Postcards From Enoch Part Deux

Jasons' Journal

En Route to Berlin

Good heavens do I have crap to do. So after a months' R&R in Enoch, we went back and had a chat-up with Inhauten again. (Note that we did not play cards this time.) Given events in the world, he's thinking it's time for him to go back. No I don't know the metaphysics of it, just that he spends a lifetime in Enoch, a lifetime in the world, and he's been doing it since roughly the 18th Egyptian Dynasty. So about 4000 years. Plus or minus a bit. That said, events are moving a bit, so he asked a favor of us again. Since we were such overachievers in Boston (Yeah, that trainwreck counted as a qualified success to the powers that be, on account of we mightily exceeded our orders and had some success with our excess) we got a few points, and we had a nice long relaxing vacation with Suhalia. By we, I mean me. As much as the rest of the coterie has my back in every situation, they're just gonna have to get their own permanent vessels.

Funny thing about Mummies, they end up in exhibits a lot. Currently, Inhautens' mortal shell is in Berlin, and if we could be so kind as to pick it up for him and bring it to Cairo, that'd be great. I mean really it's a milk run, but it'll help us in the long run as we get our ducks lined up for our own little save-the-world escapade. I know I just described stealing a mummy from it's well-appointed and well-guarded place in a museum as a milk run, but let's not kid ourselves. Even if we utterly Boston up this bitch, it's not like we can really do anything truly permanent, right?

Stop laughing out there.

So anyway, we'll do the job, and we didn't even ask for expenses. That said, we're going to have to at least get there. So this time, we made our way to an exit point via Viking longboat (the Enoch Navy is nothing if not eclectic) and came back to a place called Porto in Portugal. Cass got a call of some kind, and I kept her on call while enjoying the many and multitudinous delights of the beach. It's intriguing. But after we got the all clear from Cass, we came up and met a nice young man (young-looking, anyway) who tossed me the keys to a Lamborghini and said we should go for a drive. He had an Aston Martin. Oh, friends and neighbors, lords and ladies, it was in fact on. Brenda was in the cargo backseat thing almost crying the whole way. Sheesh. It's like she's never seen me drive before. Admittedly the race was fun, paint was traded, but I never got the Lambo out of third gear - mountain roads and tight corners made it difficult to truly wind it out and go. Still, it was fun and the sound system almost drowned out my screaming passengers. Side note; when did AC/DC become Throwback Rock. Motherfuckers have no respect.

Pulled into a little villa and because I freaking could I whipped a little donut with the Lamborghini before parking it. They are nice - it's almost a cockpit rather then a drivers' seat. That aside, damn. Our generous hosts were polite, unctuous, and unemotional. The countess was a mobile statue carved of beautiful marble, and so it was that we had several days of discussion. Really in her eyes I see a cold fear, and when she looks at Cass, almost jealousy. Like centuries have eroded her emotional reflexes to the point where even survival instincts are viewed with clinical detachment, rather than an impetus to action. The was refreshing in a way to me, affirming that I'm on the right path as far as beliefs go. That said, the countess has an academic knowledge that is surpassing many. She spoke for hours about my areas of expertise, and then had that same conversations with Brenda, Cass, and even Hugo. I mean, Hugo gets his standard "Don't steal the good silver" warning, and he's off. After the week, the countess and her childe had made an executive decision to travel with us by train to Berlin. It's a little 5 day thing, and I'm okay with it. I mean, we're still on the long-haul clock, but that doesn't mean we jet everywhere. One should see the world and say "Yes, this is why I'm flinging my mortal coil into an epic struggle against the Giovanni - so that these beautiful places remain beautiful and these ignorant people remain ignorant." The countess has her own train car. Naturally. I took a moment and checked on my own finances, and they'll be...adequate. I'm merely a multimillionaire as opposed to a billionaire. Alas for no longer being able to look at countries and go "meh. I'm worth more."

The most awkward part was when she nibbled around the questions of Auspex and discovered I could rock telepathy. She was on it like a drowning man on a life preserver. For real - it was like even secondhand emotions were something fresh and beautiful to her. I may have pandered out a bit, because seriously, to her this is a need, and even if we don't have any official agreement, she'll remember the emotions, and possibly react favorably in the future. It's a gamble.

A few stops here and there, and we found ourselves in Paris. Oh, yes. Cass doesn't speak French, which is a oh-crap-how-did-I-forget-that moment. Worse fates have occurred. Amusingly, the Assamite pretending to be a Toreador was the best received out of everyone. Cass' fake-toreador down, Brendas' caitiff was cluck-clucked, and Hugos' Ravnos ass was being watched. Constantly. Of course, we did meet Francois Villon at his Elysium of the Louvre.

