The Opening Night of the 'Sound Impact' Nightclub

[Legionnaire]

For months Electric City had been abuzz at the development of legendary designer Pierre d'Baguetto's latest and greatest project. Now, at last, the opening night had come, and a crowd of colourfully dressed clubbers had gathered outside the doors to await the big moment. Everything a normal nightclub did well, Sound Impact promised to do better - music, raves, drinks, lights, dancing, atmosphere and most importantly, the under-the-table promise of various illicit substances. New to the Oddhaven nightclub scene was the club's revolutionary 'silent club', a separate section where revellers could enjoy music pumped wirelessly through private headphones.

A barrage of fireworks and an extravagant laser show heralded the club's opening. The bouncers let the gates open, and the crowd surged forward into the building. Within minutes, the nightclub was packed and its guests found the promises did not oversell the club's features. Revellers found themselves bombarded with lights, lasers, music, bass and booze - and, for others, plentiful packets of white power and multicoloured tabs made their way across the floor.

In this rave, all sorts of peculiar individuals went unnoticed.

[Melisse Ghiberti]

These sorts of places weren't normally the sort of place Melisse spent her limited free time. She'd never much frequented nightclubs as a mortal and her Clan did not engage in the bizarre sensualization of feeding that led other Kindred to sustain themselves as rakes and lushes. However, she was quite an avid fan of d'Baguetto; she'd been inside every other structure he'd designed and wasn't about to let that record falter. And, as a fringe benefit, while nothing really went on in Electric City...well, in the Electric City establishments the general public knew about, at least...that impacted Melisse's business, she thought to curry some small favor with Cornaro by noting any dealers at the club not under his patronage.

Melisse had some conception that one was supposed to be on a list or something to bypass the line, but she knew from long experience that good looking people, who first have the door of their classic limousine, then the velvet rope, opened for them by their manservant, don't get stopped by bouncers. Charle returned to the car and departed upon clearing Melisse's ingress; Melisse couldn't imagine a less flattering accessory inside the club than the wrinkled old man in his butler's uniform, nor was she remotely willing to leave the car parked in Electric City.

On entering the club proper, she ascended to the most remote table available to admire the scene. After taking in d'Baguetto's latest manifestation of genius for quite a while, her attention eventually turned to the mass of attendees. Melisse couldn't help but be somewhat amused by the sight of so many people dancing to music she couldn't hear. She certainly had no interest in listening to whatever it was that passed for music in a club these days, so she expected her slightly impish grin wouldn't fade soon. The headphones' broadcast, she imagined, was likely a close aural equivalent to the strange fashions so many of the dancers wore; which made the short, red lace dress she'd chosen seem quite conservative by comparison.

[Alister Rockwell]

Every 'good time' institution has two crucial events that occur early in its history: its opening night, and its first fight. For lucky owners, these two events happen comfortably far apart; Pierre d'Baguetto, having the luck of the French, was not a lucky owner. 

Although d'Baguetto had been savvy enough to hire on extra security staff for his opening night, as luck would have it the majority of them were occupied trying cornering a young twenty-something whose pockets had been unsubtly stuffed with baggies of white powder and was currently trying to lose himself in the crowd. And, as further bad luck would have it, the security guard who kept an eye on the upper-level balcony overlooking the dance floor where Alister Rockwell and a two-chinned member of gangster middle-management nicknamed 'The Cook' would have a difficult conversation was currently on the floor below, attending to a woozy young girl being carried out by a man who'd just bought her a drink.

He was called 'The Cook' because "when the bosses send him and his boys after you, your goose is cooked!", not because he cooked and ate you, although given his impressive size and general demeanour you could be forgiven for your mistake.

The conversation between the two men, which began shortly after a pleasantly drunk Alister (he had chosen to stay away from the hard stuff as he was trying not to die and was unaware of the side effects of mixing painkillers, immunoboosters, and Guinness) took a stool a few places down from The Cook and soon found two large men pressing in on either side of him and the neon-adorned fat man squeezing into the stool beside him, went something like this.

"Ali, Ali, Ali, so good to see you!" he spat as he took Alister's glass away from him and downed it. "So good to see you, I've been meaning to talk to you after you fucked me over and helped out Thomas last month. How've you been? Looking less like the grave spat you up, what's your secret? Bathing in your momma's blood? I hear virgin blood helps ugly shits look better."

