement." Jean-Jacques speaks up, standing from his resting spot and pulling out a thumb drive. "Someone's been bribing him and half the government of Santa Monica for a while now. Cruce has personally made off with almost a million."

One of the trio over by him pipe up, a woman innher mid 20s. "Us thinbloods have been disappearing off the streets for weeks in Santa Monica. Cruce hasnt done anything. Just blew us off when we went to him about it.""

       Shawna's gaze leaves Lascaux for Sima and she listens as the other woman speaks, her own expression remaining guarded and somewhat aloof. Clear-blue eyes slide over to take in the sight of Vandred with some familiar recognition and she'll offer the Gargoyle a somber nod of her head.
       The former Gangrel of Griffith Park and recent captor of the Camarilla licks her lips and opens her mouth to speak before stopping shyly as Fe goes next. She'll glance back toward Sima, curious for her answer. Zeddy's antics have her frowning deeply before looking away.

       "There were those of us who -did- fight." Shawna finally gets out, her voice small and sad-like. "Ragnar." Her shyness forces her to avert her gaze while also sidestepping away from Fe and Olivia and toward a spot that is more open and spacious. "Me." She moves over to stand by herself near one of the old skate ramps before finishing shyly with, "Lost my train of thought and shit. Fe's the better public fucking speaker. What I wanted to say was... some folks say they've been fighting. Or blame the rest of us who did and lost. But it's only ever just talk. Stop telling us what you've done and tell us what you can do for the Westside. For the other groups."

"Who do you suggest as an alternative?" Lascaux pipes up in response to Fe, moving to stand behind Sima, though at a slight distance. "This place needs a leader. I think you'll find that Sima's got more support behind her desire to stand as representation for the Anarchs of the Westside than you might imagine." He jerks his head around the circle. "This ain't even a fraction of the Kindred in the Westside. When Cruce was 'elected,' he did it in a gathering just like this one, and he took the word of those who cared enough to show up as enough."

He gives a soft snort, and ducks his head. "I don't put myself behind people easily. I ain't found anyone among /any/ of the Anarchs in this city that I'd throw my weight behind. And I ain't, unlike - a strangely large number of folks, susceptible to physical beauty as a means of coercion. She's the real deal. She's the best we've got. Unless you think you got something better."

He lets that settle before continuing, "I told her a while ago about a plan I have. You know why the Camarilla looks down on us so much, is 'cause of all the senseless Embraces. The neonates who don't know ass from elbow. They don't know how to get what they need safe, or what the rules for surviving are. I know Dr. Han's clinic takes care of some of that stuff, but we want to make - a Haven somewhere. A place that Thinbloods, Neonates who get abandoned, all of that - they can come and be safe, and learn. Without expectation of payment. My Sire was so different from a lot of y'all's; I was with him for twenty years, and that's not even a lot by some standards. And I seen what it's like not having that kind of guidance. So I want to give it." He shrugs. "I got the cash. I got some of the connections. I just need to know who'll support it."

       The two Sword Dogs will glance at each other, upon Jean-Jacques revelation. Although the only one who could discern their true emotion, would be the little infernalist between them, given the glossy reflective motorcycle helmets they're each wearing.

Sylvia gets Sad Eyes. She just gives him a reassuring nod. "Me too bud, me too," the Kindred woman murmurs as she crosses her arms.

When Zeddy starts talking though he gets a double take and as is tradition she just states plainly,"Gross," as if it was the 'periodt' that Rotten needed at the end of his declaration of support. One hand creeps up to cover her mouth and she can't help but furrow her brows and scrunch her nose as if the smell has already permeating the air she doesn't have to breathe. Gently she shakes her head back and forth with quiet disapproval which quickly turns to Black confusion as it looks like he's caving in on himself.

"Oh hell naw, come on bro. Wear a mask or somethin' we just got out of a pandemic." she mutters to no one in general before pulling out the bottle of perfume from her purse, some Bath n' Bodyworks shit, and starts spritzing it aggressively in the sign of a cross (towards Zeddy) and if anyone looks at her she'll open her eyes wider and bat her lashes with audacity.

       Having said his bit, now the rock legend listens and when Sylvia joins him, gives her a little shoulder bump and wink. He nods a little to what Sima says, obviously in agreement. She states some things he can get behind. His gaze sweeps across the others as they speak and land on Fe when she suggests he offer what insight he can. He pauses for just a moment before saying, "Cruce knows he doesn't get the respect he could because he is a Thin-Blood. At least that is his perspective as he told me. He believes the reason all of the assholes in this city won't follow him is because of that. So the Anarchs remain divided over petty bullshit instead of taking back what is rightfully ours."

       Hearing what Jean-Jacques claims though, the rocker's head turns quickly to him and he growls, "You better be able to back that shit up or I'll rip your fucking head off and skull fuck you." Fangs coming out as he glares daggers at JJ. He continues to stare at JJ for a bit longer before turning his attention back on Lascaux and seems he is about to speak, but changes his mind and shakes his head, taking a half step back. "The Cam isn't much better, man. They don't teach their fledgelings shit either, don't let them fool you." he comments with a lower rumble now.

       "What's that 'bout petty bullshit?" Shawna calls over to Keegan Jaxon from her spot near the skate ramp where she had moved to earlier.

Jack Scar raises his brows a little at Lascaux's plan, and then lights his stupid foot-long white clay pipe with a big smelly old brass trench lighter that looks as if it might date from WWI. He looks back and forth between Jean Jacques and Keegan as he puffs the pipe alight.

       "Welcome to an argument from over a year ago."

       Quiet notes softly to Jean-Jaques her expression not turning sour, but definitely towards disapointment. She shakes her head slowly.

       "The same conversations in the same places. The same call of the corrupting beast, the obsession with its dark tendrils and the aquisistion of meaningless and transitory powers that come assumedly with a fancy hat. Me, me, me. Only I am the great sage equal to heaven."

       Her hand waves softly in front of her.

       "The wheel turns, break it, or be broken upon it."

       There is however, a pause, a consideration, a look to her companions then to Jean-Jaques once more.

       "Look into the Zhejiang Investment Group, you may find your answer there, or I may be wrong."

Keegan Jaxon glances to Shawna, arching his brows, "Petty? Would you like it if we made accusations about you behind your back? I just said he better be able to back it up. Otherwise anybody could just say any shit they want. Like your birds all got rabies and are actually just mindless slaves or some shit. You don't want somebody to stand up to shit talking about you without proof?"

