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Post by Legionnaire on Sept 27, 2018 13:27:45 GMT
His still heart somehow pounding in his chest, Clyde was relieved to discover nothing of Daphne's seemed to have been touched. No jimmied locks or busted glass - her stuff was the real money making side of the business, but it seemed completely untouched. Perception + Alertness
hzEP0X6bp_p_p_p_p_ On his way downstairs he passed the small service lift they used for ferrying bigger projects up and down from the basement. Now attentive to everything, he saw drag marks on the ground leading away from it that hadn't been there when he left, and feared the worst. Rushing downstairs, he saw that almost everything was untouched - except for the heavy steel door leading into his cage, which was wide open. Bursting into the cage, his worst fears were realised - his project, the frozen rage of the Beast, had been taken. It was the only thing that had been taken. ····
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Oct 3, 2018 1:15:16 GMT
What the royal fuck...
There was no reason they would take it. Why would they take it? Why would anyone take it? It certainly didn't hold any value yet, except for the solace it provided Clyde's mind. Was it blackmail? Did someone think Clyde would pay some sort of money to keep pictures of this from coming to fruition? Clyde only had a meager reputation to ruin, and the following he had accrued might find this process intriguing. However, there was one aspect of the piece that would prove... problematic, were it to come to the public eye. The hand, Clyde's own personal flesh, was a part of the piece, and yet he retained both of his hands. It had to either be the hand of another individual, assumed maimed or murdered by the existence of a disembodied hand, or Clyde would be discovered as able to regrow and reattach limbs. This breach of the masquerade would mean his death and disappearance. Either that, or he would be hopping town again, and he wasn't sure if Daphne would come with him this time. All he could do was try and find out who had stolen from him. He went over to the door and asked it who had just recently passed through it to steal his artwork. using Auspex 3
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Post by Legionnaire on Oct 3, 2018 6:19:43 GMT
Clyde rolls Perception + Empathy, difficulty 8.
