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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Apr 21, 2018 8:32:42 GMT
A cool breeze caressed the streets of Electric City, picking up scents of alcohol, bar food, and sex. The entire district seemed to vibrate faintly with the pounding bass of the latest dance hits. To those on the sidewalks, it felt like a heartbeat. About five feet above the pulsing concrete floated a whistled melody, slightly off-key, though perhaps, given its resemblance to folk music, it was supposed to sound like that. It paused briefly to accommodate the noise of a crowd spilling out of a nearby nightclub, then resumed as the party drifted off down the nearest alley.
The source of the whistle, one Siobhán Meredydd, sauntered down the street. Her studied casualness hid the fact that she was on high alert. This was not her territory; quite a ways across the city from it, in point of fact. She'd fed before venturing out for that very reason. Hunting another Kindred's prey had worked out exactly once, and she wasn't prepared to risk it again. She wasn't that bored.
But she was bored. On nights like this she rather missed having a beating heart and functioning glands. Emotions just weren't the same without them. What she didn't miss was breathing; every so often she'd sniff, just to keep herself up to date, but on the whole the atmosphere of a modern city was a hard pass compared to the air of the mountains or the sea.
Better than it had been on her first visit, though.
Neon lights flickered and glowed, playing across Siobhán's face, turning her complexion into a rainbow as she wandered towards the center of the district. Something would come up. It always did.
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Apr 21, 2018 9:41:36 GMT
Siobhan feels something she hasn't felt in a long time. A twinge in the back of her skull, a murmur, usually quiet, now only slightly louder. A chatter of voices in the corner of her head, one but separate, separate but one.
"Really you hear one" "doesn't sound like us" "but I hear her" "of course she's us" "No she's all orderly" "She's here she can't be orderly otherwise she wouldn't hear us" "SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH.... quiet. I think she hears"
"Oh. She hears."
A man sitting underneath a neon sign speaks up. One with the cacophony. On this warm spring night he only has on a thin flannel and some cargo shorts. He appears to be covered with paint. The man carries an easel and a large duffle back with paint covered paper sticking out of it.
"You there", the man says pointing at Siobhan. "You. I paint you tonight."
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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Apr 22, 2018 0:06:14 GMT
The whistling stopped. Siobhán's eyes narrowed.
The man looked... vaguely familiar. Her nose told her he was Kindred, and his mind was peculiarly loud within the Network -- the worst case of ambient madness she'd seen -- where had she heard --
Oh yes. Daphne's childe.
"You haven't any manners," she told him. Odd that he should be here as well, so far from Daphne's territory as Siobhán understood it, and to all appearances all by his lonesome. "Just what has your Sire been teaching you, sir artiste? Sure an' we may be equals until proven otherwise, but that's no call to skip a proper hello."
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Apr 22, 2018 0:30:01 GMT
"OK. Hi." The man responded nonchalantly. "I'm Clyde. You're like me, but at the same time not. I mean your hair though. Like, wow. That's red! Sorry, manners, right, Ok."
Clyde Cleared his throat and shook himself and his wild blonde hair out. His unbuttoned, paint covered flannel flailed crazily about. He hit himself once on the head and then stopped spazzing . He let out his breath and put on a smile.
"You. Can I please paint you?" He asked in a silly, poor British accent. "Yeesh, didn't know I'd have to pretend to be to be normal around someone who can hear them too. Unless I'm wrong... Oh shit. You hear them right?" His voice became panicked. "Oh shit are you just a stranger? You're like me. Wait. You said Sire? Oh you know her too! God she's great isn't she? Ha, 'God' that's funny. I can paint your hair, yeah? Oh fuck, We're being normal" Clyde shakes himself out again and puts on a practiced smile.
"Let's try this one more time. I'm Clyde, nice to meet you. And you?
Clyde motions to Siobhan, quickly smacks his head again, mutters something, then goes back to his practiced smile. He looks at Siobhan expectantly, waiting for a response to his proposition.
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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Apr 24, 2018 22:07:47 GMT
Siobhán had to laugh -- the sheer haplessness might or might not be an act, but somehow she found it strangely endearing. She'd wanted interesting, and here it was. "Ah, li'l brother, you'll soon learn politeness and normality aren't one whit the same. I'm Siobhán Meredydd -- you might have heard of me as the Captain -- and yes, you may paint me. I'm that flattered, it's been a good long bit since someone thought I'd make a good portrait."
She studied Clyde, noting the way his disheveled appearance simultaneously broadcasted his Clan of origin and drew attention away from his nimble fingers and the keen look in his eyes.
"I haven't seen you at any of the Games," she commented. "Too busy with your art?"
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Apr 24, 2018 23:48:29 GMT
Clyde, laughed as he started unrolling a piece of blank paper.
"Well I've got a couple hundred things vying for my attention at any time." He pointed to his head, stuck out his tongue, and crossed his eyes before chuckling and getting out various art supplies.
Clyde wondered to himself whether or not he should use blood to paint her hair. It was what initially captured his interest and fulfilled the demands of the voices. The voices chimed in their usual monotone stream of ideas.