Casually, with Zeddy's reassuring presence and Sima's proclamation, Vandred peels off his hat, hoodie and mask. They weren't a good disguise anyway - revealing features that a Nosferatu-mother would probably go '.. he's got hair!', an animalistic snout with flaring nostrils. The goggles stay on, though - the black lenses keeping eyes hidden. It's apparent that he knows that Zeddy is going to go on tour, considering he doesn't even try to stop him.

       His nostrils flare with a chuffed exhale towards Zeddy and Sylvia's interfactions, nodding over towards Quiet in what can be taken as agreement with their statement, before his jaw idly smacks its fangs and tusks together, posture adjusting to take Lascaux into consideration of the grouping around Sima. "I didn't care from what Blood Cruce hailed from, I care that he might be doing what they're speaking of," His head dips towards JJ and crew. "And that he's not doing the required role. Sima has, and would, she's the reason I walk free," His upper lip curls like a beasts, showing pallid marble for gum and far too many jutting fangs and tusks that would make a dental hygenist cry. "So, far better than an absentee landlord."

A brow quirks at Fe's words, and Sima looks her way.
"I have never been a tyrant, dear Doctor, and I do not mean to start now. I am simply declaring that this is my wish, and my promise is to fight whom I must, and sacrifice that which is necessary to keep this place, and its people, from the grasps of our admittedly copious enemies." Her smile has still not faded, though the gravity of her words is anything but lacking.
Her attentions shift over toward Zeddy, her shoulders bouncing in a bit of a scoff, her head tilting to one side before she returns her gaze to Fe, "I am tired of others speaking of all that they will do, only to wither like wilting lilies when the time has come to fight. I grow tired of the greed and vanity of 'leadership' that would abandon their people, and leave someone else behind to claim his position."
Her attentions shift to Shawna, "We have had this discussion before, but I am happy to have it again. There are many ways to fight this war, and just because some are more visible than others, it does not mean that their impact is any less. You speak of how you fought, you speak of Ragnar -- a man that was betrayed, as so many within Cruce's domain have been -- and the sacrifice he has made ... and I do not disagree with you, nor would I deny you the right to sing the praises of the brave, and the fallen. But, you do not want to extend to me the same courtesy." Sima nods once, "And that is fine. You wish proof, and I cannot fault you for that. You wish action, and I mean to provide it."
She grows silent to look toward Lascaux as he speaks, until he circles around her and her gaze is once more cast out at the crowd as people begin speaking back and forth, her attentions ping-ponging about as she takes in what all is being said.
Finally, she begins again: "I have made many connections in this city, I have a vast and varied collection of support, extending well beyond my own interests ... I am open to conversation where others seem only willing to be heard, never seeming to listen to the quiet voices," A brow quirks and she gestures toward Shawna, "Such as yours."
She pauses again when others begin speaking, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as Vandred speaks, "I am not making a claim on this territory, I am not telling you that it is mine, and I never will. I am asking you to allow me to represent you ... to fight for you."

       The Blonde Punk in Double Denim has spotted Zeddy Rotten's interest in him, and damned if the boy doesn't wish he hasn't. It's not that Blondie hides behind Violet BB, it's that he's uh, holding her - yeah, that's right, holding on to her all protective like; their interest suddenly renewed in the talkers. Or watching what Keegan fuckin' Jaxon is doing? Look at his cool old person tattoos...

       From the clutches of Blondie, that willowy chick with Violet Baby Bangs calls out in Lascaux's direction; "That sounds like a fucking flop house for wayward orphans - where's your fancy hat, Fagen?!" Blondie looks embarrassed at Violet Baby Bang's outburst, but he is laughing; "Shuddupn' drink ya gin."

       Sad Eyes remains focused on the ersatz political forum within the centre circles of crappy ol' plastic chairs - that sad smile vanishing as Jean-Jacques finishes speaking. A look is shared with Sylvia as he nods, and the Sad Eyed young man leans in; speaking in a voice thats smokier than one might imagine for one who looks so youthful; "You hear about that shit? Missing?"

       No comment from Sad Eyes on Zeddy or anyone else - he looks back to Keegan as the rocker speaks - threatens Jean Jaques? Gets all Fangs Out? Weight is shifted from foot to foot, arms held tight crossed across his body, as Sad Eyes takes stock of the group - frowning as he listens to Quiet Bernadette and Sima in turn, looking glumly contemplative. In over his head? Whaver!

       When the rock star, Keegan Jaxon threatens Jean-Jacques, the louche fellow with the red-tinted sunglasses will push away from where he'd been standing. Most would consider that he was just edging away from any potential violence, given that he was standing rather nearer to JJ than he was to KJ. However, those with sufficient intuition or knowledge (Intuition 3 OR Covert Ops 3), will notice he's simply placing himself in Keegan's blind spot.

"Only an asshole would make a claim like that and not have the proof to back it up." JJ replies to Keegan. "Its on the thumb drive. 915 thousand pieces of evidence. Along with all the other graft for the Santa Monica government that Cruce has either been paid off to ignore or is too oblivious to notice." JJ holds thr thumb drivr in his hand out toward Keegan, and shrugs. "Look, I get it . You like him. Hell, imagine how I felt. Cruce was like a god to us Thinbloods. One of us that made it. it was crushing for me when I saw the evidence. But facts dont lie man."

       "Oh, so this is Christian's replacement. Not affixed, but astroturfed." Fe remarks. She'd roll her eyes, but one of them doesn't perform that feat to well - not without any particular amount of effort on her part.
       "I don't have an alternative in mind, but I do have the understanding that if you don't consider popular opinion, you'll wind up with another Cruce: a sequestered irrelevancy interested in aggregating power. This," Fe looks toward Keegan:
       "Was the Baron's misstep. It was not his lineage, or lack thereof, it was a failure to provide anything but proclamation."
       There's a beat, as she seems to catch onto the fact that she missed Sylvia's greeting. She affords her a flash of a smile, before waiting for Sima to say her piece once more. There's a brief aside in the middle of it, when Fe nudges Olivia and nods toward Jacques, saying lowly:
       "See if you can get a copy of that from him." Then, a little louder, to the man himself:
       "Table it for now? Let's handle one thing at a time." Finally, she turns back to Sima:
       "Stop speaking in platitudes. Speak practically. Speak pragmatically. What are you going to do other than immediately sit in your forbearer's throne? Then? Ask for a vote. We've been without a leader for as long as Cruce has been in power. We can continue that if you fail to secure a majority."