jNvU10_Hp_p_p_p_p_p_p_ Three successes! The unique powers of Auspex were meant for gleaming perceptions from owned or used objects rather than structural features. Nonetheless, Clyde's experience with the discipline and his excellent perceptions meant that there was still something to see. When he closed his eyes, he felt the door shudder as it was kicked open. A woman with two shadows stepped through the door, surrounded by a sense of urgency, but far from panicked. She wore a balaclava, but Clyde blinked his mind's eye and saw thirty years write themselves across her face and twist into a short crop of distinctive ginger hair. He smelled her recoiling disgust as she saw his latest artwork, and heard the sound of broken glass tinkling through the air. "Yeah, that's looks like it's it," the woman vibrated. "Bit different to what we were told - I guess he's been working on it. Go fire that lift up and let's get it out of here." Clyde rolls raw Perception to interpret his vision; specialization obviously applies. p_p_p_p_ That's four successes, nice. Clyde's mind's eye closed, and his eyes blinked open. Two obvious pieces of information had been revealed by his vision - the woman had been a cool and collected professional, obviously accompanied by a crew that had left no real impression on the door. The other was that they had been planning this for a while - they'd been after the sculpture, but hadn't expected it to be so complete. That suggested that they were working on somebody's behalf. The third, and probably even more crucial detail, was the lead thief's age and distinctive orange hair - Clyde had been in the Isles for long enough to know that most gingers had died their hair that way to be edgy or pretend they had a real personality. Natural gingers were much rarer. Now that the initial panic was past and Clyde was thinking more clearly, he was able to think about those who had seen his sculpture. Only Daphne had seen it in its entirety, but he'd shown a small handful of individuals while giving private tours when it was in earlier, less supernatural stages. ··········
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Oct 3, 2018 7:32:42 GMT
It seemed like Clyde had a couple of options in front of him. He could either try and follow up on any redheaded master thieves in the area. This would prove problematic however, for the number of Clyde's criminal contacts were, at best, miniscule. The easier option would be to go through the list of people he could remember having showed the piece in its early stages. He would do his best to recall, which shouldn't be too hard, only a few of his closest fans would have known about it. I want to roll to try and recall, unless I would remember normally
