|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 13, 2018 18:35:13 GMT
Clyde chuckled and ran his hands through his hair, "The guy said he was planning on burning me alive. Is it just the fact that he didn't kill me evidence enough that he likes me?"
They continued walking down the street under streetlamp after streetlamp, making haste back to Daphne's apartment. The stars were out, bright, and as numerous as the voices in Clyde's mind. He marked the words of the odd Malkavian and wondered what he meant. It was difficult to perceive how these voices could be a blessing. Clyde had not often listened to them over the past couple of weeks since his embrace. He had noticed the strange mutterings of the sackclothed man, seemingly revealing the location and nature of his 'prey.' Perhaps if Clyde listened to the voices, he would finally tap into the power of Caine and Malkav.
Clyde became somber for a moment after a pause, and started again, "Did you know that I was probably going to die in there? That those wolves were going to eat me alive? You embraced me, knowing that it was 'against the rules,' and thought my addition to this... clusterfuck--for lack of a better word--would be worth it?"
Clyde felt like Isaac, as if offered up before a god, readily sacrificed by one who loved him. Perhaps in undeath self preservation held more sway and such romantic notions as self sacrifice held little value or use anymore. He noted the information Daphne had chosen to leave out, he would remember her willingness to bow before this prince.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 14, 2018 1:42:21 GMT
Daphne remained silent for a long moment as they walked, looking at the stars, at the sidewalk, and generally anywhere except Clyde's eyes. "I knew you weren't going to die. I embraced you because you were special. I could see it from when I first saw you, and I knew Picot would see it too. And it will be worth it. Trust me. It's just all still to new, too fresh, that you're disoriented. Once you understand everything, and get solid footing, and understand how to walk the walk and play the game, you'll be so happy you became what you are." She spoke quietly, yet with conviction, and Clyde couldn't tell who she was trying to convince.
As they reached the doors to the apartment, she paused at the threshold and added, "I'm sorry you have to go through this all. The transition is never easy, but if you just please the prince he'll leave us to do as we please, and life will go back to normal. And we'll be together. Forever."
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 14, 2018 2:40:45 GMT
Clyde looked into Daphne's eyes, Held her, and gave her a long, passionate kiss, "Forever sounds pretty good." Clyde whispered. With that they entered the building and headed up into the haven.
The rest of the early morning, before dawn, was filled with musings and silent thought for Clyde. He found himself taking heed from the voices rather than stifling them. They were loud at times, but if Clyde listened hard enough, he would find that their suggestions were not always so odd and fervent as to need stifling. Clyde would listen to the voices fight each other, and try to harness their sense, quelling one beneath the power of the other. He eventually found himself whispering with the voices, using them to call trauma into his own mind, before epiphanizing that he could to the same to others. Part of the night was spent dumping paint on the floor, asking the voices to make sense of the arbitrary colors and symbols before him. He got many of the same glimpses of water and shipyards that the other Malkavian spoke of, as well as other indecipherable nonsense.
He felt his senses heighten to the world around him, learning to pay attention not only to sight, but smell and sound. As he focused on the real world the voices became more distant. When he let them back in, however, he would find that they told him about the spirits of those beings around him. He could see Daphne in the other room, her aura pale white with a sheen of static and distortion in it. The voices would tell him the stories of his paintbrushes and the easels. His chisel remembered every bit of stone it had kissed. Daphne's paintings had over a hundred years of memory in it.
Clyde had never understood just how old Daphne really was until this moment. He only then fathomed how horribly lonely she had been. Her art had kept her sane despite Malkav's curse, and she remained very human, even after all those she had loved in life were long dead, and the beast had spent its years gnawing at the inside of her soul. She truly did love him. She truly loved his mind. It was only partly for selfish need that she had embraced him. Perhaps she had listened to whatever voice told her that he was the one. Maybe that was the charge of all Malkavians, to be who they were unabashedly; cursed with insanity, yet gifted with an open mind.