Mother fuck, this is why Elysium was created. That said, the catty comments were fast and furious. I can hold my own, but overall it was discomfitting to the whole crew. I mean sure I've been in some deep snark-fights, but even 50 years of 4chan is a dip in the kiddy pool compared to the game some of these little courtiers have. As I reflect, yes, this too is worth saving. If nothing else, it's an interesting interactive play. Although as a side note, if a cities' population takes on the tenor of its' vampiric residents, I can see why Paris is reviled by everyone not from Paris. Still, I'm properly acquitted and outfitted for most events that could occur. Meanwhile, there's a bit of a sidebar as Cass and the other Brujah caught a wind only they could smell and went to check it out. I excused myself with politeness, and went to tail cass loosely. There was an interesting picture taking place, with a man handing...his younger twin a letter that burst into flames upon being discarded.

Tremere. They never tire of flash paper. Silly gits. Everyone picked a place and followed, and then we got together and discussed. The older man has a melancholy to him, like he's feeling old rather than being old. Boo-hoo. The kid, wearing a 19th century suit and having his hairstyle done so that he looked like he was being skull-fucked by an iguana, was a little more...more. Rebelling simply because it tweaked off his elders. Because that's original. That said, there's still an energy to him, and again for some reason he's the old guys' doppleganger or twin or clone, take your pick. Certainly the similarity was not unnoticed, but we had a little advantage of temporal knowledge that led up to think this could be worth checking out. We may be in Paris a few more nights and linger long enough to know that it's not a total threat. That means I get to burn through about 180 grand for outfits. Ballistic suits, ties, cufflinks, swordcane sheaths of various materials, holsters, all the standard accessories. I'm on a budget here, so I couldn't really swing by the other shops for casual wear - also, my casual wear of heavy metal rock band shirts and cargo shorts is for some reason out of style. Maybe I'll need to convince someone that metal is in for the spring fashion show.

All that done, Brenda's in the catacombs. Naturally. And...we had to find her. I am not a fan of this. We finally found her having a religious moment of some kind, and we had to get her out of it because dawn's coming. Alas, according to my Cass Chronometer, we were low on time, so it was time to find a cubby and sleep. What's 4 more dead bodies in a place that already has millions.

A bit, in fact. I had...a jacked up dream. A little girl drenched in water, rivulets coursing toward me, a group of 6 people chanting around a table and the same girl pouring ectoplasm from her mouth in an eternal scream, then back to the first girl, seeing an iodine-like substance coursing and billowing through the water, then behind me a guy who was dead-on Antonio Banderas that I'd seen at the Louvre last night leaving with a stunning asian chick, and then a bit more strangeness. Then I woke up to Hugo freaking out and screaming, with a little conjured 80-billion candlepower light above his head. That was an alarm clock I could do without forever. Apparently he had a fuck of a nightmare down here in the catacombs. Everyone else was somewhere in between - that said, we left Brenda and Cass in the catacombs while we went searching for some of the faces that we'd seen in our dreams. Never entirely fun or entirely depressing. Once we got showered and had the computer running a nice little search for the faces and things that we'd seen, it was time to hit the clubs - especially since the countess was chasing a lead and wouldn't be back until midnight.

More in Paris

So it was a good time at the club, we all eventually got our asses back to the train car - there was a bit of relaxation time, so I started crosschecking and collating data that my little searchwire had found, and a lot of it was interesting. Amongst the data were...anomalies. Not just a little statistical outlier, but enough for me to look, turn to the resident dead-things expert, and politely request explanation. Okay, so I said "huh, that's weird", looked at Brenda (fresh from her allnighter with the ungrateful dead) and said "explain this bullshit." But when we're writing for posterity, a little cleanup goes a long way. Crossmatching the data, and it was apparent that there were a lot of odd death of adolescents in the poorer sections of town. in the late 19th century, and running up for about...30 years. Then it just stopped. Time to put on the investigatin' feet and go check out what's going on. I found a few things, enough to make us want to hit the local police archives with Cass while Brenda checked out the local deadest nightclubs on earth. Or something. Since most of the dead within the search parameters were unknown, poor, and whatnot, they were buried in potters' fields. Which I suppose is a step up from the catacombs, but not much.

Having dressed down, we got our collective shit together and Cass and I headed for the cop-shop. While it wasn't the FAS, it was still annoying. I was relieved of my weapons. All of them. Goddamn. Even my baby derringer. And they would in fact part an old man with his walking stick, particularly when said walking stick conceals a nice sword. And then off to explain we're researching a thing for personal reasons from the late 19th century, and could we check things out. Over the mental link Cass mentioned that we had a new problem in that we got pegged with ultrasound, which will reveal that our internal organs ain't in shape, and we've got extra teeth. That's never a good sign, so that needed to be fixed. Sadly, all the electronic pads were sandboxed, so I could only do a basic scan of the frequencies they were using. And without my toolkit. Note to self, get a dual-use smartphone.