       Idly, Malachi seems to be meandering at the edge of the group, listening and watching while the proceeds take place. He continues his streak of not commenting, his skateboard adjusting in his grip as he takes the time to withdraw a Juul from within his bomber jacket. A drag is taken, purple-flavored smoke is exhaled, and the ghoul's attention remains on the discussion as it ping-pongs from one individual to the next.

"Isn't it all about democracy?" Sylvia states quietly as an aside that is loud enough to be heard by all in her vicinity at least. The Caitiff turns to look at Sad Eyes and gives him a nod. "I did hear about that shit, it made me sick. Anybody who could do somethin' like that is on some other shit and would need to be dealt with. I'm not sayin' it's Cruce but if people are disappearing we need to conduct a formal investigation."

Her comment is for Sad Eyes but the others probably heard too because it wasn't a whisper, but then she goes back to her statement. What she was discussing about democracy.

"I mean the Status Perfectus says we follow no leader but the one we choose for ourselves. Right now it seems we have two /strong/ candidates for the position based on their merits and their resources. Yes, Sima has submit herself as one of them, but the Movement should know that there is a lot of support for Keegan Jaxon, who won't even put his own name forward because he's not that guy. We are the Movement and our voice matters. We determine who we follow. We choose our leader and I say we put it to a vote so we can settle it once and for all. Right here. We can make it anonymous if people want, but we don't get down like that..."

Jack Scar reverses his pipe and tips its red-glazed mouthpiece at Fe, a subdued sort of 'got it,' gesture. He then looks at Sylvia.

Olivia Carmichael rises up from Fe's lap and moves, perhaps in anticipation, a few steps away. The ghoul's expression is very clearly ~complicated~ and it scrunches up into irritation when Quiet gets to the bit about the wheel again. She rubs her eyes with her fingers and gestures quickly to her. "Ohmygod," she says in rapid succession, but doesn't pile on further. She folds her arms over her torso and glances around to the others -- Sylvia, Jack Scar, Shawna. The howls from a guy she's literally probably bought Molly from and a guy who smells like actual dumpster shit are far from inspiring. But Sima does, of course, have a certain way with words that this particular ghoul isn't entirely immune to.
Olivia's hand drifts into her coat pocket where she retrieves a little black and rose gold vape pen to tuck between her lips. When she inhales, the tip of it flares up a warm orange in the shape of a peach emoji. She holds it in her lungs for a few moments before breathing peach-scented Indica up into the cool night air.
Olivia does not have intuition or covert ops 3.
"So, lik--oof," Olivia says, and is nudged by Fe. She peers over to Jean-Jacques and will flash him some Doe Eyes at whatever it is Fe says to her.
"You should do a committee," Olivia says, after the THC's had some time to kick in. "Like, all of you sitting at a cute little table with some snacks in the middle. Dr. Han's got a lot of blood Capri-Suns and you could complain about people parking for too long outside your house. Like a little neighborhood watch," Olivia suggests helpfully, and then traipses over towards Jean-Jacques, which might place her precariously close to walking in front of MDMA-guy and KJ's blind spot.

       Walking bak to the skatepark, Ayande sees the large gathering. He slows his steps watching and looking trying to get a sense of what's going on. Coming in closer though trying to keep his presence somewhat hidden, just in case this is something more then just a gathering. Trying to notice anyone he knows, the Gangrel moves in closer.

       Shawna's stares somewhere at Keegan's jaw as if too shy to make eye contact and she stands with her shoulders semi-slouched and her arms loosely hanging at her sides. Her response to his query is quick, "Folks have said a lot worse 'bout me. Including some here. Including Cruce. Never threatened 'em over that. That shit divides as much as anything else."

       The Gangrel will quiet again as Sima speaks and she'll listen attentively, only glancing away to scan the sky for Hanz and the other crows as they continue their circling overwatch. When Sima's finished, Shawna will look away and watch the interaction between Jean-Jacques and Keegan, then Fe when she takes her turn to speak... then Sylvia after her.

       She'll study each with that open-mouthed, semi-aloof gaze, then raise her hand up and rub her nose with the heel of her palm. "Look. Like I said back when Cheyenne Spare had passed and Cruce treated me like competition to the seat he wanted... 'I'm no leader'. But I'll stand by whoever the Westside and survivors of Hollywood choose. I'll help 'em fight for the displaced... or those who can't fight for themselves. Like I did before their hit squad took me down." Shawna drops her hand and nods up toward the circle birds, "Like I've been doing since I got back."

       With a somewhat apologetic look at JJ, the rocker replies, "If you got evidence...okay. I looked into that shit and I didn't find anything at all. And I looked hard. Cause I heard it too." Keega Jaxon glances at Sylvia when she puts him out there on front street and mouths something to her, it kind of looks like 'bitch'. He doesn't seem TRULY upset though, just annoyed.

       "Okay so yeah, Cruce asked me to take over as Baron. I turned his ass down. I don't want that shit. I don't want a big fucking target on my back. I just wanted to get wasted and piss my nights away for a century then start a new band and do it all over again. Not get into fucking political shit like this." KJ says shaking his head slowly.

"But he knows I've been talking unity since the day I got back in LA. We lose without it. Game over, man. No redos. Fucking forgetaboutit." he says as the rocker glances at the others. "I only agreed on the condition of getting shit done and passing it on to somebody else who actually wants fucking power. That's it. Cause fuck that."

Sima's gaze flicks back to Fe, "My apologies, I had thought that my request of being allowed to represent you was a clear indication of my desire to hold a vote. Again, I am not attempting to -take- this position... I am stating here, openly and unabashedly, that I would put myself forward to be considered. Not that you must. Not that I would not continue to fight were it that I am not chosen for this position."
She again glances around at all those that are speaking, "Investigations are, of course, one of many priorities. Regardless of what is decided, can we at least agree on the simple facts?" She pauses, barely a breath's beat. "That we must stand together, and act as a unified force? That we must -help- each other, regardless of personal feelings, or former 'camps' of support? That the whole might just matter more than the brazen face of what vainglorious creature is perched upon a stolen throne?" She stops as Shawna speaks, gesturing toward her and giving a shallow, extended nod of her head.
Her eyes do flick over to JJ, then KJ and back again, "Must we, really? Ask your questions, demand proof, but this is precisely what I am trying to put an end to -- the infighting, the backbiting ... we are the many, they are the few. That we stand divided, and in our division are dying, is a travesty."