"I told you not to call me Ali, you great fat fuck," Alister snarled, and drove his elbow into one bodyguard's crotch. That man doubled over, then went sprawling as Alister propped his legs against the bar and toppled himself, his stool, and the other bodyguard over with a crash. The Cook staggered to his feet and pulled a knife immediately, cursing, while Alister rolled sloppily to his feet and kicked his stool into the fat man's legs. The fat man's landing was more of a boom than a crash, which was accompanied by a smashing sound as Alister glassed the second bodyguard to keep him down.

"And don't talk...oh shit," Alister said, intending to say 'don't talk shit about my mother' but trailing off as he noticed the large number of brawny individuals who had gotten to their feet and produced cudgens halfway through. He backed up towards the railing as they advanced on him, smirking.

[Melisse Ghiberti]

The first thing that caught Melisse's attention as she turned her gaze back from the crowd to the architecture, was the sight of a neon track suit on the level above. Now, the clubgoers were clad in many a strange, neon outfit but a tracksuit just seemed...out of place. The sound of breaking glass and the sight of someone backed hastily into the railing confirmed for her what she had long suspected was a universal axiom: where there are neon tracksuits there are petty operators. Deciding this was something worth investigating, Melisse arose from her seat and leisurely ascended the stairs to the balcony.

At the end of her journey she beheld a gaggle of muscle surrounding a young man, and the head of the group, knife in hand, stood Joesph Hanley, better known on the streets as...the Chef? Melisse couldn't remember, and she'd never much cared for the small crews' absurd nicknaming conventions. Regardless she'd dealt directly with his employers in the past, and his presence at their meetings had apparently been their pathetic attempt to project some sense of physical power. Needlessly to say, it hadn't worked. Even if she couldn't command life and death with the mere application of her will, she knew a paper tiger when she saw one.

"Mr. Hanley," Melisse made the men aware of her presence, her South African accent distinctly making the name sound like 'Henley', "Imagine seeing you here. I wouldn't have thought this place to your liking."

[Hisato Zaitoichi]

This was not Hisato Zaitoichi's usual locale or where he chose to spend his free time if he could help it. In fact, he had rarely frequented such establishments in the centuries he had lived thus far and only ever if he had an absolute need, he was never a lush or rake...far from it, his method of feeding required a fight, such was the case now. And a club of this sort was almost guaranteed to have a brawl.

The Hunger called like a great itch, and the beast requiring attention, scratching just below the surface of his being as he sat by the bar above the mortal rabble below. He was attempting to resist the urge to bite a civilian, he would rather not do that. His choice of victim were often those who prayed upon others, gangsters, low life, robbers and armed thieves those who made a misery of the lives of other mortals and would not be missed if they went missing and would most certainly most would be pleased to be rid of. 

He had garnered quite a reputation among the underworld as an annoyance, one to be best avoided if you could help it, given his reputation of winning the majority of the fights he fought due to his skill of the martial arts, speed and brute strength. No doubt 'The Cook' was aware of this reputation. Just as he was about to have another shot of whiskey, a disturbance occurred opposite where he was. Just as expected, it wouldn't be an opening night at a club without one. 

Yet his eyes were not upon the man who started it but rather those who stood up as a result following the two that tumbled. He noted 'The Cook' was present, which meant this fray was something of a serious matter, and from what he had overheard the man deserved all he got in return. Some people seemed just didn't know when to take no for an answer or not to push their luck. No doubt the brutes that followed were his men. Counting, he counted at least a dozen and saw that they faced a singular mortal. He seemed to be a tad outnumbered, which simply could not do. If one was to fight let it be fair he thought so decided to even the odds in the mortals favour. He needed a fight to sate his hunger, and this was the perfect opportunity to fix the problem. It also appeared to fit within his code, so was a prime moment to act.

As such he decided to intervene. Although at the moment he chose, another descended the stairs and approached...someone else who gave him a strange feeling. An almost familiar one, a vibe that came from her. Her accent was weird as well, he couldn't quite place it. Some investigation was in order after this.

Standing to his feet he walked with measured yet cautious steps. He replied in an american accent (sounds like brad pitt did in interview with a vampire when he was Louis).