Finally got the info I needed and the things they wanted, we got our shit together and went down. Cass was on "distract and inquire" detail, while I found a nice clean virginal terminal and showed it what the world could be like when a master breathed upon it. I'm not one for bragging, but there are maybe 3 people who could do this - to wit; unsandboxing a system, sniffing encryption, breaking it, and then altering two files with previously used data. With no devkits, no rootkits - just raw skills. And doing it all in an hour. The terminal needed a cigarette when I was done.

While I was busy, Cass had not herself been idle. She not only scammed a date with the dude who was ostensibly monitoring us, he's going to see if he can get some additional stuff from Quebec City. Life is good, and the night was young, so we hit a fashion show for some clothes. Dammit, it's annoying to have a budget now. That said, we looked avant-garde when we left the show and headed for Elysium, and mingled a bit because that's what Toreador do in Paris. Tonight it was in another impressive as shit place. There's one other Assamite in Paris, Fakir. Nice guy, but we only really exchanged hellos because as much as I hate to say it, anything else would have broken my cover. And that wrecks the whole point of it. The amusing thing was the amount of space he got. Even though it's Elysium, and there's all these restrictions he's under, most of the Elysium goers were visibly distressed when they saw the Bedouin robes striding by.

With that done, I had to hit the electronics shop and create a fractal holographic emitter that was responsive to touch and voice. self-powered, with a basic command-response system. Nothing too complicated. And nothing too futuristic, but something to make the little roses shuffle amongst themselves and discuss if it's art or not. Quite frankly, the answer is maybe.

So with that in mind, I took the next night and went to find a card game to recoup my spending on clothes. It wasn't bad, I was up a quarter-mill when Brenda drunk-headphoned. This wasn't good, especially with a sudden crawly feeling heading up my spine and causing me to lose my groove. I lost the next hand, and 40 grand. At that point, it was time to cash out and find out where the hell Brenda was. Eventually I taxi'ed it to her and she was...well, naked and jabbering to corpses. So not like her, she was babbling about specters showing up, had lost her mind and had angry lunch on...6 people. I counted heads. 1-2-3-4. Recount. 1-2-3-4. That's 2 less then she said were there. Helllo masquerade breach in paris. Not good. I told her to do her hand wavey thing, and then she realized that's apparently what happened to the club. In the depths of cheap booze, she explained it. Apparently the specters were kidnapped children who were using the kids as conduits to the underworld. The group wanted to bring Emperor Napoleon III back, and he was impertinent enough to die on them. So they tried opening up a portal to the underworld. And then opened up a nihil, which utterly turned the club to dust. Fuuuuuuck.

Then we had to find the two other bodies, dispose of them, wash Brenda off, kiss my jacket goodbye, and then go back to give everyone our findings and then...well, I think we're sleeping away today and then heading for Berlin. With a quick stop at a museum to drop off what may or may not be art. Wunderbar.

Thievin' on the Moscow Express

Waking up was not exactly eventful, but I was under a bit of a time crunch. I had art piece/protoype in my satchel, but the train was departing in a couple hours, Elysium was at the Louvre, and it's a couple days before Christmas. Details. We're going to have to sort them out. After weighing the benefits, we proceeded on foot. And in the midst of all the joy and Christmas celebration, three bruiser-ey dudes tried to mug us. Not gonna lie, I was amused. And certainly, if I was still breathing, it'd be a concern. But there were 4 of us, 3 of them, and we were kinda badass. Being that it was the holiday season, I pulled just enough of the sword out to reveal that mine was bigger. At the same time Cass got a flanking position and loosened her coat up just enough so that they knew she was packing. They went back into the alleyway saying "next time." I didn't want to burst their bubble, so I bid them Merry Christmas and went on my way.

Shit, I forgot to buy presents - note to self; buy presents on train from Berlin stores and have them shipped to our hotel in Berlin.

So we did get to the Louvre, and...problem. Metal detectors. Problem solved by a nice old gent who cut us out of the crowd and bid we use the side entrance, discretely located over yonder. Which we did on account of, well, we was packing. So with that, we went, hobnobbed a bit, and offered the keeper my little toy. It went into a special vault, displaying the kindred-only creations collection. I had a little time to twiddle about, so I perused. Say what you want about the Toreador, they make some damn fine stuff. And the ones who see making swords as an art form? Don't even. I conferred with 1 blade (Gloves on, of course) and was thoroughly impressed. It was folded over a thousand times by the hand of the sheriff, and is even mystically imbued with something so impressive it could cleave heads like nothing. For a cavalry saber, it's not nothing. The keeper was bemused when I came to with cass shaking me (I'm not the first 'Toreador' to get caught up in an object read,) harrumphing, and pointing at her empty wrist on account of the time. Oh yeah, train.

