The Witching Hour

[Marcus Thornby]

Brixton, London - December 31st, 2006 - 23:16


In the damp streets outside of The Fridge (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fridge), shivering shapes huddled against each other to escape the lash of hailstones and the bite of the night chill. Intermittently, bodies would fall out of the doorway and into the overflowing gutters. Others were soon herded in to replace them, shuffling hurriedly into the wall of sweaty heat that radiated from within.

Inside, there was nothing but the sound and the fury. The club throbbed with it, the beat of bodies crashing against bodies a constant pulse. Brief flashes of strobe lightning caught limbs thrashing, and shone into dark alcoves where bloody kisses marked the necks of hapless drunks. In soundproof offices above the chaos, Marcus Thorny still felt the throb of the bassline, moving like a seismic tremor through the buildings stonework.

Midnight had yet to strike and the party had only just begun.

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam was late. In his defense, he was always late, so no one in their right mind would expect him to show up anywhere on time.

Also in his defense he was one of Gaia's children, and going to a known vampire haunt like The Fridge wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do. Especially on New Years Eve, when the only thing he wanted to concentrate on was picking the best of the beautiful young women that were sure to throw themselves at him tonight. Instead he'd have to be watching his back all night.

Well, what was left of it. No doubt his cousin Ewan was inside already, enjoying the ambiance. Liam turned up his collar against the hail, and ducked inside, bypassing the line entirely. No one stopped him. It would take several vampires to even attempt to take him down, and if it came to that there were plenty of the cold blooded creatures inside.

Too many. Liam's nose wrinkled at the smell of them, and looked around for a VIP section where Ewan surely was.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

“What do you mean, no VIP?”

“You heard me. VI-fucking-P is some Camarilla bullshit. We're all VIP here. Equal, ya get me?”

Ewan Dunsirn stared blankly back at the face glaring at him, noting the metal studs and rings which sprouted from so many pores of the young Brujah's dead flesh. They were complete polar opposites in appearance, with Dunsirn's crisp shirt and slacks somehow untouched by the sweat and grime of the club.

There was a particularly large ring in the Brujah's left nostril, and for an instant Ewan indulged himself in the thought of ripping it out. Instead, he glanced away, to the shelves of bottles that stocked the Fridge's back-bar. They were mostly for show.

“Alright,” he said, his anger evaporating in an instant. “O positive.”

The bartender twisted his pierced lip in a crude mimicry of snarl, then turned away to fish something out of a freezer unit. It's contents sloshed into a glass, which he let clattered onto the bar in front of his over-dressed customer.

“Keep the change,” Ewan smiled, fangs gleaming, then slid a five-pound note across the counter. Turning away, he lifted the glass to his lips - “You filthy animal.”

[Invicta Gaultier]

Blinking, Invicta finally rose and stretched, fingers smoothing out the tattered black silk shift she was wearing. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and suddenly found itself impaled on a long, delicate fang. Fingers rose, trembling to find the perfectly matched pair set in amongst her teeth as if they were always there. Panic fluttered around the edges of her mind, but she refused to allow it in. There'd be time to panic later. When....when she was sure she wasn't dreaming, in her bed, back home.

For now, hunger cramped her stomach and the feel of her tongue pierced on her fang nearly made her weak at the knees with sheer want. She needed out. Now.

With the ease of years of practice, she changed into the tightly fitted dress and heels (http://i45.tinypic.com/149054w.jpg), and combed out her crimson locks until they were shimmering and straight once more. The short flight of stairs led to a tiny landing and a large, heavy stone door - that pivoted and opened with a grinding sound as she pushed on it. Outside, it was fully dark, and the rest of the small cemetery was quiet and deserted, with only the biting hailstones making noise as they landed.

Steps echoed as she walked down the street, huddling in the heavy silk wrap that had been beneath the dress, her mind making a mental note of the buildings and the tiny church the cemetery was behind to be able to find her way back.

Soon enough, she found herself in a far more populated section of the city, garnering whistles and no shortage of offers as she passed throngs of people milling in and out of various clubs and bars. A very long line of people wound their way up to the door of a club called The Fridge, and her senses would not let her bypass it. It drew her in, past the waiting people and up to the heavily pierced bouncer at the door. He took one glance and waved her past, dark eyes patrolling every inch of her as she walked.

Inside, the sudden warmth and energy assaulted her senses as did the scent of blood. Warm, seductive, and inviting, it made her ache as she wove her way through the crowd to the corner of the long bar. Unwinding her wrap, she perched on a stool and turned to watch the crowd, shaking her head as the bartender approached, as if she were not ready quite yet.