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Post by Legionnaire on Oct 3, 2018 7:48:51 GMT
Clyde rolls Intelligence hNRnd|3rp_p_p_p_ Two successes. Clyde remembered a few names and faces, with some difficulty. But what was more important was a remembered habit of Daphne's - she had tried to convince him to keep a log of everyone who came into the gallery to buy or tour (mainly for bureaucratic reasons), and when Clyde had forgotten numerous times had begun keeping it herself. Recalling that she kept it in her office, Clyde hurried to the small room and let himself in. He found it on the desk and flipped it open; Daphne, perhaps the most organised Malkavian in the modern nights (and certainly more organised than Clyde himself) had put aside a separate section for Clyde's sales and tours, and between the log and Clyde's memories he quickly scribbled down a list of names of people he reckoned had seen the sculpture. Lucy B. Tallageda N. Samuel R. Robyn W. Martin B. Gwendolyn M. Matias C. Amadeus M. Richard L. Paige T. ···
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Oct 3, 2018 22:42:06 GMT
God I love my girlfriend, Clyde thought in relief as he scoured the list. This was something he could work with. The name that immediately stood out to him was Gwendolyn M. She was enthusiastic about his art to an unnerving degree. Even Clyde, the compelled creator, oftentimes found her obsession concerning. She was simply a trust fund girl however. She could have simply purchased the work when it was done, for money seemed of no consequence to her. To have a professional steal the piece didn't seem up her alley. He would pay her a visit anyways, but he would need more information than this. He stared at the names and called for the voices of chaos in his mind to give him visions in the names. When normal means put obstacles in his path, the divine ,chaotic nature of his mind was often a helpful road to follow. Clyde uses eyes of chaos to have a name or two jump out at him. I don't know if this is before sound impact or not
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Post by Legionnaire on Oct 4, 2018 13:12:48 GMT
I'm going to say difficulty 7 for this one.