As a side note - I do have to come back in a year, on account of I may be receiving a small boon from the Prince for my art. As a second side note, I have a fuckin' piece displayed in the Louvre for a year. Under a pseudonym, but god-fucking-DAMN that's an achievement. And in a year, we'll know if it's considered "art".

Through the crowds, we rocked and rolled and then I heard...voices. Leading me to a door where there wasn't anything special, but we were permitted access on account of "something hinky is afoot". After walking in, it was a huge stone tablet with the faces of the Roman Gods arrayed equidistant from each other. It was possibly a table or something previously, but it dominated the room. I heard voices, angry, and then several flashes of something. It shook me for a second or two, Brenda and Hugo not so much, but still. Enough that the Keeper was warned of bad things happening soon in this room; and we were off and running.

The second trip through the streets to the train was also loosely eventful, but only in that we had to feed. We chanced upon a little pickpocketing operation of sorts; some kind parisian souls giving tourists spiked hot chocolate and then rummaging through their pockets. I distinctly heard Hugo snort derisively and declare them amateurs under his breath. Two of them noticed my noticing and came for me like I was going to have to be quieted. They chucked a pepper-spray can at me and I batted it back with my cane. I then proceeded to mop the damn floor with them on account of I could move faster, but still one of them caught my suit jacket with his switchblade and there went a couple grand. Dammitall. Still, dinner was served. After that, I noticed someone in a diamond and emerald mask watching me, not realizing I'd seen her through her obfuscate. She was planning to ambush me verbally and show the power of the prince to See All In His Domain. Because I'm playful, I walked almost past her, stopped and asked if she had the time. She was startled, stammered out her lines and was rather rude. Two can most certainly play at this game, and so I cranked out a French Yo-Mama joke that I am disproportionately proud of to the point where I'm putting it here. Just in case anyone asks. Ta mère est si laid son salon de massage fin heureuse était le signe de sortie. (Translation: "Yo mama so ugly the 'happy ending' at her massage parlor was the exit sign".) She almost lost her shit on me. There was another tossoff oath about boorish Américain and she sulked her ass to the nearest alleyway for a good cry or whatever. The down sides of this are pretty significant, and something I'll have to beware of next year; I presented as someone relatively young, but I have rather advanced Auspex and Celerity, both of which were on full display. This could cause some explanations to be required later on, but I'm already working on that. To wit that we (Dawn and Jacob Bearpaw) are Toreador, but none can or will reveal our true lineage, and we hide our generation on account of we are in fact young - we believe this to be a piece of performance art of some kind by our collective sire. Someday, perhaps our sire will reveal themselves but until then we have our 'social lineage' to hide our shame. Ahem.

Anyway. Train station. Our car hooked up between freight and first class, and we knew where to go. And then I saw two figures from the not-distant past heading toward the first class cars. (Retired) Lt Isabel Scott, formerly of the FAS Defense Corps, and Ezra Winthrop, world class twit. I have been a very good boy this year somehow, because Santa has done brought me a present. We all got on, and there was prompt discussion of a plan. My first thought was to catch them in Berlin, but then a reality set in that we were not going to get another chance like this - the gods have favored us by presenting an enemy in a relaxed state. Fortune favors the bold, and so a plan was made. Step one, figure out where they are. Ezra's a poncy little New England rich boy at heart, so he's never traveling less than First Class. (Not gonna lie, I see a little of me there. I think the difference is that I appreciate it because I worked for it, whereas he's like "This is what I deserve because I was born to it." A philosophical point for another night.) So Hugo and I went through the dining car, where the attendant short-circuited for a second before giving me far more warmth then absolutely necessary asking if I was going to dine this evening. Yeah, they don't get too many Native Americans in Paris on the train to Moscow. Braid to my knees, expensive suit, exotic look, and most importantly, no wedding band...I'm currently something from the western aisle. Hugo got only the requisite amount of politeness, as he's a curry-style Indian. Alas for stereotyping. Loitering and listening, complimentary champagne discretely placed on the table of a birthday party in the dining car, and then off to the First Class cabins.

I caught a snatch of their conversation in one of the cabins - Lt Scott asking Why Berlin, and Ezra replying that they needed to consult. They're trying to determine a proper body to return the soul of the scary child-lady whos' sarcoghagus we have. Oh the gods are good. I relayed it back to the rest of the group that I'd found what we were looking for, and Brenda had a slight disappointment look as her method was a little too slow. Still, good to have a backup. Now, we're making one small assumption, in that they have the jars and haven't stashed them away somewhere. But let's be honest with ourselves, if you've had canopic jars with your bestest girlfriend ever in them for over a century, are you putting them in any safe deposit box anywhere? I didn't think so. So now...to get them to open the door. A plan is forming, and I think it might work. I'm going to tell the attendant I'll be up all night.