[Liam Dunsirn]

"Filthy..?" Liam looked down at his clean shirt, a light blue button-up covered with faintly tropical light blue embroidery. "If I thought it would do any good, I'd be offended, Cousin." He waved down the bartender, a surly Anarch, and ordered a beer.

"So, we playing an angle tonight Ewan?" He leaned back on the bar and smiled a predatory grin at a red-headed vampire in a skin tight red dress. If she'd just had a pulse she would be a good time. "Or are we just here for the sights?"

[Thaddeus Post]

Thaddeus Post, last Tremere of the London Chantry, looked up at the Tower of London as the last minutes of the year two thousand and six ticked away.

He looked down at Jenny, his long time companion, and smiled. "Ready?"

The Carribbean born beauty smiled back at him, holding up a jar of slightly glowing goop. "Ready."

They walked towards the Tower, breath fogging in the cold air.

[Sansa]

A violin spoke (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1tUdbknTeA) plaintively into the night air, filtering into the rocks of the Tower of London and filling the hallway outside a certain locked room. It was hauntingly beautiful. Mournful.

Sansa Martin swayed as she played, fingers expertly feeling out the chords as she pulled the bow across the strings. As the last note faded away she lifted her chin from the instrument and held it out at arms length, trembling.

It sounded terrible. She could do better. She had done better. Sansa wanted to smash the violin, as she had wanted to do before, but again resisted and gently laid the instrument in its case, rosining and placing the bow beside it with practiced ease. If she destroyed it she would never get a chance to get the piece right. She had to try again.

And no one destroyed a Stradivarius. Not even an immortal vampire.

She walked to the outer wall, where a window might be if her cell had a window. There was a crack between the stones, where clean air seeped in if the wind was right. Sansa leaned against the cold stones, blood staining her cheeks and the wall as she began to cry again.

Why had they taken Gabriel away from her? Where was he?

A rat scurried across the floor, and she remembered how hungry she was. Filled with revulsion and shame, the fledgling leapt across the cell with super human speed and caught the rodent. She bared her fangs and sank her teeth into the squirming creature as it squeaked.

Gabriel... why are they doing this to us?

[Ewan Dunsirn]

"So, we playing an angle tonight Ewan? Or are we just here for the sights?"

<style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> “We're here to have a good time, cuz. Can't you tell, by all the shining happy faces around us?”

Ewan flashed his cousin a sardonic grin and lifted his glass in a toast to the misfits of the Fridge.

“If you do happen to see anything interesting though, be sure to make a mental note of it. I have a feeling that this place.. is the place.. for a certain sub-sect of London to come and let off a little steam.”

[Crowley]

<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><title></title><meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.1 (Win32)"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> There is a superstition that states at least seven ravens must be kept at the Tower of London at all times, else the kingdom of Great Britain shall fall. As it landed amongst its fellows, a newcomer to the flock observed with a small amount of satisfaction – and cynical humour – that it was indeed the eighth raven. The others cocked their beaks at it inquisitively, but the eighth raven was already hopping across the lawn, its beady eyes peering with great interest at a pair of humans taking a midnight stroll towards the Tower.

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam grunted, and drank down his beer. "Yeah, I'll be sure to make a mental note." He winked at the red dress a few stools down. There certainly were a few interesting things going on in the Anarch bar. But nothing out of the ordinary - not for a vamp place anyway.

Above the smell of sweat and the sound of the music there was the metallic tang of blood. It was making him feel randy.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

London had fallen and the Camarilla with it. Marcus Thornby – formerly one of my Primogen council – had taken it upon himself to found Carthage once again. The fabled city was said to have been a place where kindred and kine could mingled freely, but there was no tolernace here. There had been heads on the pikes at Traitors Gate. The heads of kindred young and old alike who did not welcome the so-called age of enlightenment. In due time, I would join them.

There was some greater plan for me, of course – though what, I could not have said. That they had been bold enough to take me to the Tower at all was a sign that Marcus was serious about his betrayal, but his plans were beyond me. If there was a method to the madness, I could not see it.

Madness – I stifled a bitter laugh as I glanced up at the reflection of myself I was forced to see. A mirror had been installed within my cell. Even with its splintered glass and coating of dust, I could see the image of myself therein. I was a shadow of my former self with shabby clothes, unkempt hair, face sallow from lack of sustenance. One pale blue eye was surrounded by a fresh bruise and my lower lip had been split, a testament to the particularly zealous ministrations of Marcus' guards.