“Sorry for the interruption but I couldn't help but notice the sight before me, and be amused by it. But I wonder. Isn't a dozen armed men a bit much for one guy? I believe in a fair fight, and this is not that fair in the slightest. But then that is to be expected of an amateur thug who lets others do the hard work for him and calls themselves 'The Cook'. Your reputation precedes you, and you seem to be everything of the thug I have heard you to be, I assume you have heard of my own reputation if not you soon will. This encounter is long overdue, I despise thugs of your ilk so you just made my evening.”

Stepping a little closer, and inwardly centering himself for the fight that was to no doubt occur as a result of his insult, he continued. 

“Let's even the odds shall we? Me and this young man against you and the brutes. Or you can leave now while your still allowed the capacity to walk away with most of your teeth intact. Your choice.”

Despite giving the thug an out, Hisato knew the end result was likely a brawl would ensue. These types never liked to just walk away, they worried too much about looking good and not a coward in front of their men.

[Alister Rockwell]

Melisse's arrival drew quite a few gazes from patrons and thugs alike. Most of them tried to be subtle about it - The Cook, on the other hand, outright leered at her and was so busy doing so that it wasn't until she spoke (and he recognised her accent) that he remembered who she was. Partially.

"Marissa Gilbert," he greeted her with a lecherous smile. "I'm a man of excitement, I go where it's found! I wouldn't miss this opening! But - I need a moment to sort this asshole out, then you'll have my undivided attention." The way his eyes kept darting back to her suggested she already had that. "Boys, get-"

The arrival of Hisato Zatoichi cut him off. The Cook sized him up immediately, and when he finished his introduction the fat man simply laughed and set his chins bouncing. "Fuck off you Yankee-Dankee doodle shite, you can go to the morgue with him. Boys, get...eh?" He trailed off as he noticed Alister's pointed absence.

Alister always kept one ace up his sleeve, and the arrival of the (distractingly fucking good looking) South African and the tall good samaritan had given Alister the opportunity he needed to spin, vault the railing, and-

SPOILER: Click to show

JB2YL_z9p_p_p_p_p_ at difficulty 7 due to intoxication

-crash into a bar table on the floor below. The patrons sitting at it shrieked and jumped to their feet, and those nearby stood to see what was going on, but for the rest of the club the music was far too loud to hear anything more than a faint thump-tinkle. Groaning and covered in booze and broken glass, Alister slid limply to the floor and was helped to his feet. He gave his helper a quick clap on the back as thanks, then fled onto the dancefloor to try and disappear in the sea of neon.

The Cook, meanwhile, stared dumbly at the railing for a few seconds before he finally realised what had happened and snapped back to reality. "Get down there and grab him you morons! Don't just stand there!" He levelled a pudgy finger at Hisato as the majority of the thugs streamed down the stairs to search for the man on the dance floor. "And you, can fuck off too. Unless you still want my boys to dump you out back."

He turned back to Melisse, levered his bulk into a clearly-pained barstool, and signalled the alarmed bartender. "A fine scotch for me, and a dry red for the lady. Allow me to buy you a drink, Ms. Gilbert."····

[Melisse Ghiberti]

"What does he think he's going to land on?" Melisse wondered to herself as she, unlike the men ostensibly trying to fight him, noticed the brash young man climbing onto the railing. Her question was answered when he fell flat onto a table below but, apparently no worse for the wear, started to beat a hasty retreat. She wasn't sure if the young man, whose name she didn't catch, was Kindred or just that special combination of stupid and lucky...or high on amphetamines, it was also quite possible that he was high on amphetamines.

At first Melisse's mind ran through a catalog of subtly vicious ways to correct the tracksuited bag of mediocrity about her name but then realized that, since the odd...vigilante(?), had yet to indicate whether he'd be chasing after the thugs or staying to make good his threats against their leader, this would have to wait. She briefly considered casting Hanley a, "Are you going to take that from him?", look regarding the strange interloper to provoke a fight, but she thought it better to wait a silent second and see what the peculiar man did next of his own accord. If Hanley were involved with the clumsy dealer she (and everyone else) had seen getting removed downstairs, then that was exactly the sort of information she'd been hoping to find tonight.

[Abigail Winters]

Most club goers had heard of the new nightclub opening, 'Sound Impact' and just about every single one of them had full intention of attending its opening night. A new club was one thing Abi was certain to attend. She had grown tired of visiting the same half dozen clubs and with any luck a new nightclub would bring out more people for her to meet and possible join her cult. However, tonight wasn't going to be about that, tonight was a night she hoped to enjoy. Engulfed in the crowd she flowed into the club as soon as the gates opened.