He then thought of his prey. The one whom he was to execute. She must be just as alone as he, trying to make do within a horrid harsh new world. She may have no soul to help her in the night like he did. It was hardly fair that she must die at the whim of a man she hadn't even met, and at the hand of one who had no quarrel with her. This was wrong, but it was necessary. To be a vampire was to struggle to survive. This was a part of Clyde's struggle, he couldn't let his emotions get in the way of his continued existence.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 14, 2018 3:13:47 GMT
Intelligence + Empathy to reflect on the Seer's vision ELxicnE3p_p_p_p_p_p_p_Damn, though luck there. No successes. At least it wasn't a botch, though
As Clyde's mind drifted to his target, he though on the Seer's musings. As he did, the voices began speaking up, louder and louder, each offering different and often conflicting advice, until they drowned each other out. Perhaps it was because he was thinking on the vision of a fellow Malkavian, but his own curse seemed to intensify as the voices began screaming, blowing any concentration and creating a headache. At least the musings were fairly straightforward, but there was a lot of water and a lot of warehouses in Providence. It remained unclear where this Sarah White was hiding. ······
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 14, 2018 19:12:44 GMT
Clyde felt the coming sun tug at his eyelids. Dawn was approaching and the beast demanded rest. He walked into Daphne's room, where she was already getting into her pajamas. They were light blue with images of snoopy on them. She wore a t-shirt from a Rhode Island brewery that was far too big for her. She was in the bathroom just adjacent to the bedroom brushing her teeth, fangs in particular. The amount of maintenance those things took to keep clean was astonishing. Clyde came up and hugged her from behind, one arm just below her breasts, and the other running his fingers through her short, soft, dark hair. He kissed her on the neck then proceeded to get out of his clothes as well.
"I listened to your paintings. They had stories to tell." He spoke to her with understanding in his voice, "Tonight was hard, but you've been through so much more. I'm sorry for what I said earlier, I wasn't thinking about how you felt, or what you've been through. I guess being alive over a hundred years was kinda hard to wrap my head around. I just didn't really get it." Clyde put his own PJ's on as well, blue flannel with a plaid pattern on it. He hoped his apology reached her. Clyde figured that if he couldn't change his situation he could at least change the way he thought about it, and thinking from Daphne's perspective gave him far more hope.
"It doesn't change the fact that this is still a clusterfuck, though." Clyde said, getting out his own toothbrush and going to work on his fangs, "Like seriously what's Picot's deal? Just cuz this chick didn't say hi she dies? Like I get that the guy's bored and old, like really old, but killing Caitiff for kicks? The dude has all the blood he could hope for, some drifter from Boston doesn't do him any harm. I dunno, this Camarilla schtick doesn't make much sense to me." Clyde spat out his toothpaste and got to work with the floss, "It doesn't make sense that one dude gets to call all of Providence his. That's dumb. Like I get that he wants a power structure that supports his interests, but it's dumb. There are so many kindred here, and we're all existing with this curse, and we should stop this petty squabbling for power and do our best to fucking get along, not put hits out on complete strangers..."
Clyde hopped under the covers into Daphne's bed and waited for her to join him. She was still busy removing her makeup and contacts.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 17, 2018 1:51:17 GMT
"You're too young to understand," Daphne replied as she made her way into the bed. "Our existence requires that the mortals don't know about us. That means some unpleasant things have to happen, including keeping baby vampires that don't know what they our from revealing themselves and ruining everything. Besides, being immortal, we need to keep our population low anyhow. It's a clusterfuck, and I'm really truly sorry you have to be the one to deal with this particular mess, but the alternative is being exterminated by the kine." Daphne's words were again half-hearted, though it was difficult to tell whether from trying to buy her own press, from having to explain the situation earlier than expected, or just from weariness of the days events. Despite the meeting with the prince being relatively brief, Daphne was clearly emotionally exhausted from it.
"It's all..." Daphne began, then stopped herself. Something was on her mind, but she changed words last minute, rephrasing to say, "It's all a mess. Let's just try to get some sleep, focus on cleaning it up tomorrow, then things will be back to normal." With that she rolled over and let out a long but contented exhale.
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 21, 2018 4:29:25 GMT
Clyde felt the beast tug him into unconsciousness, the curse taking its nocturnal toll. Like usual his sleep was that of death, dreamless and sudden. He stirred the next night with the usual gnawing feeling of hunger in his gut. He turned over to look at Daphne, who was just waking as well. Her short hair was cute and tussled from sleeping on it all night. She, unlike most vampires, was a light sleeper who tumbled and tossed in her unconsciousness. It typically showed in the mornings though, as she would become uncharacteristically grumpy and hungry. Luckily, Clyde found this endearing as all hell, and would relish in teasing her about it.
This night was different though. Clyde had a job to do, one that needed to be done quickly. He figured he would heed the Seer's words and take note of the voices. His meditations on the Seer's visions were not successful last night, but perhaps the voices in his own mind would be able to aid him through his own sight.