Subconsciously, I licked at the cut, the taste of my own blood revolting and yet absolutely essential. They brought blood, of course – they would not let me starve – but I could not drink it. It was hers and just the smell of it, just the thought of her and sharp nails began to dig into my palms, forming half-moons of dark blood. My dear, poor Sansa: what were they doing to her?

[Thaddeus Post]

An obfuscation spell was hiding the pair from view as they approached the Tower, and Thaddeus smiled to himself as he dipped a finger in the jar Jenny held and painted a rune on the stones at about eye level. Jenny did the same beside him with a different rune and Post bit his index finger, pressing the vitae into his drawing.

The glowing goop began to shine, and he repeated the gesture with Jenny's rune until it also was shining as he chanted under his breath. After another moment the stones melted away, leaving a dark doorway into the Tower. Thaddeus waggled his eyebrows, hummed a little tune, and ducked inside.

[Jude]

Listen to her: child of the night. What sweet music she makes.

Oh me, oh my. There's only a door – only planks between us now. Not the kind that you walk, though that's where they're sending Lefty. Off the end, over the edge, out of the picture. Good bye and good riddance to Prince Charmless. You have to break a few eggs to make a good tragic romance. I press an ear to the door of her cell and listen to the silence and the sobs.

My fingertips curl against the wood-grain and the shadows sigh with me. “Sssansa.”

[Sansa]

She looked up, blue eyes searching the semi-darkness of her cell as a faint whisper of sound reached her ears. The guards, come to drain her again? Sansa couldn't figure out what they were doing, other than keeping her weak.

But she was weak already, not a patch on the other vampires who roamed the Tower. A fledgling, as they were too happy to point out to her. A nothing.

Sansa crept along the floor, her clothing tattered from where she'd torn it in fits of rage or anguish, and slowly put her ear up to the thick wooden door.

Listening...

[Jude]

In a place like this - so thick with history that you can taste it in the air, feel yourself wading through all the blood and betrayal with every step - the walls talk. The bricks lament. I hear their whispers, their voices hoarse from too many centuries falling on deaf ears. It's not the ghost stories that I want to hear.

Moons and moons ago – three hundred and sixty five to be exact – I heard a heart with a beat I liked. Pa-dump – pa-dump – pa-dump. I can't hear it any more, can't feel it any more, 'cause she's as cold and dead as the stones in the walls of the tower. Anger's in me like a flash and I slam a tight little fist against the cell-door - BLAM! - and the sound dances off down the corridor, echoing again and again like barking laughter.

[Sansa]

The door reverberated with a hollow boom as something banged on it from the other side. Sansa fell back from it with a cry, startled. "Who's there?! What do you want from me?"

She was cried out for the moment, and felt a little fire in her belly instead of just the gnawing Hunger. "Why won't you talk to me!?"

[Thaddeus Post]

"Ah, here we are." Thaddeus looked up from where he was sprinkling a mixture of powdered glass and sand on an Anarch guard, stoppering the vial that contained the dust and pocketing it. The Kindred was turning towards him, but was moving as slow as molasses.

Jenny was holding a large ring of keys, and already trying them in the door that led to the former Prince's cell. Post ignored the Anarch, and walked to Jenny, who had gotten the door unlocked. "Rodermark? I think its about time to go, don't you?"

Thaddeus held up a hand, generating a green fire to cast light into the room.

[Invicta Gaultier]

She was hungry.

Not just hungry, but feeling as if she hadn't eaten in days. Lightheaded and unsteady, she had the mother of all cravings for blood, she realized with a sudden shock. The wink from the handsome guy a few seats away only made the need worse.

Just as the need had burned through her senses when she'd impaled her tongue on one of her fangs, a tall glass of blood slid by her on its way to a patron down the end of the bar...and her reaction was the same. The bartender rested thick forarms on the bar in front of her, drawing her gaze.

"You here alone, sweet?"

"Yess..." Invicta replied softly, dipping her head to gaze at him from behind the crimson curtain of her hair. Fingertips rising to trace the outline of her fangs against her plump lips.

"Ahh...you're young. Not used to your fangs yet. Surprised your sire let you out alone."

"My...my what?"

The bartender arched a pierced brow at her. "Your sire...the one who made you? You...don't...know?" He said, his features a complete mask of disbelief.

Invicta shook her head as she folded her hands in her lap. "Last thing I remember is being in New York City at a party in the old Studio Fifty-Four. I just woke up alone...in a...crypt, in a church cemetery."

Her voice dropped to a low whisper as she finished. "And I'm hungry."

