Oddhaven Library

[Frederica Sanchéz-Davis]

Library time. Let's get going. Shower. Keep an eye out for food along the way.

Frederica elected to wear the same clothes as yesterday (leather jacket, athletic sunglasses, white tank top and jeans) to head out. She needed to do some grocery shopping, and she wanted to check out some books from the library. Her internet research hadn't done her a ton of good for local politics here, and she wanted to get information about some local city council ordinances and provincial government policy before she shows up asking questions.

Arriving at the library, and browsing through the catalog, she pauses. Some of these books are truly ancient... like 300 years old ancient. That's amazing.. It wasn't even just the ones you'd expect, such as the records of town bylaws. Novels, captain's records, nautical guides. All in far better condition than they ought to be.

She checks out some books about recent local political history, some city council records, and one extremely ancient book about Napoleonic history.

She returns later that night, at around 10 PM (2200). The library is, shockingly, still open. There's no one but a studious librarian sitting at the main desk. Fredi sets down a book on the desk and asks, "Hey, who wrote in this?" She flips open the book on Napoleonic history, where there's some notes in the margins throughout multiple books. Some of these notes are corrections.

The librarian hesitates for a second, and Fredi continues, "There's someone on this island who's an expert in this sort of thing, and I'm absolutely enthralled at the idea of meeting and talking to them! I'm a reporter on an assignment about small island nations for TIME, and one of the aspects of the story as planned is about finding some of the coolest people of those nations!" Fredi slips RIGHT into the reporter persona with which she's so familiar.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

The librarian present, a portly woman who looked to be in her mid-50s, slid the book toward herself. "Well, let's see..." she said, pulling out the checkout card in the back. "It's been checked out quite a few times, dear. I'm not sure who wrote those notes. If you're looking for a historian, though, Mr. LeChevalier upstairs is our head administrator. He knows quite a bit himself, and can probably direct you to someone at the University that might be able to help if he can't." Without waiting for a response, she lead the "reporter" to the stairway, then up to the fourth story that capped the old stone building. "You're in luck that he happens to be in so late, though his work does tend to keep him here for some time. I think he's the sort that gets obsessed with whatever project is at hand, and forgets to sleep or eat until it's done. If you want someone interesting to interview, though, you've made a good choice."

At the top of the staircase, right in front of where they ended, was the door to the office. It was simply labelled "LeChevalier" with "The Librarian" underneath it, though this was somewhat inaccurate if he was an administrator. The woman knocked, then immediately opened the door and entered. "This woman has some questions about this book," she said, interrupting whatever conversation was going on between LeChevalier and the other man inside. She put the book down on his desk next to a plate with a slice of pie on it, opening it to the page with the writing on the margins her finger had been saving. "And look, you haven't touched your pie. I swear, you'd forget to eat if I didn't remind you." She cast a gland to the "reporter" which said See, I told you.

"And what a shame that would be, Ms. Mathers, when your cooking is so divine." He dug his fork into the dessert and took a bite. He made an exaggerated sound of enjoyment, though with the suspicious glance he cast at Frederica she couldn't tell if it was for her or Ms. Mathers. "Thank you again. You must remember to knock, though. A pesky formality, I know, but some of my business is technically private and we could get in some trouble if you came in and overheard something you aren't meant to."

"Sorry sir," she replied, without any detectable remorse.

"Just keep it in mind for the future. Would you mind closing the door on your way out?" As she left, LeChevalier shot an inquisitive look to the other man in the office, a wild-looking burly man with a large beard, long hair, and biker leathers that looked quite out of place, especially when contrasted with LeChevalier's conservative appearance.

"Never seen her," the wild man replied to the unasked question. "Leather jacket doesn't necessarily mean one of mine."

LeChevalier looked down at the book. Napoleonic France. Was this a message or a coincidence? He tried to keep a poker face up when he recognized the book itself. It had been his a long time ago, though he must have misplaced it and it wound up in the Library somewhere. Had she taken it? It felt too personal a touch to be coincidental, but if she knew what he was to the specificity to make up some excuse to deliver this particular book to his office, she'd certainly make her intentions clear soon enough. Nonetheless, it certainly got his attention, and he was willing to free up his afternoon for it.

"Hmm," he said in response. A response dangerously close to giving out too much information to a potential Kine, though the Brujah no doubt thought this stranger was Kindred as well. Never seen her would mean she hadn't been at court, though. This is why our Clan need to learn caution, he thought, before saying "Well, Warthog, Aurelius' Meditations have given me guidance in the past, and is a great place to start. We've got several copies, check one out on your way out. And thanks for the update. I appreciate it more than you know."