Seriously, this is a noir classic forming right before my eyes. Life is good.

Old Berlin meets New

So finally got ourselves together and a plan. First, me and Brenda went astral to see just what we could see. What we saw we didn't like. Not us, I mean I was awesome, as always, and Brenda had her shit together in a way that gave my undead bits pause. Maybe it's the astral plane, but it's always interesting to see people as they see themselves. There are no villains in the astral, just different shaped heroes. Philosophical aside, we went forward a few cars, and did not like what we saw. But, I got a good look at the case, and we listened in as they discussed travel plans and played gin. Since they're Setites and so superior to us, they had no need to present themselves, they're just heading for whats-her-names place. Now then, time to throw a monkey wrench into the plans. Initially, breaking and entering was a thing, but there were hieroglyphs and a shadowformed guardian watching over the place but not sensing us. So, if Haqim can't go to the mountain, we bring the mountain to Haqim. In a manner of speaking.

Hugo rocked up a Semtexey smell and a bomb for their luggage - I kid you not, that boy has potential to be something good. Once we stopped in Antwerp, there was the standard security sweep and there was theoretically going to be a luggage swap. But that's where the plan fell apart. I'm going to chide myself a bit, as I should have had overwatch. But I didn't, and after much kerfluffle, the room was found to be empty and the case proper gone. Damn. All that cost us 4 hours and our chance at getting in early. But, it also pretty much drygulched Ezra in Antwerp. And for bonus fries, he's apparently embraced Lt Scott. Alas, I suppose. But at the same time, it means they're not day-driving any more, and they're having to call in some favors to get to Berlin. They're probably not in any hurry, but there'll be some questions once they get to baggage claim, and we've cost them an identity. I suppose it could have gone worse, but on the whole, I'm satisfied. Ezrabel are going to have to be more alert, and sometimes knowing someone is out there who is ready, willing, and standing by with a full bladder to piss in your cheerios will force you into a mistake.

Note to self: make sure there's a couple alternate ID's in the back of my wallet. Just in case.

The day passed, somewhat eventfully. I dreamed of an old church, and a creature of shadow and smoke, pouring out and reaching to latch itself to me. I woke up rapidly and frightenedish, promptly casting Deflection to keep my shit from going completely gone, and then got properly dressed. That done and dusted, we got ourselves our legend for the Prince, and decided to go a-calling. The Berlin statehouse reminded me of the 1938 Nuremberg Rally pictures I'd seen from the old days. Columns of light, and within a veritable prison. From the limo, I got a feel for the city, and I'm not entirely sure I like it. It reeks of an oppressed desperation, and a forced excess of cheer in the face of doom. The economic pages are not great. I felt a small comfort in casting Deflection.

Note to self 2: Buy Suhalia perfumes.

My musings were brought to a halt as I reached the end of my (admittedly short) journey, as we went in after the countess, her childe, and Cass. Me, Brenda, and Hugo made a far more motley group - they're all Toreador, while we're a fairly motley group of a Ravnos, a Toreador, and a Brujah. Brenda had to get into character, apparently so she trashed my limo. Ugh. After a long walk down an echoing hall, I did the Durmstrang enters Hogwarts rqat-a-tat with my cane, and met the three big cheeses. Frau Ott's Sister-from-another-mother in spirit, the Prince of 1385, and the chamberlain. I felt utterly crappy while spewing out my history as presented by bullshit. Something about the Prince, not so much scary but an encouragement of dealing fairly and honestly with problems - and let's not kid ourselves, the house of Ajam is pretty badass even if it were just me and him. Still, the practiced lies came out, and I was twitchy, partly because the Prince was wear period clothes that were not period for him. And the detached part of my brain asked the question if he was the warder or the prisoner in this farce. The ice queen next to him was frozen, regal, and utterly devoid of any acknowledgment. The chamberlain seemed pretty chill once we'd been read the rules and regulations and so forth and were released to the city. Apparently there's a group called the Final Reich that fancies itself...something. I did let him know Ezrabel would in fact be en route and seeking the counsel of an older Setite. He gave his thanks, and warned me to trust no one. Golly Mister Wizard nobody's passed that off as advice before. Of course, if they do manage to catch Ezrabel, I'll have a couple points in the column. Sometimes it's nice to have people.

All that taken care of, we found a replacement limo which Brenda again dented before hopping onto her scooter to do her weirdass crazy thing that she does, and then me and Hugo went off into the night to find something to eat. Blood magic can be spendy if we're doing it regularly, and damned if I'm not going to for at least a little bit. We asked the driver to find us a place, and off we went to a nice little dance club for the three-piece suit set, and we found appetizers. After seating ourselves and sating ourselves, I asked the nice lady if she had friends. She had sisters. Well, she claimed they were her sisters, anyway and the resemblance was close enough. So with that done, we relaxed with port and I asked the concierge if there was any place a man could play cards. There was. Bidding the ladies adieu, but we'll be back, we had ourselves a nice little table with some gentlemen. No chips, just pictures of things. It was kind of like Dresden, except me and Hugo were late and had arrived after they'd decided to start playing for stuff rather than money. I checked my portfolio (Thank you to whatever team of accountants diversified the hell out of that,) punched out enough pictures to get a stake, and me and Hugo are about to take some people to the cleaners.