       Cheek-meat begins to peel like birch bark off of Zeddy's face, however this is wet. It leaks a clear-yellow fluid and under the exposed flesh, where teeth and gums sit, an assortment of what might be worms and beetles shift to the next area code to hide, and and as Blondie is hugging his Shield -- Zeddy turns those eyes (somehow regrown) green and yellow, grinning, as a centipede marches from rotten nose-hole into his maw. Crunchcrunchcrunch. Which falls in line with the revelation of Vandred the Dental-Nightmare, "You guys notice they keep calling Thin-Bloods, Thin-Bloods? Like, you hear it, right?" Crunch. Crunch. "They got a slur right on the edge of their tongue. Almost." 
       The Rotten turns his gaze then to Sylvia, and with her spritzed perfume, the man reaches -int- his pants to grab hold of...something...and give a good 'honk-honk' tug. "Anytime you want, mama. It's detachable. Once you're done sucking off The Darkness over there." A nod of that half-hawked head towards KJ, and the hand is pulled free form his pants to slap at Blondie's chest (a few fingers less in those fingerless gloves full of spikes) "You see that big French motherfucker? Look at those fucking teeth, ay?" A glance towards Vandred, before Zeddy moves back beside his larger, uglier counterpart. Because Zeddy Rotten is pretty. However, as the others stand behind Sima, so does Zeddy - big bat and all.

Lascaux moves to step over to Shawna. His expression is very serious as he puts a hand on her shoulder. "You're a boon to the Movement, Shawna," he says. "I ain't a leader either. I get it. You know, I've - had to do a lot of shit that isn't me, to get where I am now. I wouldn't have even - met with Sima, you know? A year ago. I wouldn't have let her show me who she is and what she means. But times change. And we are in some - real tough times."

He shakes his head. "Even if we ain't able to come to any kind of conclusion tonight? Y'all know what's going on better now. And I think Dr. Han can vouch for the fact that if any of you need something, you come to me and I will help you to the best of my abilities. And so will Sima. I don't care how our personal politics differ. I will help you. We can help each other."

He chuffs a laugh. "You know, it's /real/ easy to give into cynicism. But that just makes us into younger, dumber clones of the Tower. And it ain't what the founders of this Movement wanted. It ain't what I want. I do believe we can be better. I do."

Vandred paws at his coat, flapping it a bit, "You'll forgive me for maybe.. misunderstanding something, considering us arguing and it sounding like it's 'us or nothing'," He rocks himself forwards and his legs shift to accomodate him standing, his form still horribly stooped, back painfully hunched which forces his head to stick down and forwards, head swiveling to address Shawna. "Continue doing as your words say you do, and if you need assistance, then you know it's there and waiting for you. That's what Sima offers, and will offer anyway." With that, and the continued arguing, the figure begins to casually take off its coat, offering Zeddy a smile with both top and bottom lips peeled back - making it hard to tell if it's a nice smile or not - before the coat is folded over his forearm, the hoodie and bandages doing little to hide the visible massive hump that takes up the majority of his back.

       "But everything needs direction, and Sima is a guiding presence." He utters as an almost afterthought, a contemplative crocodile-like snap of his jaws as he continues, "He's right." One hand gestures towards Lascaux, who Vandred has decided has said it better than he can.

       "Okay, so you've got the vote part down. Now the pragmatism." Fe says. She spares a glance for Olivia's council proposal, but a brief monoptic census of the assembled bodies, all looming together in a monolithic entity beside Sima, lends her to believe that to be a dead fish in the punchbowl. Math happens to be a strong suit of hers.
       "Have you considered actionable objectives post-plebiscite? Or are you waiting until after the general audience has dwindled to a specific one to delve into those?" She might be talking to Sima, but Zeddy's antics have finally drawn her attention. She stares for a long moment, jaw slightly agape, before she catches herself and shuts it. Lascaux is spared a thin smile following this: Fe's simultanious brief assertion of his claim, and disinterest in following the tangent.

       Moving with a predatory gait, he sees someone he knows and he moves until he comes up behind Sylvia who is standing next to KJ, "You good?" he asks as he looks around at the large gathering. Ayande's eyes take in as much as he can, his ears twitch slightly as he picks up the voices and the conversations that's being had.

After the general consensus seems to agree on voting the nod of approval from Sylvia is granted. She looks between the assembled and then around the area before announcing. "I'm going to check the perimeter while we're all gathered, see if I find any strays. Yaddaddamean?" After a quick aside with KJ she gives another look to Zeddy Rotten and may have even gagged. Though obviously it was forced and that means she probably spent blood on the Blush for that! Realistically it is much more likely she's just adopting human camo to blend in while she scopes out the surroundings for ambushes and shadow monsters.

+LOSE/+BURN> Sylvia burns 1 Blood.

"I don't know, Dr. Han," Lascaux says with amusement. "A specific audience - like you? These are your questions. You got actionable objectives in mind? 'Cause I'm sure Sima would be willing to help."

       When Lascaux talks, Sima gestures toward him.
       "Please," She asks, "If you've something that you wish addressed specifically, I would like to hear it." She confirms his statement, as simply as possible.

       Keegan Jaxon can't help but chuckle as he watches the antics as well. He grins, shaking his head a bit and says, "Oh, monsters aren't we all. Cute." The rocker grins and glances toward Fe, giving her a shrug, "What are ya gonna do?" as if they were dealing with unruly teenagers, but at least he is amused. "OKay anyway. Good talk." he claims with a nod to the gathered Kindred and Ghoul(s). "At least I dodged a fucking bullet. See you all around and good luck to whoever wins." he says with a laugh before heading after Sylvia, but not before giving Ayande a wave, "Didn't even see you come in."

       Shawna watches Lascaux's approach with somber curiosity and she studies his face while shyly averting direct eye contact. The touch to her arm is answered with a slow nod of her head while she listens to his words. Her gaze wanders toward the others now behind Lascaux as she continues to listen, Vandred first, then Fe as she addresses Sima again. A curious glance toward Ayande follows when the Gangrel first emerges from the outskirts of the skate park.
       Hanz and the other crows make another circling pass, quiet and calm, and Shawna looks up toward them before Sima's question has her glancing over to her. The aloof tomboy stares at the Toreador Anarch as if ready to speak but merely furrows her brow as Keegan speaks, first.
       A moment passes as Shawna waits for a lull, then she asks Sima in a tone of voice that is more direct than what she's used before. "Word is that Ventrue Schultz in Century City is tasked with taking care of Westside... or so some of us heard. What will you do about -him-?"

One can witness Vandred's brow beginning to furrow deeper and deeper as words get fancier and fancier, and while it's hard to see his eyes with the goggles practically wedged into the sockets. His nostrils flare outwards, and the hump on his back seems to momentarily pulse, as if something were flexed or stretched. "I don't understand." this time Vandred doesn't sound so happy about it, and his irritability begins to show. "Post.. pleb.. plebis.." His maw finds the new word as difficult to pronounce as it is for him to understand it.