"No problem, Chevs." Warthog seemed to catch the meaning of on your way out and promptly left, closing the door and leaving just Alexandre and the young woman before him.

"Pleasure to meet you, I don't believe I've seen you before," he began, a sentence which would mean different but acceptably pleasant things to both a Kindred and a Kine. "Alexandre LeChevalier." He said, rising from his seat at the desk and offering his hand.

[Frederica Sanchéz-Davis]

Ms. Mathers. Noted. Frederica rolls her eyes in response to Ms. Mather's glance, knowing that that's the proper response. Men.

As she walks into the room, Frederica's eyes start flicking everywhere, taking in as much information as possible. This "Warthog" is incredibly out of place, but despite his appearance, there isn't really anywhere that he could be carrying a weapon. Usually people dressed in that style at least have a sheathed knife hanging from a belt, Fredi knew from experience. And this LeChevalier character is completely harmless. No weapons at all, not in a suit that well-tailored, unless he was MI6 or something.

When "Warthog" says his piece, Frederica's eyebrows flicker. That's an odd thing to say about someone you just met. People here are strange. But she extends her hand when Alex offers just the same.

"Frederica Davis. I also don't believe we've met, but you uh, might have read some of my articles if you're a TIME reader, though I publish under a different name." She smiles nervously. "Yeah! So I'm a reporter for TIME magazine, and I'm doing a joint story with a couple of other reporters here about the continued presence of micronations in the modern world, and the people that live there. As a historian and library administrator, would you be willing to answer a few questions sometime over the next week? We can schedule something or I can just go ahead and ask now. It's mostly about local politics and island history, but I'd LOVE to know your areas of expertise." She shakes her shoulders in to loosen her backpack's straps.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

He return her nervous smile with a more confident one. Kine, then. Interesting. He then ran his fingers back and forth along the book. Though the book seems unrelated to her story. Coincidence? Perhaps. "Well, I have some time now. Take a seat," he motioned to he chair in front of his desk, and waited for her to sit before sitting himself. "I tend to write on Philosophy, but I know my fair share of history. Local politics I'm a bit shakier on," he said. Kine politics, anyway, "But I'd be happy to fill you in on any questions you like, and maybe give some direction for more information. If you want some shots for your magazine, for instance, try the Old Harbour docks. They'd certainly look the part for an article about small island history. They're a nice place for a tourist to visit, to, as long as you don't stay out past sundown. You and your fellow reporters are just visiting, I presume?"

He scooped another piece of pie. It was quite good. How fortunate he could enjoy it, when so many of his kind were cursed against that enjoyment. Neither God nor Caine would be cruel enough to curse a Frenchman from enjoying a good meal.

[Abigail Winters]

A taxi rolled to a stop in front of the Oddhaven Library, a teen girl stepping out of the back onto the sidewalk. Saying her quick farewells to the driver, Abi hoisted her book bag full of her notes over shoulder and headed into the library. Somehow she had found just as much enjoyment in the library in unlife as she did in her life.

Entering the familiar library she took no time to glance through the books, she needed to speak to Alexandre, she had some news. Not much but he wanted some sort of answer. Reaching his door on the fourth floor she stopped and lightly knocked on the door, "It's Abigail." She waited for a response.

[Frederica Sanchéz-Davis]

She laughs. "No, it's actually just me. The other reporters are on Galapagos, Micronesia, Vanuatu... you know. Other islands."

She pauses as the knock at the door echoes throughout the room. "Another visitor, Mr. LeChevalier? You seem to be quite the popular man despite this late hour. I can wait, or we can schedule another time. I'm here for as long as it takes to get a good story!"

Alarm bells were ringing in Fredi's head. Each thing in particular was nothing notable, but altogether... something was off.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

"Indeed," he said, smiling. Has the trash actually found a way around the curse? "Please come on in, Ms. Winters!" he called, before returning to Frederica. "I do tend to take my business at night. Administrative duties tend to take up most of my day, and I used to work third shift anyway, so I've become accustomed to the hours. Yes, let's try an reschedule, shall we? Same time on Thursday, perhaps?" Why did I just say that? He thought, handing her a business card. She's dangerously close as it, and a reporter who's job is to investigate interesting hidden stories. He continued, "Likewise, I probably won't be able to call back or meet up until later in the evening, but I'd certainly be happy to help you with your article." Then again, Stye did mention needing a new bloodbag. She's alone, and comfortable travelling alone at night. Crime happens, especially on this island. Ideally, though, she writes her article and gives a bit more credibility to me among the Kine. "Where are you staying? The Shoreline, I presume? Take it from a local, you can find rooms for half the price of that hotel, even for more short term stay." Worst case, there's a different article about a missing person buried in the paper somewhere and I get a favor. Can't end on asking for a place of residence, though. "I could also call you, if you'd like to leave your number with Ms. Mathers on your way out. I could also give some folks I know who work in history your number, if you'd permit me. Perhaps you could talk with them during the day, and me during the night."