The club was truly a night to see, it was certainly the best one yet in the city. She wondered to the nearest bar to get an old glory, she was hoping she could keep something fruity down, alcohol really wasn't the same after becoming a vampire. After she got her drink she found an empty table and looked at her surroundings a bit more. What a scene. The dance floor was filled energy and every corner of place was filled. Probably a drug dealer every ten feet. Enjoying her people watching she leaned back and took a sip of the drink. Surprisingly her vampirism wasn't making her completely hate the drink, only slightly gagging. Could be much worse, she shrugged setting the drink down.

Shortly after Abigail heard some commotion from above, "Probably nothing more than some dumb boys," she muttered. A moment passed before a drunken mess of a man came crashing down onto the table in which Abi sat at. The impact shoved the table into Abi, throwing her to the floor, the sound of glass shattering on the floor. A bystander helped her and the stranger to their feet but she shrugged off the kid attempting to help her up and got back to her feet herself. "Fucking dipshit," she snarled at the bloodied drunk. On a normal night she might not be so upset but that drink didn't have her vomiting. "Hey, I'm talking to you," she yelled at him. She jumped towards him to grab his attention, literally.

[Hisato Zaitoichi]

As Hisato listened, he laughed...amused by the threats somewhat. And the . the unexpected happened...the very man he was trying to help out of his particular problem, launched himself from the railing and as expected with disarstrous consequences crashed into a young ladies table, sending she drink to the floor in a mess as the table wobbled about.

Most peculiar.

He thought before turning to the two chinned heavy and answering his threat "They are welcome to come try Cook. But I think you'll find in this instance they might bite off more than they can chew...and I don't think you want to pay out for all the extra hospital trips and expenses that come with it for your men and yourself for that matter. We'll talk more soon, seems the young man needs a extra the hand."

With that Hisato, bolted for the stairs but not before picking up a serving tray, stopping between two partygoers and taking careful aim, he launched the tray like a frisby or he were throwing a spear towards the closest thug's legs...hoping to trip him up from following Alistair, and allow Hisato time to catch up. 

In either case, a meal was a meal. So long as it was done fighting and didn't conflict with his code. This seemed to fit that category. 

[Alister Rockwell]

The Cook guffawed, evidently unimpressed by Hisato's claims. His attention back to Melisse, he wasn't really watching as Hisato pursued his group of thugs and pitched a metal tray straight at the legs of one.

SPOILER: Click to show

At Xaos' suggestion, Hisato rolls Dex + Athletics for thrown weapon using Sweep Rules at difficulty 7; I'm counting his speciality as applicable here.

2CMQIIKIp_p_p_p_p_p_
Hisato rolls 2 successes but deals no Strength damage. Using the Criminal Enforcer stats on page 377 as a base, all of The Cook's thugs will be slightly lower than those stats - relevant stats are Dex 2 and Athletics 2.

p_p_p_p_

Botch! The thug takes an automatic level of bashing damage with no chance to Soak and is now Bruised. Let's call him Stumble to keep track of things.

The serving tray impacted right in the back of the thug's knees and folded them up like paper. Already at a light jog, the thug stumbled, tripped, and smashed face-first into a nearby table before slumping to the ground, dazed. The nearest three thugs stopped and glanced back, deducing what had happened. The Cook glanced over as well, putting the pieces together, and then signalled the three thugs to teach this dickhead a lesson before turning back to Melisse.

The patrons around them rapidly fleeing down to the lower levels, the three thugs moved to help the fourth and advanced on Hisato. But the many crashes and sounds from the balcony had finally drawn some attention - a lone security guard emerged nervously from the staircase past the rush of patrons. He took the situation in quickly, and realised that what was going down here definitely wasn't worth him putting himself in the middle to stop it - but he did need this job, so what he said as he stopped a few feet from the Hisato and the thugs was, "If you're going to fight, please take it outside," and gestured weekly towards an emergency exit.

The Cook, meanwhile, wasn't too concerned as he returned to his one-sided engage with Melisse. Their drinks were placed beside him on the counter, and he drained a great portion of his before opening his fat mouth. "I don't take shit from anyone, as you well know," he declared. "We're both alike in that aspect - we make sure people know who's boss."