       "... what the fuck did I just get called?"

       "The converse, actually. I'm concerned of a Los Perdidos reprisal, but I'll take the invitation as a sign to the contrary and keep my hopes springing eternal." Fe shrugs back at Keegan, and leans to her side, elbow on the armrest of her chair and chin on her first.
       "Shawna," she says tersely toward the Gangrel.

       Yeah, seems like the two young punks have noticed it. That Blondie dude and his Violet Baby Bangs'd companion step back, as Zeddy moves to give the punk a Rotten chest-thwack -- there is laughter, but to call it stressed would be an understatement. The wind has fallen from Violet BB's sails, as she looks from Zeddy to Lascaux - kohl eyes saucer-like as she listens. Blondie seems to be giving Vandred some serious consideration. It does not take a genius to imagine these two are in a touch over their heads.

       Sad Eyes meanwhile, remains standing with his arms crossed - considering what Sylvia has to say with glum consideration, looking to Olivia briefly before getting caught up in the discussion between Sima, Shawna, Lascaux, Vandred and Fe. Weight is shifted from foot to foot, some internal debate takes place - but before the young guy can say anything, he's nodding to Sylvia. "Catch ya later."

       Looking between Shawna and Lascaux, Sad Eyes hesitates, then speaks; "Hey. Name's Bryce, what---" Bryce shuts up, as Sima addresses Lascaux, and he scrunches his shoulders while recrossing his arms. Back to listening! Sad eyes pinging from Sima to Shawna and the group.

       As the discussion progresses, Malachi continues to puff along on his Juul. It seems to be moving towards a lull of actual conversation now that an actual path is laid out. As this seems to be the case, Malachi takes advantage of it, moving around the gathering towards Bernadette and her companions of all people, where he smiles and nods in greeting as he gets closer. Soft words follow, quiet in the din of conversation.

Jack Scar gives Shawna a curious look, with an amiable little smile. With smoke leaking out from between his teeth.

"Bryce," Lascaux says, quietly, an aside, not having missed the attempt at interjection. "My name's Lascaux. We're doing this for you. People like you." He gestures loosely to the other two, including them. "People like me who ain't got a proper clan. People that don't belong anywhere."

       The female Sword Dog will subject Malachi to a rather dangerous scrutiny as he ambles on over to them. The other Sword Dog will study the crowd, both of them still with concealed visages behind their glossy motorcycle helmets.

       Bernadette raises up a hand, slow and unthreatening, to lay softly on her female companion's chest for a moment, giving her a soft nod before she bows her head respectfully to Malachi. She speaks some words back, but her hand comes up again, firmer this time as if she fears one of the words she said would piss the young lady off into a rage.

       If one were to stare at Zeddy too long, one would see the vampiric decomposition. Decay. It crawls over his skin like some living thing, hair falling out to hte ground only to -- when one is not looking -- regrow. Or replace under some unseen mechanism. The teeth turn yellow, then cake with gunk and eventually fall out of the gums; though the energetic punk has turned himself towards Vandred who's begun to growl and show displeasure. 
       The spiked bat is twirled on his shoulder, "Oooooh don't you fucking look at me like that, you overgrown garden gnome. I'll eat -every- single pigeon egg I find!" Laughter then, the bat spun again like he's reeeaaally considering smacking the tusked-thing. "She called you a pussy." She didn't. But even as Zeddy speaks, his tongue plops to the ground, and wriggles like an eel - until it finds its way back in his mouth. Bryce has his attention, "Ayyyyy! BRYCE!" The eyes turn back to Vandred, "Br-eye-sssss. Can you say Bryce, Frenchie or is all that hardware in the way?" A gesture to that maw.

       The man with the red hair, red-sunglasses and brown leather will eventually come padding over towards Lascaux. He'll give Bryce and Sad Eyes a 'look', but then he'll tell Lascaux, "Name's Sonny. Good speech." He taps his temple as if to suggest that him and Lascaux might just meet again, some night soon.
       Then he'll glance over at Sima and Vandred and give them both a quarter-smile. She'll already know that she has his vote. Then he slips away, having not really expected a serious vote (as the Westsiders never manage a serious vote about anything). But it was nice to see everyone go on the record more or less.
       Zeddy and Olivia get something of a once over on the way out as well, both for DRAMATICALLY DIFFERENT REASONS. Then he's gone. Somewhere, a 17 year old needs Ecstasy in a scummy Sunset Strip bathroom.

       Malachi keeps a respectful distance from that scrutiny. His hands are in clear view, and a smile is on his face as he steps in a bit further to converse with Quiet... Quietly. The Juul has even disappeared, having been deposited on his way over so he could speak without anything directly in the way. Nodding to Bernadette, he continues to speak, although it's being kept to short, concise speech.

Addressing Fe, once more, Lascaux wonders, "Anybody know who's /left/ of Los Perdidos? I ain't seen Cruce or his wife since before the storm in Hollywood, I think. Kaden and Vy're still around, but they're among the more reasonable of the bunch. Anybody else?" His mud-puddle gaze makes a circuit of the skate park, catches where Mal's standing speaking to Bernadette and the Sword Dogs, and then continues on. He almost smiles at Sonny. Almost.

Fe says "Not a literal reprisal, Lascaux. A spiritual one."

Lascaux's face contorts. "I don't even know what that could possibly mean," he offers. "I guess you're just too smart for me. I'm just a high-school dropout, Dr. Han. Have pity."

       Sima gives her attention to Shawna now, "Mister Schultz, as with the Tower, so far as I know, is rather preoccupied with matters involving the departed LaMuerta's tower, among other things ... that said, he cannot be discounted. My suggestion would be to work together to ascertain how he might mean to 'take care' of us, and take preventative measures accordingly. Furthermore, with the Ventrue, one must always remember where it hurts them the most to strike: their finances, their followers ... like a good construction company, they can not operate without either. Should it become necessary, I believe our first steps would be in crippling what control he might hold here in Westside, and begin prying his fingers from our pie."
       Sima glances toward Zeddy as he continues his back and forth with Vandred, "Darling, you are about to be bagelgeese'd into next week, and I will not stop him this time." There's mirth there, but it fades as she returns to the issue at hand.
       "First, we must learn to work together, and then we can show this city what we are capable of."
       She glances toward Sonny, smiling and nodding at his departure, then to Bryce, "Bryce, my dear, do feel free to speak ... you are welcome here, and I would have every voice join the chorus."