[Frederica Sanchéz-Davis]

DING, DONG, DING, DONG. Fredi had been asked that question before. It was time to improvise.

"Sorry, it's TIME policy not to give out our locations. But I CAN give you my phone number." She writes it down, XXX.XXX.XXXX. "Call me anytime. This isn't my work tip line, this is my personal cell. But yes, Thursday sounds excellent." She puts in her headphones, and starts singing,

"Everybody wanna know what my Achilles heel is / Love, I don't get enough of it" before she's out of earshot.

A being with particularly good hearing would notice that there is no music coming from her headphones.

The second she gets in her car, she folds the passenger seat downwards and up against the airbag. She reaches down into the exposed wiring and grabs the orange wire, and pulls that. A small tray rolls out from under the carpet into the hole, and reveals four pistols, and space for a fifth. She grabs a Sig Sauer P320 out and puts it on the dash, then puts everything back where it's supposed to be.

The drive home is tense. Something about that man is fucked up. Connected somehow, and extremely powerful. Mob boss? Almost certainly. Right wing party under thumb? Very likely. Frederica can't believe her luck. I was right. This job is being handed to me on a silver platter. I just wish that knowing that there's a whole god damn criminal underworld in this city made it any easier to find the right person to... take care of.

She takes a couple of quick turns to lose any pursuers, and then heads to her apartment building in the Portuguese quarter. When she arrives, she takes the Sig and a Glock inside, and triple-locks the door.

[Abigail Winters]

Entering the office Abi stood close to the door while Alexandre finished chatting to the unfamiliar woman. Knowing how private her business was she stood by the door until the woman left, watching her go down the steps from a side glance before finally closing the door. Looking to Alaxandre, "Sorry for the absence the last few weeks. Unfortunately digging up books older than your granddad takes time. Also, don't get me started with ghosts, those asshats can either wait a millennia to talk or proceed to talk your ear off." She walked to the office desk and started rummaging through her bag before continuing, "The curse comes from the early magi, and I mean early. I'm sure you've heard of them as you're a bit older than I. Anywho, it was something they were able to conjure up in the early days before they knew what the hell they were doing, at least from what I hear and read." Finding the right notebook she pulls it out and places it on the desk. Opening it up she thumbs through the pages and continues to ramble, "Good news, we know its origin, bad news I can't find out how it got morphed into the wards on this building or how you pissed one off." Finally turning to the page she was looking for she pushes her glasses up and bit while skimming the content of the page, "Looks like the previous runner of this place used to have a mortal friend a magi, which I find a bit odd, don't you? From what little I know of magi they don't like us and we usually steer clear, right?" She stops to let Alaxandre speak, almost forgetting he might want to add something.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

Closing the book on Napoleonic France, Alexandre thought briefly about the Thaumaturgical book that Becken the Tremere had left behind all those years ago. He was impressed with Abigail. Having given her almost no direction other than showing her the wards, and likely with no Kindred connections given her Clanlessness and her willingness to work merely for the protection from the Camarilla that working for a Primogen temporarily afforded, she seemed to have dug up some relevant information. He'd been told she was an expert at warding, but he hadn't expected much from a Caitiff. Briefly considering sharing the book with her, he decided against it. Even if it has information on the warding, he thought, there's no way she could get around the notorious Tremere cypher. Besides, she might mention I have it to the wrong person, and the last thing I need is Clan Tremere on my back. Best to keep it locked away.

He did have a bit more information he would offer, though. "Well done, Abigail. And thank you again for your assistance. I don't know how much you know about the clans, given your... position. But the library was the domain of the Tremere before I took over, who were Magi before stealing the embrace. I doubt this particular Kindred had a Magi ally do the warding for him- indeed, I doubt he had many allies at all. I suspect he put the warding in place himself, with his Clan's blood magic. Information on that will be quite difficult to come by, though." Rising from his seat, he motioned toward the door. "Let's take a look at the warding again. See if what your book says matches the genuine article."