"Daphne, you've told me about the eyes of madness, right? I think I... I think I can do it. I'm gonna need to make a mess though. We're gonna get a bit Pollock tonight." Clyde planned to make a mess influenced by the voices, then peer into it to find the way towards his prey. He knew where to start. Abandoned docks. Water. A yellow door. Shipping containers. He would let the colors and the voices act on these, to help him find his way. "In the meantime, Daphne... I'm gonna need... weapons. Do you think you can get knives and... stakes?" Clyde spoke of these things with hesitation. He didn't want to hurt anyone, no matter what the prince or the voices demanded. No matter what the Beast demanded. But that was not reality. That was not the situation.
"I need supplies." Clyde said solemnly.
With that he went into the other room. He got out a large white ream of paper and rolled it out onto the floor. With that he started throwing paint onto the canvas, listening to what the voices said, and peering into his creation, hoping to find truth within the eye of Madness.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 21, 2018 5:12:19 GMT
Wits (2) + Occult (3) at difficulty 5 because of the Seer's previous vision VJxLNiyGp_p_p_p_p_That's 2 successes
"Mmmm," Daphne grumbled, and wandered off. Where to, Clyde didn't notice, as he was already engrossed in his painting. The first flickers of paint formed a black upside y shape as they struck the paper. He didn't know why, but he instinctively, deeply knew that this was the studio apartment, in the way one recognizes a face and, though can't place who the individual is, knows that they know them. As the paint continued splashing on, he began to realize he was making a map. There was a red splotch, representing the yellow door, and a series of orange dots where the river snaked by the warehouse. As he continued flicking paint down, he began to create the fastest route by car, and he knew immediately when he was finished. Standing up from his map, he left it lying on the ground- it's contents were burned into his mind, as though he had always known them, and he knew he could find his way by memory.
As though on cue, Daphne dropped a heavy bag of weapons on the table just as he stood. Though they didn't seem particularly deadly, the weapons it housed were numerous and each quite beautiful in it's own way. There were several antique knives, each clearly handmade by one who loved his craft- perhaps unsurprisingly, given that Daphne had met Clyde because of his art, and had no doubt spend many years visiting and collecting from many artisans. They ranged in size from dinner knives to large daggers of a questionably legal size. That one, he heard a voice whisper, and felt drawn to a midsized bronze knife with vaguely Greco-Roman figures engraved along the blade.
The bag also housed dozens of stakes, each carved from what looked like a leg of furniture. "Make sure to hammer it all the way in the heart," Daphne said as she pulled out a large mallet that accompanied them. "And remember, it will only paralyze her, it won't kill her." His eyes ran over the selection, from a sturdy plain oak to a former Victorian loveseat. As he saw a long baroque table leg, he thought of how impractical the curve would make it, when the voices spoke up, seeming to select it as well.
····
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 23, 2018 8:00:22 GMT
Clyde picked up his new supplies and stuffed them in a duffel bag. He gathered various paints, canvases, cameras, even a block of clay, and put them inside a duffel bag along with the knife, mallet and two stakes. It would be unfortunate if one broke and he was left with a very much alive and angry kindred coming after him.
"Do you want to come with me, or is this my task to do alone? If you're not coming with me then I need the car. I know the way, so I guess I'll figure out how to get it done once I get there..." Clyde was scared. The funny thing about kill or be killed is that the possibility of death is an integral part of the equation. This freaked Clyde out, and rightfully so. He had never killed anybody, much less someone with fangs.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 25, 2018 8:10:21 GMT
"I wish I could go with you, but Picot seems to have this planned as a test of sorts. I'm not sure he'd mind, but if he did he might force another test. I know this one is going to be hard enough on you. That's one thing you'll learn as you get used to Kindred- they'll take any excuse they can to use you." She handed him the keys, holding his hand for a moment then shifting into an embrace. "You can do this. She's only a Caitiff," Daphne remarked as she held him.
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Aug 28, 2018 0:38:25 GMT
"Ok." Clyde said. Whatever that matters, he thought to himself. He didn't have much else to say to that. The notion that Sarah was less of a person, because of who her sire was, troubled Clyde. This system of castes and lineage allowed for the kindred to make up reasons to kill one another, when it really seemed to be about power.
Clyde was going to do this because of power. Picot wanted power and resources, so this Caitiff would die for him. Clyde wanted to have power, so he needed to be in the good graces of Picot, so the Caitiff would die at his hands. If Picot didn't have his power, none of this would be happening.