On the floor below, Alister's attempted flight through the crowd was complicated as Abigail threw herself at him in an attempt to tackle her drink's destroyer and-

SPOILER: Click to show

Abigail rolls Strength + Brawl at +1 difficulty to tackle:

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1 success! Alister takes 3 Bashing damage and rolls to Soak.

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2 successes! Alister takes 1 Bashing damage and is Bruised.

Both roll Dex + Athletics at difficulty 7 to avoid knockdown. For Alister:

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3 successes! Alister avoids knockdown. For Abigail:
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2 successes! I'd say that avoids a knockdown.

-bounced off the much-larger man's bulk and surprising adroitness with barely a bruise inflicted. But it was enough for Alister to stop, turn back, and glance back at Abigail. "Watch where you're going, for fuck's sake," he snapped. Then he looked past her, and his eyes went wide and he resumed his flight into the crowd. Abigail glanced behind her and saw a group of particularly thuggish and nasty individuals coming down the stairs from the upper level and clearly making their way after Alister. Alister, meanwhile, attempted to lose himself in the crowd of clubbers.

SPOILER: Click to show

Alister rolls Dex + Stealth to try and hide in the crowd. 
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One successes! Abigail rolls Perception + Alertness:
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Two successes! For the guards I'm going to use their default scores for Perception and Alertness (2 and 2):

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One success!

Unfortunately for Alister, his attempt at hiding was significantly reduced as people began giving him a wide birth, and his attempt at blending into a large group of dancers left him painfully standing out on the fridges and let both Abigail and his pursuers pinpoint exactly where he was. The group of thugs shoved Abigail roughly aside as they proceeded onto the dance floor after him.·····································

[Melisse Ghiberti]

Melisse did her best to suppress a laugh at the sight of the strange interloper's dramatic exit; partially because of his grandiose departing speech, partially because he somehow thought gang leaders provided health coverage to their men, but mostly because he threw a bloody serving tray at a man's legs! Laughter, however, was not the image she wanted to present the Cook and by the time her gaze had turned back to him she had resumed a stony countenance. With the amateur crime fighter/discus enthusiast drawn off into a fight, she could speak more freely.

"Ghiberti," Melisse said flatly and, before the Cook could mistake her utterance for 'gesundheit,' she clarified bluntly, "My name: it's Melisse Ghiberti. But I understand it must be hard for you, as you very clearly have a problem with either your hearing or your memory. I, like every other person here tonight, saw that young man being ejected for dealing. And, while I'm sure you do have finger on the pulse of Oddhaven's social scene, the fact that you and your crew lounge about up here speaks to your deficiencies, whether aural or mental. Because I know that, since I'm the one who told your employer with yourself present, you know that my cousin Cornaro taxes pushers in this city. And what you may not know, but what I do know, is that he would never tolerate the use of dealers that incompetent. Which means that boy's money isn't going up the proper chains. Which means either you sat here doing nothing while my cousin's property was disrespected right under your nose or that boy was here tonight under your employ. I know that a smart man like yourself would never be so foolish as to brazenly disrespect my family knowingly so all I can conclude is a problem in either your hearing or memory. Which would also explain why you mistook my name."

[Abigail Winters]

"You're the idiot that fell onto a table," she screamed back at him. All she wanted was a few dollars back for a drink. Following the man's gaze she saw the group of thugs clearly following the man, she almost felt bad for him but maybe one of these thugs could buy her a drink and she can watch the inevitable beating that will ensue when they caught up. Abigail let the brutes shove her aside while attempting to fish for for a wallet

SPOILER: Click to show

YNdlRD|up_p_p_p_p_p_
4 Success and 1 Failure, If I understand things that means 3 Success total. Rolling Dex + Larceny

As Abigail is pushed aside Abigail, through both skill and luck, manages to pull out the thug's wallet. She smiles to herself as she heads back to the nearest bartender to fetch the same drink. Leaning onto the bar she fishes out a few dollars and calls to the bartender, "I'll take another old glory." She turned back to the dance floor to see if the men had caught up to unlucky drunkard. Catching sight of the men shoving their way through the crowd, she made her way in the same direction after receiving her drink. The guy may be a careless drunk but I guess we can't have a death on day one of a club's opening. She may not have liked this stranger, but she was beginning to cool off from the immediate irritation that consumed her moments ago. ·····

[Clyde Maddick]

Down at the entrance below two individuals entered the club in the midst of all this ruckus. A beautiful redheaded woman named Siobhan and a Disheveled looking blonde man, covered in paint, named Clyde, looked on at what appeared to be a large man being chased about by three men in track suits an insanely muscular man in regular clothing, with a wild look of joy in his eyes, followed by what appeared to be a teenage girl. The scene would appear to be from some farcical cartoon, like looney toons or scooby doo, were it not for the rave dispersing around them making way for the fight.