[Abigail Winters]

A small smile twitched at the edge of her mouth, "Thank you Sir, I'm glad to be of use on the matter." She flipped through the notebook filled with notes. "I wish I had a better book but I've mostly made this one over the last few years from both online resources and physical books. Unfortunately a lot of the runes and spells aren't real but I got them mostly grouped into families, real or not." She got her stuff and followed his direction to look at some of the warding again just to make sure. "Yes, my position does make it a bit more difficult to know all the clans, maybe we could talk about those some time or you could write me a list," she chuckled at the thought. It struck her odd at how many different clans of vampires had been developed over the millenia, which tossed a thought into head. "You ever why clans stopped being created?" She opened the door to let him out and continued to follow him.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

"Well, that ignores the prerequisite question of where clans come from in the first place." He guided her out of the office, and they headed toward the ground floor. Once more in the open, the conversation shifted to a clear façade, "So the elephant handlers, despite having come all the way from India, drowned there. A shame, too, right before the Alps business, and I'm sure the Carthagians were upset at the loss of such expertise, but the war was only about to start." No one was really paying attention to them, but one didn't reach Alexandre's age without taking precautions to ensure no one doubted his mortality. Taking her to a relatively obscured section of the library, he motioned to the carvings in the floor, faint and almost imperceptible, but very much there. "They actually run on every story, but I tend to see them most prominently here, and no one will interrupt us here. Indeed, these wards run everywhere. Do they match up with what you think you were seeing?"

[Abigail Winters]

"Very nice work," Abi kneeled down and ran her hand across the small etchings. "These are as I thought, old and from the witches or magi as we call them; however, this," she pointed to a few scratches protruding from a few of the runes "are certainly add ons. I'm assuming this must be some of the blood magic you were talking about." she flattened a blank paper against the floor, pulled out a chunk of graphite and made rubbing of the wards. "I will keep looking for you. Sadly there is nothing I can do in terms of reversal yet but if you want me to keep on the hunt I will do my best." Getting back to her feet she tossed her things back into her bag. "Oh yeah, I made this little anti ward hex bag. I know it wont work but I want to see what happens anyway, for witchcraft, right!" She exclaimed as quietly as she could manage. Reaching into sweatshirt pocket she revealed a small cloth bag. "It filled with a few things I've found to work well on weaker wards." She sat back onto the floor and closed her eyes. Abigail brought the small bag close to her mouth, she seemed to whisper to it before setting it down on the etchings. WIthin moments the bag began to decay, it shrivelled and warped before crumbling into a pile of dusty mush. Abigail opened her eyes to see the remains, an exaggerated frown struck her face. "Odd. I'll think on that one. . . Not to be the bearer of bad news but this might take even longer than I thought." She scooped up the remains and placed them in pocket of the book bag. WIth a sigh she stood back up and faced Alexandre.

[Alexandre LeChevalier]

"Perhaps Becken did know a magus, then. Regardless, I appreciate the work. You've more than earned my sponsorship." He had accumulated a few books on warding over the years while trying to figure this out himself. Rare things, and it's dangerous to share knowledge. Then again, she has no clan. I'll hardly be helping an enemy, even indirectly. "I have a few books on the subject from when I was trying to figure this out myself, though you seem to have an instinctive grasp on the subject. If you're interested, I'd be willing to let you take a look at them, and transcribe one page of your choice as reward for your diligence." It might speed things up. Probably not, but life is long. Another thought then occurred to him. And a woman on the streets like her is just the sort of wildcard Rodriguez wouldn't expect. Especially one armed with arcane secrets.

[Abigail Winters]

"You are welcome and thank you as well," Abigail was surprised but happy that all of her studying and research had paid off. Perhaps not all vampires were as rude as the ones she had met. "I would love to see what else you might have found, two m__" a bad cough stopped her mid-sentence. Abigail turned from her hopefully new ally to wipe something from her lips. (She isn't necessarily hiding it, more of a turn away to not spit on you) "S-sorry about that," she grimaced at the pain growing in her mid-section. "I would love to pick up those books but how about another time?" She raised her arm to cover another small cough. "I really must tend to this," she stated. She then turned to walk away from Alexandre, towards the nearest exit.

Why of all times did the cut have act up now? She knew helping Alexandre could help her get into a sect but she needed her own kind of witch doctor. The young caitiff gave a weak smile paired with a quick wave to the librarian as she made haste to the streets. Once outside she flipped out her phone and texted one of her cab driving acquaintances that she was ready to go back home. She sat on the steps waiting, holding her gut in a sad attempt to relieve some pain and blood loss. "C'mon Eric." she muttered.