a4dNUQc4p_p_p_p_p_p_p_ Holy cow, 7 successes. Clyde bent over the list of names, his eyes drilling holes through the paper to peer at the currents that swirled underneath each stroke of the pen. Lost in concentration, he was startled back to reality when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. Clyde whirled and found himself face to face with the letters 'G', 'W', 'E', 'N', 'D', 'O', 'L', 'Y', 'N', and 'M' stacked on top of each other into the facsimile of a person. The M that formed the head opened the MOUTH MOUTH MOUTH that floated below above the inner point of the M, and then held up a hand to say JUST A MOMENT Then the lower stroke of the L that was its left hand shifted to form PHONE and raised itself to the MOUTH, and a stream of letters flowed from MOUTH to PHONE that Clyde could barely read. Ǐ̟̼͉̗̣̤̳ͧ̊ͨ͟T̖͚̹̼͚͒S̓S̬͙͓̯̰͗̑͞O̤̖̱̮̼̦̿̉̏̉F̸͍̲̙̩̼͉͕͊͌ͧ̌̒ͪͩU͎̳̳̯̗̤̍̃̋C̞̙̫ͣ̀̃̏K͍̦̱ͮE̳̳̺̞̙̩̒̍͒ͪ̚D̶̂͋̅͂U͇̮ͨ͆͗ͮ̾̓P̡̹̱̞̉͊̾ͪ͆ͪYͤ͊̄Ơ̙̭̰̓̀̅̃̏̄̂Ŭ̪̝̟͓̘ͥ̚D̟͍̽̏́̍ͩ̈ͤL̪̮̎̆͛ͨ̂O̦̩͈̪ͬ̌̾͐̏͘V̢͚ͧĖ̇̓҉̮͚̖̲͚Í̩̩͈̻͖̣̜T͉̩̊̿̿Ĭ̛L͚̂̓̌̊͒͢L͎̎͠Ĩ̌ͤ͐̊̽̄͡Ṅ̖͉̆̏̄̃͐̕T̘̳͍͇̩R̵̳̦̖̙͗͋̓̏Oͫͩ̅ͮD͕̣͍̺̮̖̅̚U̙̰̙͚̠͕͓͊ͮ̑̊̈͠C͎̾͆͑ͧ͂ͮ͑͜Ê͉͓͎̔͒͢Y̠̻̗̠̟͊ͫͪ̔̓̿͜O̺̺̠̟͒̓ͭ̆̈́͐̊͘U̠͋̀̇͋̃ͨ̔ͅT̫͔̹̻͆ͦͮ̉Ö́͏͎͍̼̟̗̫T̗̜͙̥ͥ̈́ͮH̵̖̜͕̟͆̔̑̂͐Ĕ͌ͨ̈́͊A̓͋̄͏͓R̠̺̹͍̎̃T̳̮ͧ̉ͫ͆͗̈̚I̦͙̒ͤ̽̄ͫͫŞ̱̖͗ͫ͆́T͈̗͇̞̯̝̒̃̅ͬ̈̚͝S̞̪͓͚̙̝̉̋͌O̵͓̦̞̹̰̐͑̌̏͗̚M̭̯̩̤̞͖̅ͦ͂ͭͭ̃ͯE͚͍̤͙̘ͧ̾́ͅͅT̨̹̤͎̣̲̠ͥ͌͋̓I͎̥͚M͚̣̟̤̦̄̌͑ͯ̓̚E̴̼̍H̻̱͎̰̜͛̐̿̊ͣ̃Ė̡̜̣̝̯̫͙̒͊̿̚ͅS̸ͬ̓ͥ̇̂̚C͙̜͔̹ͤ͡L͇̔͞Ỳ̭̠D̡͎͔̣̒̑̔̌̉͗ͅE̜̺̱̙̘͇̘̍Oͮ̌̋̅̓͂͏͙̦̼V̡̻͉̫̬͙̠͈͌̾E̗̼̼͕ͪR̅̿ͤ̌̚҉̳͎̘̪̜̲ͅǏ͈ͨ̇̓ͩ̿ͯN̷̪̝͎̠̩̳̱̄͑̔G̷̭͋̈̽R͉͓̪̠Eͩ̉ͪͣ͐E̙̻̎̈ͧ̐̇̋N̛̗̩͉͉̟͎̱ͭ̅̈́̿Ë͖͇̖͍̝̝̞̏̆͌Iͫ͆ͨ̄T̬͙̟̤͊̍̽̂̕S͋͏̳͈̼͇̤̫L̶̻̽ͯͧ̍ͨͣ̚I̞͔̪̩̲͚̹̽̉̒̆̒̇K̟̘̘̜̍͡Ẹ͈̌̅ͤF̜͙̭̠̪͕́ͯ̇ͨ͡Ü̴̳̲̰̞̠͎̫R̯̞̦ͪ̏Y̝͙͕̬̦͙͙̍͆̄̓ͬ̔A̗̲̖͖̼̟ͨ͆̀͑ͥN̳̬̟͖̝̜ͤ̾̏̾ͪ͌̚D͔̏̾͋̚R͑͆̄ͮA͔̽͑̍̂G̲̊͑͐̊̏͝E̷͎̟͖̘̫͂̇̇̅̋F̯̘͖̳RǑ͈̹̗͓͉͖͆̎̓̔ͥͬ͞Z̜̐ͭ͒ͦĒ̪̺̖̻͔ͥ͛̎̔Ņ̟̜͍̭͉̗ͪ̐Ǐ̪͔̿͆̄͘N͕̳̤̫̅ͅT̯̩̤͍̦̘O̭O̗̟̞̯ͣ̑̽ͣ̓͌̃N̶̠̰͚͚̤̳͉E̵͓Ś҉̳C͎̖͍̒U̖̗̰͈̦̤͍͜L͙̻̺̝̼̻̀P̿̏ͪ̒ͤͪ͡T̳̭̬̯̲̄̉̃͂͂̚͡Ú͇͚͕̌R̶͔̹̞̜̖̙̜͐E̽ͤͭͧ͌ͪ͟H̡̰̖̭͉̒͋́̿̐͋ͫE͙͙̹̞͉̾ͨ̽̄ͪS͈͍̰̼ͥ͜ͅÃ͍̯͚̯͇̯̔̈̽ͬ̀Ȉ̵̹̭͖͓͍̌͊̓D̴ͨ͆̈́̔̾͒I̬͉͔̤͕ͦ̓͋͒̒͡T̰̼͒̌͌S̤̪̰͈N̛̳̹̺̞ͭ͗ͨ̆̉̚O͔͒T̪͙̖͓͒͌ͪ͊̿F̛̪I̦͉̻̣ͮͣ̄͐ͩ͋N͋ͨͪͫ͛̐̚҉̻̬̣I̝̲̚S͈ͣ͘H̼ͬ̅̓ͯͪE̠̲̘̼ͬͯ̚D̥̙ͩ͒͌ͬS҉̲̗̗̲͇̖̜Oͤ̔̍͆͒ͦ͋͞H͔͕̬̯̣̐ͧͪ̑͋͑̚Ḛ̖̯̭͚̼͙̚͞W̴̞̠͉̘͈̣͗̅ͬ̈ͣ̐̉O͙̮̦̳ͧͤ͠Nͮ͗̏̎ͮT͖S̴͉͓͙̬̗͕̄ͪ̋ͨ̇̆̚E̬̠͚L̮͊͊͛Ľ̘̬̺̦͚̬I̪̪̣͙̺̤̔̍̒ͩT̫̰͉͗̽ͬ͟B̞͉̲́U̪̘̪̿̒T̪̯͕̺̺̻͚ͨͧI͖̞͙͕̻͖̊ͬ̒̅̏̊́B̑̄ͧ̂̎͘Ē͈̗̼̬̪ͩ̈́͆̓̅͂T͖͙͖̯̎͗ͥ̂̂Ẇ̡ͤͩ̎͋͆̒H̢̙̖̪ͭͫ̆E̲N̫̹͉̲̍ͥͭ̓̎̿̚Ĥ̥̩̟́́̔̒̎E̘͉̹̥͍̩͔S͉͖Ḑ̖̑̾ͤͦ͌O̥͔ͯN̡̫̆ͫE͓͓̟̝̼̠ͨ̉H͚̏̏̆̅ͮͥ́E͏̝͓L̸̮̼̗̰͕͚ͬͅL̶L̔̿͝E̸͗̀T̪̬̜ͧ̓̅̈͜M̴̳̪̎͆E̷B͎̻̰̖̫̠̠̽̏̚̚̚͝Ǘ͙ͮY̼͞ͅÍ̞͕̒͑̄ͣ̓̚T̟́A̙̩̥͕͐͛̈́N̸̪̉D̡̗͎̠͖ͬ̒̊͗͛̊̒T̲̒̀̄̈́Ȟ̺̻̖̎͜ͅÈ͔̜Ñ̵͈̮͖̻I̭̼̞͔͓̳̓̀́̑̆C̯̤̤̯̝̙A̬̞̍̒̃͊̄ͮ́N̸̤̙͍ͭ͋͑ͧͥͣ͐S̴͎̺͕̦̟H̡̥͕͇ͦO̺̲̣ͮ͑ͅW͊ͪ͝Ȋ̛̇̿̈͗͌T̀̈ͪT͑ͫO̪̪̠Y͖͎̦̳̬̖ͨ͛Ö́̀̐̽̿̚Ṳ̵͔̹̮͎̖ͯ͛ͫỈ̼̱̌͑̚̚̚͠T̬̩͈̼͜H̆͏͔I̻̬̘ͩ̀N̙̞͉͕͚̪͒ͅK̼͈̫̲͂̊ͩͤ̆̈́ͧ́ͅĮ̫̬ͥͩ̆̊̌Tͮͮ̓ͤ̉Y̰̝̜̆ͯȎ̆ͬͦ̿U̫̝̳̦ͧͩ̑ͫͣD̺̻ͥͧ̽ͫ͆͌́Ḻ͔́Ȯ̟̩̌͠V̜͖̞͟Ë̺͓̂̓̓̑ͪI͑ͦͧ̀҉̞̪͕̳͙͔̱T̶̫̘̖̅Y͓̲͖͔͍̭ͫͪͮͅE̱̭ͪ̍͌̅͋̂ͅA̢̰͐̿̍́̈́̔̚H̝͔ͤͪ̑̾̅̚̚͘Y͛ͨ̎ͥ̀Ŏ̍҉U͉̟̻ͬ͑̿ͅD̖̣̱̫̮͖ͤB͚̹̦̺̄͒ͅË̼̮̰̪̙̫̱ͭ͑͑̅͆̚͘F̺͕̤̃U̫̭͇̣̣͛ͥͭ̍͞C̛̭K͎͎̹͂ͭ̃̕I̗͚̥̦̭̬͈ͩͩ̇̾ͣ͗Ṅ͔̭̺̘̗̰̝̈ͪ͌́G͡J̖̬̭͊̑̀̂̆̄̇Ė̸̼́ͪ̑̚A̜̮͔ͅḺ̝̮͈̗̞̌͜O̾̄̐͑̐̒̚U̗͖̗̘̙͈S̮͍̣̋̑ͯL̘̝͆̿ͥ͢Ö̽ͫ́ͫ̾҉̤̤Ó̴̲̣̦̩̾̓͆K̺͔̬͒̿̌̎͂̒͆ͅS̰̠̦͐͗͂̇̑̍J͊ͫ̄̿̏͢Ṳ̮̓ͮ̿̾̉ͩ̌S͍̱̩̣Ṱ̼̮̯̬̄̏̓L̙̯̬̝̩̠ͥͣ͑̆̑I͠K̯̜̯̣͚̋̚Ḛ̢͉̯͐̆ͮͯ̆͌̂Ṭ̲̲̹̓̀ͅH̳̬̝͂̌̓ͤ̎̅ͩE̓̀ͤ͌̇̚҉̮R̆̔̃̽̌ͣ̀E͖̺̞̓̑̂S̢̲͕̥͔̮͈̿̏Ṭ̸̹̼̓̒̍͗O̸̗̯̟̓ͦͅF͇̘̆ͮ̂̂͗͒Y̬̠̞̦̮̽͊Oͤ͂́ͩ̽҉̘Uͫ͒͆ͦͬ̈́͏̱̞Ř͙̫̘̣̘̫ͨ̆͗̄͆̾S̰̠ Clyde's brain lurched from the strain and he staggered back into the desk. The vision was gone when he looked up again. ······
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Oct 7, 2018 2:34:50 GMT
Holy shit. You guys never give me an easy answer do you?
--never--not once--why the hell would we--
Clyde ruminated on the vision. One thing he was certain of was a phone call. Gwen had called someone and words had transferred between her and someone on the other end. Whether or not this person was responsible for the theft was an entirely different story. Clyde had noticed the word jealousy inside the deluge of symbols. Perhaps a competitor of his, or a competitor of Gwen's had stolen the piece. He had to meet with her ASAP
As much as he hated to poke the lion, Clyde sent the text to his biggest fan.
(You: bored wanna hang?)
(Gwen: …)
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Post by Legionnaire on Oct 11, 2018 12:47:56 GMT
(Gwen 9:21pm: YES Gwen 9:21pm: omfg i'm so bored lul Gwen 9:21pm: parents had to host some dumb dinner party Gwen 9:21pm: some business guy from englund, won't stop fuking perving on me!!! Gwen 9:21pm: i can slip out tho, tell them you have a piece you want to show me Gwen 9:21pm: wanna go shopping? i need a new winter jacket, there's this great place in hanover i love Gwen 9:22pm: ill get an uber to your place?)
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Oct 25, 2018 23:30:17 GMT
(Chillin cya soon)
Clyde sent the message. Better to be concise and not give her any more material to ramble on. Clyde would have enough chatter to worry about once she got here. At least her endless deluge of words would make it easy for him to naturally guide the conversation towards the theft, and her loose lips.
It would be a difficult endeavor. Gwen was a valuable client with powerful connections. He would have to figure out how to question her about her gossip while making sure she didn't feel guilty or offended by her slip up, or his mention of it. Clyde needed as many friends as possible, and making sure Gwen remained happy was one of his top priorities. The bills don't pay themselves.
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