Did Picot just have his power because he was old enough to have accrued it? Had he stolen it from competitors, or did an old system of arbitrary virtue based on age give the edge to his sword? Either way, a, relatively, innocent person would die very soon. Be it Clyde, or be it Sarah.
With that, Clyde set out into the night following the map in his mind. Somewhere on the way he would have to eat. He was getting hungry from going without food for a while, and would need all of his strength to do this right. As he got to the docks he started looking around for homeless folks, the kind who wouldn't be believed if they said a fanged man tried to take their blood.
--besides they'll actually be crazy when you're done with them--
"What?"
--oh you don't know yet--you'll see clyde--you think you're helpless--you're not--you have us--your friends--
The voices were jolly, disjointed, and seemed to enjoy the fact that they were in on the secret to Clyde's power. It wouldn't take long before Clyde discovered the punchline.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Aug 28, 2018 1:30:39 GMT
Wits 2 + Alertness 1 to find to find a homeless population at difficulty 4 (assuming similar difficulty to Oddhaven's docks) RAN3kiCrp_p_p_
That's two successes, finding not only a population but a lone individual. [/spoiler][/p]
As Clyde walked the docks, he could see the faint glow of a trashcan fire with several homeless men gathered around. Clyde himself had the good fortunate to no longer be effected by the cold, but based on the way they were huddling to stave off the New England breeze drifting in from the ocean, it was a particularly cold night. As he continued walking, some eyed him with distrust, and he heard the voices whisper in his head-
Fire isn't the only way to keep away the cold. Think. Look around
-and he continued on. Just as he turned a corner, there was a lone bum passed out with a plastic bottle of vodka in his hand. It seemed almost too easy, and he could see why the city was called Providence. ··
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 2, 2018 0:56:31 GMT
Clyde wondered if he could do it. The man slept. Innocent, unassailed, and peaceful. Also, most likely, drunk. Clyde was wary of the task. He didn't want to accidentally take too much blood, as he hadn't done this very much before. The last thing he wanted to do was kill a sleeping man. Clyde's survival necessitated it however, and the situation was simply too opportune.
He looked around into the darkness of the night. The fire around the corner cast Clyde in the shadow of darkness as he bent down, and prepared to bite the neck of the man below him. Clyde wondered if this man would be missed, should he accidentally kill. Did he have a family somewhere? A loved one? Surely his life had been more than the bottle at his side. Cast out and alone by no fault of his own.
Clyde sunk his fangs into the homeless man's neck and drew blood, drinking slowly. It was incredible. The hint of iron was no longer an oddity in Clyde's mouth, but instead a symphony dancing across his palette. He relished in the taste of salt in his mouth, and shuttered with joy at the feeling of the thick red ichor sliding down his throat.
--that's it--keep going--you want more than that clyde--c'mon--feast--feast-feast-feastfeastfeastfeastfeast.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Sept 2, 2018 2:00:59 GMT
Rolling self-controlJMOMus5ep_p_p_
The taste of blood was utterly intoxicating. It had always been by far the most intensely pleasurable experience he had felt, and that was only magnified here by the necessity of it. This was the first time he fed without Daphne's oversight, and so this intoxication lulled him into a haze. Indeed, it was only when the voices told him to take more greedily that he was made aware of the situation again.
He could feel that he had taken his fill, that much was certain. Had he taken more than he needed? It was difficult to know. Looking the man over, though, he at least seemed in good shape. Or at least, in roughly the same shape he had been in- passed out drunk on the street. The Beast urged him to take more, and reared for a moment, but then calmed as the satisfaction of the meal finally settled. ··
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 2, 2018 2:14:07 GMT
Clyde licked the wound closed and stood up. As he did he felt woozy. The alcohol in the man's blood had been strong, hitting Clyde, giving him the mortal sense of a buzz. How his body could become drunk from alcohol in the blood, Clyde didn't quite understand. But the feeling was there nonetheless.
He had done it though. He had hunted alone. He had done so with tact and control, not giving into his baser urges. He had control, no matter what the voices said, no matter what the beast commanded.
Clyde was filled with pride. Perhaps this is what the prince intended. To see that Clyde could be an asset, an addition to kindred society who would not leech off of his siblings of the night. Eventually a vampire must spread their wings and fly alone. Perhaps this was a test to see if one day he would be able to. This was unlikely though, considering the motivations of power, tradition, and station that seemed much better motivators compared to some idea of twisted mentorship of a Malkavian he barely knew.
With this victory, he recalled the map in the eye of his afflicted mind, and oriented himself in the right direction. The real search for Sarah White began now, and the yellow door beckoned.
|
|