Jean-Jacques says "If they're around, they might as well be hanging out on Lightborne's yatch for all they are seen around Santa Monica. I keep hearing their names, but never seen 'em." JJ says with a shrug. "I've never seen them around."

       Ayande watches as Syl moves on, he moves up in her spot than KJ is leaving. He shrugs a little, he starts looking around, hearing all the voices. He looks like he's about to say something, but than shakes his head. This seems like a lot and it's disorganized. He shakes his head a little bit and begins to slowly start backing away, unless stopped.

Jack Scar looks at Sima thoughtfully, and taps his spent pipe's ash gently out onto the aluminium arm of the lawn chair he's sitting in. He says, mildly, "That I am easily discovering."

       When Robbie arrives he is late. Maybe he missed the memo or legitimately came to skate around. When he swoops down and lands on top of the once-arcade there is a skateboard tucked under one arm. Absent a mask and his hoodie, he's still dressed in as much of the stereotypical dress of what Tower-Kindred imagine of a typical "Anarch Hoodlum". Robbie was probably one of the only Kindred in Isaac's retinue to ever rep, or get away with repping, that sort of aesthetic. What looks to be a black Hawaiian shirt flutters in the high wind. It's studded with a pattern that, upon closer inspection, appears to be skulls and worn over some Gulf War era shirt featuring a crude unlicensed depiction of Bart Simpson. He has a spiked wristband on his left wrist. His loose-fitted jeans are the same despite being a little more bloodstained than some Kindred probably remember. He's, of course, still got the crocs.

       Before Shawna can respond, Fe is on her feet, an arm around her shoulder, and her forehead resting against the Gangrel's temple. She gives her a very friendly shake.
       "Good answer, Sima. Shawna agrees." Shawna is given a little squeeze around the collar, as if to prompt this organic concurrence. She parts then, just a hair, to look at Lascaux and frown at his seemed tone. She replies:
       "Only thing that'll clear that matter for me is the passage of time. Nothing that can be done here and now."

       The male Sword Dog will glance over at his distaff compatriot. She'll glance back at him, then glance at Quiet and Malachi. After a beat, she'll curtly shake her head a single, shallow time.

       "Who - good looking motherfuckers with bad teeth?" Bryce quips back at Lascaux. It's self deprecating, complete with a small sad smile and up-nod as he looks the guy over, then sniffs and rolls a shoulder. Looks out at the crowd - checks how Blondie Double-Denim and Violet Baby-Bangs have retreated back to gossip with one another by the perimeter. Nose twitches, and Bryce looks back to Lascaux and Shawna, Sima, Vandred - weird guy - Zeddy and Fe, Olivia and Jack - then finally Lascaux again.

       When Bryce smiles at him again? It's sad. "So how--" Apparently he's not one for public speaking - Zeddy's attention has Bryce looking back to him with a baffled look, before Sonny's arrival gets a mute curious up-nod of glum bravado, before sad-eyes looks to Fe as Lascaux speaks to her. Weight adjusted, chin lifted. "Some party." Muttered, mostly to himself, surely.

       Bryce seems ready to slide over to wherever his two punk friends have gotten off to, but when Sima addresses him? She gets a look over, hand lifted to slick his dark hair back. "Seems like a lot's already been said, tonight. Gets me wondering where it really leaves any of us. Where you at?"

Vandred is already irritated at not understanding a word, and then Zeddy has to go and open his mouth and comment about Vandred's inability to properly enunciate, and you can watch the IQ drain from the slab-figure as he turns and points one gnarled, oversized wrapped digit towards Zeddy.

       His coat is left dropped beside Sima's chair, and he lurches forwards a few steps - his footfalls thudding far heavier than one might expect - before hissing out a lungful of (if you speak French) insults that would make one's Catholic grandmother to make the sign of the cross and then have a fainting spell, before his tongue lolls out of his mouth, slightly oversized and pointed - and either completely bloodless or as pale as marble - as the last insult is spat out of a mouth with no moisture.
       Finally able to compose himself slightly, tongue sliding back in between a tusk parting as he steps back, huffing air briefly like a whistling bellow before he slowly settles back down. "I'm going to teach you how to fly," He threatens Zeddy with that in accented English as he moves back to Sima's chair, nostrils flaring as he's puffing in and out, before his head snaps towards the swooping sound - a minor roll of tension and a flex of the hunchback, and he settles down as quietly as can be - if one can take the slow snarling breathing through his muzzle as quiet.

       Shawna straightens her posture in the quick instant that Fe is approaching her and there's immediate tension as the Brujah slips that arm around her shoulder and presses her forehead against her temple. One hand rises and presses against Fe's chest, heel of palm to the crevice of her ribcage between her breasts, but Shawna doesn't push her away.
       Fe's responding for the former Gangrel of Griffith Park is lost on her as her gaze is already rising toward the roof of the old abandoned arcade building and the large figure that just landed there. Her eyes widen with a hint of red-rimming and a cloggy sound catches in her throat.
       Hanz circles once before before letting out a high-pitched CAW-CAW and diving low... only to end up fluttering and perching on Bartok's massive shoulder.

"HEY," Lascaux says, sharply, snapping his fingers at the posturing. "Not the time. Not the time." His gaze follows Fe as she strong-arms Shawna, and then turns in surprise to - "Robbie. Jesus. Where have you been?" He crosses from beside Shawna over to the gargoyle, and lifts his arms in what is obviously /almost/ a hug. But then he stops, and just sort of stands there awkwardly instead. So much for not derailing the whole meeting.

       Bernadette is being well... Quiet. Watching mostly with her companions, her eyes are still on the meeting. But she seems to be at this point mostly engrossed in whatever foul infernalistic conversation the ghoul is having with the Kal Gae.

       Olivia's mostly checked out at this point, flipping through her phone while the vampires bicker about one thing or another. She seems to be pretty excited about whatever Jean-Jacques whispered back to her, though. Or maybe there's just some good TikToks in the algorithm today. Occasionally, the ghoul will lift her eyes to sweep this way and that. But as things begin to get heated between Vandred and the foul-smelling Zeddy, and Bartok ~arrives~, Olivia will just sort of calmly rise to her feet and take about forty steps in the opposite direction, still swiping up and up and up in the endless loop of cat videos, thirst traps, soap cutting, and kinetic sand videos being beamed into a Chinese spy satellite.
       "Are we still getting ice cream?" she asks Fe and Shawna, out of nowhere, and then makes an expression. "You said we were getting ice cream."
       The odds of an ice cream shop being open this time of night: slim to none.