I need some properties in the city.

Bullets From Santa

So as we settled in to play, I took stock of the other players and the room - the room itself was beautiful, with fish tanks and recessed lighting that mad it damn near impossible to see someone elses' cards. Of course being me, it was not impossible. I ponied up some goods, got a couple million in chips, and settled down to play. It looked like a good mix. Asian guy, not sure if he was from a tong or if he was Yakuza, might want to try my Chinese, some Russian Mafiyosa, and some guy in some Brooks Brothers suit who looked way, way out of place. A couple other people rounding it out, and a familiar face - Madalyn, the hotel heiress. Apparently she's still got the chops to play, and the nature of a lady who's going to be doing scandalous things. Going through my quick mental list, I don't think she has a hotel here, but I could be wrong. But this could work in my favor; in the long term. Hopefully this goes better than Beirut. Happy thoughts, I could maybe get a old Russian sub from the mafiya guy and get things rolling. So with that, me and Hugo settled in to play with the big boys.

As I looked, there was a brief double-take as I realized one of the other players was also a vampire. Good obfuscate too, enough that I had to work to see through it. And damn good with his cards, as he promptly reeled a quarter mill (in deutschmark-euros, anyway) out of my pocket. Damn. The next couple hands went well for me, but the background noise of the Mafiya guy was getting loud and annoying. Kinda like that prince in Dresden. Damn shame. I dunno what he was crying about, Hugo was getting his head handed to him That said, after a quick check I was up a quarter mill with some finesse, when the Mafiya guy finally lost it a produced a couple Makarovs and demanded everyones' money.

With that, the game changed from 5 card draw to Live Fire Exercise; I anted up with my own custom shooter - something I've been working on, using extremely high-pressure gas as an accelerator rather than cordite. It's a quieter shot, for one, and no chemical residue for forensics to look into later. Not everyone has the resources I do, as Madalyn had herself a Walther and other people declared themselves to be in as well. Good times were about to abound and an old plan would be active. I shot the Makarovs before he could spray, meanwhile Brooks Brothers put one in the Russians head and oh damn did that look nice. Situational awareness was not totally lost, however I was a little surprised to see the other vampire pull out a no-shit Tommy Gun from somewhere and hose the joint down before he bolted like a mofo through the hidden back door, without the courtesy of opening it first. Amazingly rude.

Massive chaos had erupted, as gunfights are wont to cause. Madalyn had taken a couple to the torso, there was a grenade-looking thing on the table, and one of the fishtanks had gone to hell. A couple people decided to take getting shot at personally and I'll admit, I was one of 'em. I fired one at the vampiric noggin, and...missed. That's quite frankly annoying. Hugo swiped the grenade (an incendiary) into the standing water and shit was getting real enough that it was time for an exit - the gentleman who had gotten my chips out was reminding people in a panicked as hell tone that this sort of thing was frowned upon, and that certain people would not be allowed back in. Mother of god that was annoying. So I got Hugo and Cass on the headphone, had Hugo grab Madalyn, and asked Cass to pick us up in the war wagon. On the way out, there was an explosion of "Oh, Brooks Brothers was a (shitty) assassin and had something left as a distraction." It took a couple minutes, but we eventually got our asses to the hospital, with Hugo doing first aid and me donating a wee bit of blood to help keep her alive - unplanned embraces suck, but it didn't look like that would be the case. Damn typical. I may have to find out who that crazy bastard with the tommygun was and have a discussion with him. The hospital scene hasn't changed much. Still antiseptic. Still boring. Cass and I tracked down a plate because we could, and Hugo went feeding. Meanwhile, Madalyn's probably going to recover, as surgery went quite well. Good. Step one blood bond in place, and the plans are starting to fall in.

After a few hours, Madalyn came out of surgery, and I left them our hotel number, asking that her entourage be advised as the day progressed. And back to the hotel where we took care of a few things, I finished up all my shopping, and set up a few bets to come in and make the whole night a non-total bust. Then it started getting late, and damn. Still no Brenda. So I called her up on the headphone and found out about her night. It was worse, somehow. She's hooked up with the Final Reich, apparently - or at least some folks who love them some swastikas. Apparently they raided some place, killed an Assamite, and she's holing up there for the day. And she's gotten...some kind of something with their leader. Greeeeeeat.

250 years, and she still has lousy taste in men. I shudder to think who she would have married if we hadn't picked her up that one night.