"Hey, I know I'm Crazy," Clyde said to the woman beside him, "But you're seeing this nonsense too right?"

Clyde was already uncomfortable with the situation. Violence tended to stimulate the voices; the inspiration that violence incurred in Clyde almost never had a positive outcome to human eyes.

"I'm gonna see if I can calm some people down I'll be right back!" Clyde headed towards one of the men chasing the incredibly muscular man then stood in front of him and started talking.

"Whoa there, things are getting pretty wild," Clyde said, peering into the fervent emotions of the thug in front of him. "What's the point in chasing this guy, he's a nobody, unimportant, dust in the cosmic scheme, and you're chasing him? This sort of thing doesn't matter, this determination doesn't matter. Nothing matters, much less this" Clyde focused and tried to blunt the determination and loyalty of this man into indifferent apathy and mild annoyance regarding the situation.

SPOILER: Click to show

Empathy + Charisma (using the Passion power)9G4VHh1Ap_p_p_p_p__p_four successes the man Clyde spoke to no longer cares about Alister for a week

With these words the man started to visibly calm down. The thug shouted a his two co-workers "Fuck this noise, man. The Cook's got us chasing this dude for no good reason. We're all gonna die one day, so why do we gotta beat his poor ass?"

The two other men looked back at him like he was crazy; one of them spoke up. "We punch things for a living. Do your fucking job, Ronny!"

The apathetic thug then responded, "And for what? Loyalty to some asshat who thinks something like reputation matters? Screw this I'm going home." The man paraded out of the club leaving his two friends on the dance floor and his dazed friend slowly making his way down the stairs on a pair of badly bruised legs.

Clyde sighed in relief and made his way over to the thug walking down the stairs getting ready to enflame his panic regarding his injury. With any luck the man may end up leaving and trying to make his way to the hospital. --that would be funny--you know we could put him in the hospital for real--good idea-- "No! We're not doing this right now" Clyde muttered to himself preparing to approach the man limping down the stairs.
·····

[Hisato Zaitoichi]

Hisato smiled slightly as the thug tumbled and slammed into the table when the tray hit his legs, the result was almost comedic. Although it appeared he had survived the assault with just a few bruises to show for it...moments later and he was joined by another three thugs. It looked like things got more exciting, especially since one rather brave man covered in paint decided to talk a thug out of fighting further down the stairs and succeeded.  

That caused another chuckle, he doubted 'The Cook' would be best pleased about that and likely would end his employ violently. The fact a small girl stole a thugs wallet did not go amiss either. It was then the security guard came up, Hisato could feel his fear as his heart pace quickened. It appeared he didn't want to deal with this but had too. The ronin, vampiric samurai decided to cut him a break and oblige. 

So long as he got back in after and could assist the wayward drunkard. At the very least it gave him the opportunity he had been waiting for. A chance for a meal, albeit first he needed to take care of the other three. He did like a challenge. 

Gesturing to the door, he spoke to the thugs "Sure thing, I'm game if you are gentlemen. What say we take this outside and settle this the old way in the street? See if you got what it takes to contend with me."

Even as he gestured however, he was cautious. If it was one thing he learnt it was never to underestimate the enemy, no matter how civil you were with them.  

[Alister Rockwell]

Melisse's original judgement of The Cook proved absolutely correct: the man was a paper tiger. His confident expression dropped shortly after she began her tongue lashing, and his face grew purpler and more pained as she went on. By the time she had finished his chins were quivering madly and his words came out in a series of pained stutters.

"O-of course n-not, Miss Ghib-Ghiberti," he sputtered, dribbling beer down his chins. "I would n-never, of cour-course! Cornaro gets his share, b-but the boy! We tried! We tried! He's n-not even ours, b-but we...we...we tried to give him pointers! But he's a dipshit, h-he ignored us and got caught anyway! It's not my fault!"