"Just don't take too much from any one person. Your instincts should guide you...and by the way..." he added as he straightened, watching her rise from her seat. "...you're in London."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Gabriel threw up a hand, shielding his eyes against the flickering fire. After what felt like an eternity in the dark, even the little light coming from the flames encircling the sorcerer's hand was too much. It filled his eyes with an eerie, luminous sheen. “Thaddeus,” he breathed. “Is that you?”

He swayed to his feet and quickly steadied himself against the sorcerer, as hunger hit him hard. It was only the potent, ancient blood in his veins that held torpor at bay. Had he not cannibalised the ancient they had found in the jungles of Mexico, he would have been dead. Truly dead. Appraising himself as he was, Rodermark could not be certain whether his present state was the more favourable outcome – but there was no time for self-pity now.

“How did you-” he began, then interuptting himself: “Sansa?”

[Jude]

“Sansa?!”

The word bursts out like it's got a life of its own. I throw myself up against the door and if I press just a little harder I think maybe I could turn into itty-bitty bits and squeeze through all the holes in the wood-grain, like sand through an hour glass or smoke through an open window or blood through gauze.

“Sansa, it's me!”

[Sansa]

On her backside on the cold floor, Sansa stared up at the door with wide eyes as it spoke to her. Or rather, the man on the other side of the door.

The voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. "Do... do I know you?" She crawled back to the door and pulled herself up, pressing her body against it. "Let me out! Let me out of here!"

[Thaddeus Post]

"Steady...steady!" The Tremere supported the former Prince, and cut off his line of questioning. "We're going to her next. If how they've treated you is any indication, we'll probably need you to control her."

Gabriel was staring at Jenny, his look that of a starving man. Which he was, from a certain point of view. And it wasn't something that Jenny was unused to, with her Caribbean good looks. Post nodded to her, but she was already fishing out a blood bag. "Cold, I'm afraid," she said softly, giving it to Gabriel, who snatched it from her. The ghoul pulled out another one, ready to resupply the Toreador.

"We should be going," said Thaddeus, pulling Gabriel along with him as they passed the slow moving Anarch guard. "We are on a time limit."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Gabriel made an attempt at opening the blood-bag with dignity, but his hands were trembling. As they passed the Anarch guard, he tore into the pouch with his teeth and groaned involuntarily as the ice-cold vitae trickled down his throat. The shadows of the Towers dank corridors began to shrivel and shrink, as the pulse of the world around him throbbed louder, details that had moments ago been murky and insignificant suddenly sharpening into a kind of hyper-reality. The scrape of Post's boot-heels on the ground, the scent of Jenny's breath, the chill of the stones under his own bare feet, the distant sound of voices - letmeout!letmeoutofhere!- and Rodermark staggering through it all, like a new-born fledgling seeing the world in full, glorious technicolour for the first time.

[Jude]

“You don't remember...”

Of course. It wasn't enough to take her away from me, Prince Charming had to take me away from her. His kind can tell such silky smooth lies, pluck a thought, a person, right out of your head forever. But not me and my mind.

Furious at just about everything – but in particular the stubborn door handle – I shove and grunt and smack until the old lock gives and the door folds inward, spitting rotten splinters at the ground like bits of broken teeth.

If Lefty can get into her mind, so can I. The blood of Malkav is in me, the blood of the trickster. It ripples over my face and into my voice.

“It's me! Gabriel!”

[Sansa]

"Gabriel!" Sansa sobbed with relief, throwing herself at him and clinging to him like a limpet. "I knew you'd come, I knew it."

She spoke into his chest, "Why are they doing this to us? Can we leave?"

Sansa looked up into his eyes, her own dilated wide. "I'm... so hungry."

[Thaddeus Post]

Thaddeus clucked his tongue absently as he pulled the former Prince down the halls of the Tower. Gabriel was looking around with increasing awareness, his steps growing stronger as they went along. The Tremere passed him another bag of donor blood as they passed a second slow moving Anarch. "Almost there..."

Rodermark was moving on his own power by the time they reached the cell where Sansa was being held. Post frowned as they rounded the corner toward it, an unexpected scent or sensation in the air, and then Gabriel was running forward, bashing through the remnants of the cell door and into the room, calling Sansa's name.

Thaddeus stopped at the ruined entrance, bending down and picking up a bit of wood. Turning it over in his hands he passed it back to Jenny, who placed it in her satchel. "Apparently we were beaten to the punch, as it were."

The Prince turned around in the center of the room, his eyes still a bit wild. "It's him," he growled. Post didn't get a chance to ask who "him" was before Gabriel was stalking out of the room past him.

"Before we go running off on another crusade, we do need to get out of here." Thaddeus tapped the timepiece on his wrist. "Sansa's whereabouts will have to wait, at least for the moment."