Anyway, with the shopping done, I did a few things, left a note with the desk, and from there went to dreamland. And saw...that same damned church. This time there was a little more. A creature, shadowed, two legs. A church, slowly being drizzled in blood like a most obscene hot fudge sundae. The whole thing is leaving me shaken. Two days in a row with this is leaving me with a bad feeling. Time to cast a thing or two, and get ready to whack Brenda upside the head so we can do the job, finish a few things, and lay some groundwork.

Santa Caine

Waking up was not fun. Not gonna lie, my hotel is nice, ready, and my PJs are a little bloody. Well, I suppose that's something for housekeeping to sort out. A quick shower, ritual, and a fresh change of clothes later, I was ready to put plans in motion; but there was an unexpected knock at my door. That doesn't normally bode well, so I held a finger over the peephole, and after no gunshots came through the door I asked who it was. Apparently a telegram. I got it, slipped the guy a 20 under the door, and then was ready to go. I was, invited. With a plus one. Going through the list of people I would legit like to bring with me to a Toreador social engagement, particularly one that appears to be movie themed, I found myself short a few people. Like...all of them. Knowing it was going to be a thing where there was going to be mortals...and expensive shit, Hugo was right out. No reason to give him a rep. Brenda was also out, on account of Nazis are not generally welcome. Cass was hanging with her peeps, so disrupting that would be rude. Presumably, finding something wouldn't be bad.

Downstairs, and I got a present from the hotel management. A pretty silk tie with a discrete logo on it. Now I know what Fathers' Day is like. And an invitation to dinner with everyone in the place, because, well...hospitality. I declined as I needed a car to do some things, but offered Hugo as a fine replacement. Yeah, kind of mean, but part of my job is keeping him out of trouble and how to survive social situations. This may be part of the life. That done, I got a car, and a nice attendant offered me the keys to an Aston Martin. She looked nice enough to be an accessory for tonight at least and was eyeing me up and down a bit, so I gave the back of her hand a fanged kiss and made her night, as she had just clocked out. And off we went to get her properly attired. Which wasn't too terribly difficult, as I'd gone with a nice blue, and we found me a nice cigar and a snifter of brandy to keep me looking proper. While we were doing that, there was the church in my dreams...That's not odd or anything. I did remember to get her name.

As an aside, I am not a fan of churches as a rule. Especially ones that look like some kind of trippy mordor thing, and spew blood in my dreams. Suckage. That said, I would be remiss if I didn't at least look. So, wandered in and the Padre was not talking about the baby jesus. Instead he was off on a tangent about how Adam and Eve got their asses kicked out of Eden. Very nontraditional, and also this church didn't make me itchy, which was a good thing. And then...me and the padre spoke. And nobody noticed. Apparently I was summoned, and invited to hear him speak at 10 pm. It being early still, I was good for that. It was surreal enough that I talked to everyone in their headspace, and then went off to the Toreador Christmas social.

That was a ripe slice of hell unto itself. My date and I had champagne, genial conversation, and a whirlwind of meeting everyone there. Our host Antoinette was so...vapid. She was into movies as her thing. I didn't go too far into it, because The Sound of Music was on an endless loop. It was a little depressing. I mean films are art, but her appreciation of them is very thin at best. Frankly, if this is the best the Toreador have in this city, I have a respectful disdain. There's a few others who might be useful later, but on the whole they're a useful cover for me.

After a few hours of mingling and being handsome, we went...back to church. Very much weird, and there were about 20-some vampires with us. Including the finest in Hugo Boss original Oberstuhrmfuher-wear. I believe not shooting them was worthy of me getting a present myself. But then came the speechy bit. The priest claimed to be Caine. Because apparently email's not a thing. At the same time, he walked among everyone and spoke, but it was...curious. He was hard to see, really. And whatever he said wasn't overheard, even by me. Their lips were moving, but there wasn't any sound. Upon reflection, I should have read a mind or two, but still. At the end of it, we're being like, some sort of heralds. We have a week to figure out if we want to join Caine in rebuilding Enoch, or if we're going to be enemies of the father of us all. In theory - I'm not sold, because everyone seemed to talk about something different. Like he was showing everyone what they want to see.

An email to Masood was in order.

The rest of the night was a quick back and forth email advising of what happened, and that a few others were en route to Berlin after having had the same dreams. Very odd and disconcerting. I did have a discussion with the Antonio Banderas lookalike, floated some theories and excused myself. It was all in all, a strange Christmas. But I got to unwrap my present.

The next night was hustling, as I've got a Madalyn to completely bond, an image to maintain, and a museum to check out. The one corpse we want is hidden, but...we brought a thief. I think we can get this done and figure out what's what soon enough. The next few nights were an exercise in amusement, as a few Sabbat packs appear to have also made their way to Berlin. Still, time to focus on the job at hand. Make very sure Madalyns' bound to me, and then we can talk more about what eternity is like.