       Slows as he continues to listen to more of what's going on, finding a spot to climb up, so that he's up high. Sitting down, he looks over the heads of those who are gathtered and he watches from where he is. He could feel the cold, though it doesn't really bother him that much. Ayande continues to sit and listen.

       "Oh." Fe's arm loosens around Shawna, the pressure against her chest enough to dislodge her without a power-struggle. She looks up at Bartok's arrival, then back at Shawna. She releases her completely at this juncture, sure that her Gangrel compatriot will be happy to close the distance to the bisexual icon that is Robert Bartok.

       The Rotten isn't quiet. Isn't subtle. He isn't inanimate, or lifeless. With each motion a beetle crawls out of an ear, a worm through the flesh, or something once-important falls off; like his lips smacking against the skate park ground with a 'plop'. 
       The bat is twisted again and just as Zeddy Rotten's mouth is about to fire off something acidic -- Sima is talking. More skin sloughs off, hanging by little threads as Vandred comes his way. The threat received, even Zeddy Rotten isn't going to mouth off (probably) to the monstrous French-Thing about to frenzy. He stands there, diffused, and then claps those teeth at the Frenchies back. "Buzz, buzz, motherfucker."

But, left to his own devices (and Zeddy's devices don't involve dialogue and discussion of intricate influencings) the zombie-punk moves on over towards Blondie Double-Denim and Violet Baby-Bangs. You know. To chat. A canter to his step, "You guys ever have spicy coffee...?" A smile so wide, it nearly falls right the fuck off.

       Sima's attentions immediately shift to Bartok as he arrives, teeth revealed in a sudden, broad smile, "There you are!" It's as though everything was, for a moment or two, forgotten as she moves a few steps toward the blood-stained fellow. "Darling, it has seemed an -eternity- ... I have tried to reach out--" She stops herself, her smile fades vaguely, and her attentions gradually shift back to the crowd, settling on Fe with a bit of a smirk and a nod.
       "My apologies ..." She provides, looking between Fe and Shawna, "Was there anything else I could answer for you? I do believe things are winding down... but, I would be pleased to meet with either, or both of you another time to discuss how I might be able to help in the future... regardless of what happens here."
       She watches as Lascaux moves toward Robbie, her lips pressing to a tight line, before her attentions return to Bryce, a smirk slowly crawling its way across her lips, releasing them from that clench as he smooths back his hair and asks where she's at. "I am precisely where I need to be." She retorts evenly, one brow ticking upward in an arch. "Perhaps you would like to be there with me, mm?"

+ROLL/+DICE> Shawna: Dexterity + Athletics + Celerity vs. 6 -> 3 successes. (10 10 8 6 6 4 3 1 1)

       Fe is just releasing that hold of Shawna when the Gangrel is starting for the arcade building. Sima's words are lost to her as Fe's were a moment prior. It seems not even Zeddy Rotten's lips fallen freely form his disgusting face are enough to steal the blonde's attention from the newly arrived gargoyle.
       Shawna's pace quickens as she moves, then she is sprinting and climbing up whatever she can grab... drainage pipes, old windows, whatever necessary until she is on top of that old arcade with the massive creature.
       Bartok likely doesn't budge an inch when Shawna slams into him and wraps him in a hug that has Hanz squawking and fluttering off in a feathery fury.

       Olivia huffs a little and gives a vaguely dismissive gesture before carefully-slash-precariously walking around the perimeter of one of those skateboard bowls in her heels. She'll find her way back to her car and pouty-sit in the driver's seat while plugging Melt into Google Maps.
       "'Come to the skate park, Olivia. We'll get ice cream after, Olivia. It'll be fun, Olivia'..." she grumbles as she goes.

       Fe offers Sima a hands out shrug and flops her ass back into the busted-bottomed lawn chair she was parked in earlier. She trails Shawna with her gaze, and the Gangrel's exuberant display of affection for the returning gargoyle gets a proper smile out of her, a little flash of silver and gold.

+ROLL/+DICE> Bartok: Self-control vs. 4 -> 1 success. (8 3 2)

       Whatever Quiet was discussing is over now, as Mal seems to be taking his leave of the Gui Ren, leaving Bernadette with an amused expression. She does give a respectful nod of her head, right arm bending to place an open palm at shoulder height towards Mal, fingers closed together and upright.

       "Make of your fate an arrow, and shoot with your heart."

       Then her attention drifts slowly back to the group.
<English>

       "We don't want coffee!" Was that Blondie DD or Violet BB who called back to Zeddy at his cantering approach? The to punks shove and slap-fight at each other, but it's just a prelude to the two of them bouncing and scattering like dropped marbles -- it's not that they're, uh, running way from Zeddy Rotten or anything... Sure. Maybe they just wanted to careen around the skate park? Blondie DD shoves Violet BB, hissing at her; "You said there'd be /music/!" Maybe they're dashing off to find some, or stalking Olivia?!

       Bryce's temporary interlude in watching Bartok - a very popular fellow who seems to confuse the sad-eyed guy somewhat - leaves him caught mid hair-slick, looking up at Sima with raised brows. "Guess that depends on what it is precisely you need." Cheeks sucked in, before eyes scan the immediate surroundings and a sad smile is shared with the Rose. Arm swinging to his side, as he shoots his cuffs and shrugs, all super nonchalant. "No way you spend your nights in this dump. You got a spot where it's not all like, you know, all falling apart?"

       Indeed, Malachi seems to be done speaking with the infernalist Koreatown Gui Ren, and moves away with a wave and a nod. His Juul escapes once again, and another cloud of purple-flavored smoke makes an appearance, as he gazes at the others. An appraising gaze is given to the goings on, and how they've for the most part broken up, before the ghoul smiles towards the assembly and turns to start off towards the exit. A well-lit one, near a public road. It seems more needs doing tonight.

Jack Scar sighs softly. He slips his pipe into a tube of bamboo, stuffs a handkerchief in the end and puts the whole away inside his shabby black overcoat. He looks rather melancholy.

       Sima appears utterly immune to the antics of Zeddy, Vandred, Blondie and Violet.
       When one has spent as long as she has dealing with precisely this kind of thing, one must assume that they learn to tune it out for the most part.
       Instead, she appears more interested in the sadly smiling fellow, "My needs are a curious and varied thing, my good man, but I should be happy to discuss them when more pressing matters have been resolved." She provides, her voice deeply accented, but terribly different from her gargoyle companion. Her smile grows into dimpling her cheeks once more as he mentions her spending her nights here, "Oh, come now, it has a certain charm, don't you think?" He can't see her alien eyes beyond the cover of her sunglasses, but the tilt of her head suggests that she's looking around the place, before returning to him.
       "But, I do have a home that I would invite you to. One that is ..." She purses her lips, trying to think of an appropriate word. "Perhaps more conventionally appealing.
       Her attentions slide toward Jack Scar, "I'm sorry, darling, I don't believe I've addressed you yet. You seem a might put out. Is there something I can help you with?"