"Use blood" "yes red is good" "that hair so bright" "Is that red dark enough" "what are you doing painting her in this wretched place" "NO NOT BLOOD THE COLOR FADES" "yeah I agree" "yeah use paint" "yeah that hair deserves paint" "paint"
"Paint it is then," Clyde muttered to himself as he got out his pastels. Nowhere close to his favorite medium, but for such an impromptu strike of inspiration it would have to do.
"You asked why I'm out here so far away from my favorite person," He spoke as he started quickly, and meticulously, into the painting. "I get these Ideas, you see? They pop into my head and I keep thinking it would be a downright shame to let them go to waste." He chuckles to himself, and mutters something under his breath. "But I don't always have the means back at home. Sometimes it's just not interesting enough. Kinda need new material you know? Um, turn left."
Siobhan shifted where she stood as Clyde looked up at her from where he sat on the ground. He squinted at her and returned to his work.
Clyde continued to speak as he painted, "Games of trickery you mean? Well I haven't really got my foot in the door with the clan yet. Need to work on my manners," He said cheekily, giving Siobhan a wink.
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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Apr 25, 2018 18:36:12 GMT
"Not just games o' trickery," Siobhán replied. "Skill and speed, too. And I don't just mean for the Clan, me lad -- our whole Sect's gotten in on them." She glanced around, making sure there were no partygoing eavesdroppers, and shifted her weight. The cool night air teased her curls, making her briefly appear to have a jagged halo before the wind died down once again.
"Ha' y'ever been dancing?" she asked abruptly. "If this doesn't take all night, it's worth seeing all the colors... and the bodies."
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Apr 26, 2018 1:11:00 GMT
"Things kinda got in the way a while back. I'm like a dog, leashed by the sun, guarded by a dark angel. Daphne often worries that if I go out inspiration will strike. Clyde's not always the most in control you see. I'm better than you think. Tonight is particularly bad. Oh here."
Clyde held the picture out to Siobhan. It was more than a mere portrait of her but a whole image. The painting depicted a woman with wild, red hair on the stern of a decrepit boat, looking behind the boat across an ocean made of blood, in the middle of the night. You could tell the water was blood by the reflection of the moon on the surface of the sea. The woman with wild, red hair was in the foreground of the painting but had her back to the viewer. In the distance was an island, entirely ablaze, far in the distance with a pillar of smoke rising upwards from it, only discernable from the lack of stars in the sky directly above the island. The painting evoked a sense of longing and anguish as the woman looks out across the blood red sea, moving away from what could have been a previous home.
"I hope you like it. I don't really know where I get the ideas. The voices give me suggestions. I liked them this time. Take from the painting what you will. Art is largely held in the eye of the interpreter, and I've got about a million critics up here." Clyde Stopped for a moment, thought, then spoke, "If I go dancing with you, will you at least tell me if I'm being odd. I'd need to dodge out before the voices really start demanding stuff. Stimulus you know?"
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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Apr 27, 2018 7:32:47 GMT
Siobhán raised an impressed eyebrow as she studied the painting, gaze lingering on the moon's painted reflection and the curve of the woman's back. "...Think I might understand your Sire a bit better now, me lad. I'm hanging this on my wall." Absentmindedly, she trailed her fingertips down Clyde's jaw, tipping his chin up so that they locked eyes for a brief moment. "I'll watch you, no worries. I've got a special place in mind."
God's tits, what is Daphne thinking, letting her fledgling wander all by his lonesome? Knowing Daphne, it was as likely to be an oversight as it was some kind of elaborate joke. Well, her loss was Siobhán's entertainment. High time this artist got a taste of a slightly different kind of society.
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Post by Clyde Maddick on Apr 27, 2018 8:12:19 GMT
Well then, Clyde thought as she touched his face, at least she liked it.
"Shit, I get to go dancing. Haven't done that since grad school!" Clyde blurted out, clearly frazzled by the sudden touch.
--That's how Daphne touches you--She thinks you're a child--Is she into us--I want to paint lips now--
"Shut it!" Clyde snapped, using all his might to deny the voices their due. "Anyways where too? Somewhere with lots of beating hearts I'll bet!"
Maybe dancing will drown out the voices. I've never tried. It might work. Clyde thought to himself. "I'll keep the painting with me till we part ways. I have enough manners to carry a lovely lady's things.
--God you sound dumb--shut up he's being nice--paint her lips--he already did her hair--dance I wanna dance sounds fun--paint her lips--dance--paint--.
"If you hear me muttering flick me" Clyde snarled frustratedly as he smacked his head. "Let's dance loud enough to drown out my friends. Please lead on."
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Post by Siobhán Meredydd on Jun 4, 2018 18:43:25 GMT
Grinning wickedly, Siobhán grabbed Clyde's wrist and hauled him to his feet. "Glad to hear it, Mr. Artiste. I know just the place. Best hurry though; this particular night won't last forever..." As the two walked briskly down the street, a stray cat scratched the place where Clyde had been sitting, sniffed, then hissed and skittered away. Continued in Sound Impact. Narg, lemme know who you want to post first in the club.
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