I wonder what Ur-Shugli's gonna do.

Caine-con

So here's the thing - everyone's showing up. Cass got a temporal ping and nudged me to shuffle it to the airport. Problem, on account of the freaking holiday traffic was a ripe slice of parking lot. With that, it was bare minimum and rent a motorcycle or two. Hopefully we could get some eyes on and figure out what the hell is going on. Seriously, the logistics of this are going to get nasty, rapidly. If, and I mean if, everyone is totally on their best behavior, the city might survive and the Prince(s) won't have mental breakdowns.

Anyone care to make a small wager on whether or not that's gonna happen? Oh good, you're not fools.

En route, a small problem occurred. To wit, the airport lost power. Completely. After a quick breather, I did some cellphone camera intercept and it was not pretty. Clowns, machine guns, and just nastiness all around. As if we didn't have enough trouble. Every rational part of my brain said this was nothing that we wanted to be a part of, particularly since Brenda was in my brainspace on account of she and her current crew were racing through the joint in SUV's and being very naughty. Seriously, what's wrong with kids these days - they can't even try to look at the big picture. So we took a side trip around to get to the ruckus proper to see what was up with the temporal anomaly. Brenda said there were faces she recognized, so a cautious approach was the thing. Into the asteroid field we go.

It wasn't the most chaotic battle I've ever seen, but it was certainly noteworthy, if only for the participants. There was an exploded 747 on the tarmac, a wrecked terminal, and a tornado. In the snowstorm. In the midst of all this, Sascha Fucking Vykos rose and left, encouraged by Dieter firing some laser-guided rockets. Saschas' traveling companions were not so lucky, and were kinda-sorta exploded/immolated/thrown about by a fire-tornado in a snowstorm. Yeah, there'll be damage control required, and I got a lot of it on video - enough to make sure the Prince knows I ain't bullshitting. My inner child so wanted to take a selfie. That said, the immediate danger was over. If you discounted the fact that we were in an airport with one terminal shot to hell, no power, and a lot of airplanes rapidly running out of fuel and lacking a place to land. I mean, yeah it was a detail that needed attending to, but it wasn't as in your face as Sascha Fucking Vykos (yes, that is how we refer to it).

In the midst of all this, I was presence-summoned. To another pair of vampires, and I had mild relief to realize it was Brian and another blast from the past Mac. Which was awesome. After a quick hello and whatnot, and a Wait-you're-here-for-Caine-too moment; well, I wasn't and I did let him know the real reason why I was here. But apparently body-snatching could wait, as my little alert system politely reminded me that my sky was awful crowded. I had Cass and Mac with directions and schematics for how to turn the dang power back on, getting Hugo to fake some landing lights (Bless that boy) and getting the other airports to take a couple flights off our hands.

It took awhile, relatively, but we got ourselves together and the Prince showed up to things landing. A story was devised pretty much on the fly, and we absconded. Once again, I'm not getting a damage deposit back. Fortunately, Mac is as good with Auspex as I am, so we can have conversation with lots of people and not need to talk a lot.

Speaking of Auspex, the dopplegangers are an interesting thing to watch. They seem to share an aura. The closest I could describe it would be like the perfect Blood Brother coterie. I watched two of them play chess and their auras were...merging with each other. Almost like they were one person in two bodies. Different clans and lineages, but they were as close as two people could be without gestating or some awkward Vicissitude. And amidst all of that was more - tiny gold lancets, steaking out and fading off as if there were more connections to be made. The whole effect was enough to make a Toreador swoon.

On the whole, the evening coulda gone way worse. I guess Sascha Fucking Vykos was being polite. Or that missile launchers were a thing. But in either case, the Princes were in major damage control mode, as a second attack happened at the other airport. For the record, I don't recall planning any of this while saying sure, I'll take Inhautens' body to Cairo. During all this, several interesting things have occurred. A, the princes who haven't spoken in a century are talking. Everyone is coming to Berlin, and this could very heavily reshape the political landscape no matter what happens. I may be repeating myself because the whole thing is overwhelming in a sense - so much seems to be riding on the next few nights it's spectacular. And again I wonder what the Assamites will do as a result. Certainly a contingent would be dispatched by Ur-Shulgi, as there are few beings that could get his attention, and possibly even more frightening, his loyalty.

So with a couple days left before Templehof announcement, I'm thinking it's a trap. Seriously, someone needs to get security up on that airfield now. And figure out what to do if this thing turns out to be a fake. But everything in me screams trap. But first, I've got to get Madalyn out of the hospital, get her accustomed to my odd lifestyle, and make sure she's secure. And hopefully in the midst of the chaos, we can get a body to Cairo, and maybe make more contacts.