Zeddy Rotten has disconnected.

       The meeting was already well in progress when Robbie drops in. He squints down at the crowd, becoming first distracted with the crow on his shoulder. First he grows statue still. Then out of reflex, fishes into his pocket to for a bit of old stale candy corn as a treat for the crow. If it was from this year's Halloween or last year's Halloween or the one before that or the one before that it would be hard to tell. Candy corn probably isn't good for crows... but Hanz will probably be fine. Probably.

       Robbie then fixes both Lascaux and Shawna with a vacant awkward stare from behind tangles of of sloth-brown hair, the remains of an ill-kept side-hawk in life that had a strangely "beachy" texture to it at the moment. Then arms of the Caitiff and Gangrel open up. He sparsely has time to register Sima's greeting and others.

       Robbie bristles suddenly at the impact of one(or maybe both?) of the Kindred. Under stone skin deep in the lizard brain the Beast bristles. Squirms. His face contorts as much as it still could from its permanent scowl, taking on the expression that he'd just swallowed something unpleasant. He does not retreat despite being swarmed. He even manages to croak out a greeting. It's only a single word, the growl of a hermit who'd been living too long at the edges of the known world. "Uh, hi."

       His arms are slack for a few seconds, enduring the hug(or grapple attempt). Eventually he'd reach up and pat Shawna's back with a gnarled hand that seemed too big for the skinny arm it was attached to. He mummers something quieter than that of which Shawna and perhaps Lascaux could probably only hear.

Bartok whispers "Sorry..." Jack Scar looks up at Sima. He blinks at her a moment, then breaks into harsh, creaking laughter. It's not loud. He waves one skinny hand in a vaguely apologetic fashion.

There's something about Zeddy's clapping teeth that seems to bring down Vandred's temper, somewhat, as he moves to begin to pick up his coat, his feet now more shuffle-slide stepping than stomping to ensure that this pair of second hand/possibly stolen sneakers lasts longer than a night or two. The coat is more thrown over his frame than slipped on, shoulders shrugging to settle it in place as he slowly hunkers down in place, brow furrowed in still-palpable levels of irritability - content to just idly mutter and mumble to himself, temper going back to a slow simmer.

       At least Hanz got candy corn before being displaced by that slam of a hug. His mistress, Shawna, just clings to Bartok for a long moment with her face buried against his tattered shirt, her own athletic form tiny against his. It's only after he murmurs that she'll cough and push back away from him so she can stare him in the eyes.
       "Nah, Robbie. Wasn't anything you could do. But they made a mistake by not killing me then, yeah?" The Gangrel seems to put a lot of effort into taking her gaze off of the gargoyle and she spares a glance down toward Fe, Sima, and the others before stepping in to stand at Bartok's side.
       "Talking 'bout who might replace Cruce. Seems folks are standing behind Sima." She explains to Robbie in that sad and somber-sounding voice of hers.

       Bernadette will eventually move again, her hand dropping from its mudra into a simple gesture, one towards Jean-Jaques. It is a simple thing, a request for attention. But otherwise there is no expectation on a serene face that seems to mostly still be watching.

       With Bryce's punky companions gone with the wind, the sad-eyed young dude is left giving Sima an appropriately maudlin smile, as she confides in him over needs and pressing matters. Though, maybe a bit of cheekiness there? The look is brief, as a shoulder rolls. "It's got something, but charm?"

       Guess Bryce isn't one for rotting urban architecture. He sucks in his cheeks again - perhaps having caught a glimpse of Sima's eyes? Cuffs are shot, as Bryce takes a step back - slips a hand into his dark jacket, takes out what looks like a card, and offers it to her. "Well, if you're ever in an inviting mood..."

       A card?! Well, Bryce does lean towards a retro style. So classic, so post-ironic. Sima can take it, or not - Bryce doesn't seem to mind, though the sad eyed young man glances to Vandred, Bartok, then back out to the, ah, diverse crowd for a moment. Half a whistle, then he looks back to Sima. "It's been emotional." With that, Bryce steps back - ready to get out while the going's good, apparently.

JJ looks over at Bernadette when she tries to flag down his attention, tilting his head to the side. "Whats up?"

       Robbie looks down at the crowd below and blinks, counting heads. His brows shift, squishing the scar between them like the Pacific and North American plate grinding against one another. He looks to Shawna and then to Lascaux with a dubious -so is that what this is all about- stare. 
       "Uh. Didn't realize it was an election year." He lifts a palm to scratch the back of his head, raking bristly hairs and a stony scalp as he puzzled with himself. Robbie looks back to the crowd searching Sima out with his concrete gray eyes. His stare almost seems to be asking her if that was true.

       "Well," Sima begins to Bryce as he comments on the charm. "I'm here, darling, that has to count for something."
       When that card is produced, Sima quirks a brow and looks down at it, before reaching to daintily pluck it from his fingers, before lifting it to take a good look at it. "I'm certain you'll be hearing from me soon enough." She assures, watching him back away, allowing her gaze to settle densely upon him in his departure.
       She says nothing more, apparently happy to let him be on his way without further molestation.
       Her head instead turns toward the sound of her name, and Bartok. She bobs her head in a shallow nod, apparently affording him the confirmation he seeks.

Lascaux, despite the angle of his face, gives Robbie a thumbs up from his lawn chair, and then drops his hand into his lap again. He closes his eyes, and languishes there like a puppet deprived of the hand that wields it. It would be dramatic, if it wasn't in itself such an absence of action. Like he's just taken leave of himself for a while.

       "It is not my place to make requests here, not any longer." Bernadette starts, again respectfully nodding her head, it is almost a bow, but she doesn't quite bend. Her right hands fingers bend inwardsin a circle, resting under her thumb, though the index finger remains out, not pointing to JJ but to the side however. "But you mentioned a thumb drive of evidence. I would ask of you a copy, if it is not to bold. I have interest in where this money may be coming from."

       Shawna will linger at Bartok's side and be largely hard to separate. Hanz will return to his circling with the other crows until the Gangrel is ready to depart, on her own rather than with Fe and Olivia. The Gangrel must not want ice cream...

       Fe gets the hint and pushes herself to her feet. Oh, to enjoy ice cream again.

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