SPOILER: Click to show

Melisse rolls Perception + Subterfuge at a difficulty of 5 (since she...burned The Cook) to figure out if he's telling the truth through his stutterings.

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One success!

It was blatantly obvious from the man's pained tirade that he was simply trying to tell Melisse what she wanted to hear. The Cook's two personal bodyguards, still standing nearby, glanced anxiously at each other as their boss went on, evidently growing uneasy, quickly.

The three thugs helped the fourth to his feet, and one of them gave the security guard a pointed look. The guard paled, but to his relief the thug nodded and jerked his head towards the exit door.

They exited down a flight of stairs into an alleyway behind the club, the thumping of the main dancefloor still faintly audibly through the stone walls. The door hadn't even swung shut before the four guards spread out and immediately began to close in on Hisato, two with brass knuckles, two with pointed knives.

SPOILER: Click to show

Luc, I hope you'll forgive me but I need to learn how to run combat in this system so you're my guinea pig!

Beginning combat. For my own reference I'm listing the thugs' tweaked stats here:

SPOILER: Click to show

Attributes: Strength 3, Dexterity 2, Stamina 3, Charisma

3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 1, Perception 2,

Intelligence 2, Wits 2

Abilities: Alertness 2, Athletics 2, Brawl 2, Drive 2,

Finance 2, Firearms 2, Larceny 3, Melee 2,

Stealth 2, Streetwise 2, Subterfuge 2

Hisato rolls Initiative - his Initiative score is 6 (Dex + Wits) and he rolls 1 die to add to it.

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9 total! The thugs now roll 4 +

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 7 total! Hisato will resolve first, and the thugs will act first. I'll refer to these thugs as Stumble (who is already bruised and has brass knuckles), Brass (brass knuckles 2), Glint (knife 1), and Edge (knife 2).

The thugs, obviously well practiced in the art of a group beating, moved together. The two with the knives circled around Hisato at a close distance - not enough to get into range, but close enough to slash at him if he tried to back off or flee to the sides. The other two, armed with their brass knuckles, approached Hisato from the front to attack - one threw a mean punch at Hisato's gut while the other followed up shortly after by going for his left kidney.

Back on the main dance floor, Abigail found a dirty 20 librae note in the wallet she had lifted and was soon enjoying (as much as a vampire could) her second old glory.

From where he was standing, Clyde saw the group of thugs upstairs - including the one with a limp - disappear through an exit door along with a fearsome-looking man in a dark suit. A security guard came down the stairs a few moments later. As successful as his forceful suggestion to one thug had been, his three mates were still committed to the man who signed their paycheques and pushed their way through the dancefloor. Abigail and Clyde both watched as they cornered the man they were chasing.

One of them got behind him before Alister could push through a knot of people, and slung an arm around his shoulders before pressing something cold and sharp against his side. The other two caught up a moment later and formed a small circle around him.

"Come on buddy, let's get you some water," one of them said loudly, and drove his fist into Alister's gut. He sagged, winded, allowing another thug to help the first in hauling him off the ground. Abigail and Clyde both saw him get carried off the dancefloor towards the private function rooms.

Abigail's attention was pulled away from the altercation when she felt a firm hand come down on her shoulder and heard a gruff voice say "Hold it." She turned around to face a weedy looking security guard. "You definitely don't look 18. I'm going to need to see some ID, now," he demanded, and held out a hand. With the other, he pointed to her drink. "Give me that, you can have it back if you're old enough to be in here."

Clyde, meanwhile, similarly found himself accosted - though by a far friendly countenance than Abigail was facing.

"Mishtah Maddick," oozed the very drunk young woman who placed herself in Clyde's path. Through the glowstick necklace and neon-blue bodypaint he recognised a woman named Gwendolyn Maldonado, a corporate heiress who frequented the art gallery that he and his sire Daphne operated. Gwendolyn had been personally enthralled by and purchased several of his pieces and obviously had quite a fondness for the artist himself. Daphne, incidentally, had noted the rich fullness of the young woman's blood.

"Sho good to sheeee you! Come, you mushtttt come with me, I have shome friendsh who would love, LOVE, to meet the artisht I nnnnnnneverrrr SHUT UP about! This way!" 

She seized him by the arm and began tugging him towards the bar area below the upper balcony, where a few waiters were busy cleaning up spilled drinks and an overturned table.·····