[WoD] Random Acts (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina Gordislava descended to the tarmac, the plane’s engines still whirring to a stop. Her pale skin illuminated in the glow of the moon, she walked directly to a waiting sedan, its windows tinted dark enough that they seemed opaque. In fact, they were – at least in the spacious backseat.

Shelia Ortega looked over the front seat at her passengers as Ivan climbed in to sit beside her. "It is good to see you, Archbishop."

Katarina grunted non-committedly Sergei beside her saying nothing. "What is the situation with our comrades here in London?"

Shelia pulled the sedan off the tarmac and into the early morning traffic out of Heathrow Airport. It was 4 am, and sunrise would be upon them in less than an hour.. "Not good, Archbishop."

"I will need more than that, Shelia." Katarina laced her fingers together in her lap.

The South American lesombra shrugged as she pulled the car onto a highway that was mostly empty. "I am afraid I cannot do better. The bishop refused to speak with us, though he put up with our presence in their haven. He is waiting for you."

"As he should be." Irritated, but not quite sure why, Katarina looked out through the windshield. It was just as well there was no one else on the road - had anyone looked through their rearward mirrors at the sedan they would have been shocked to find no one in the driver's seat. Usually they would have had a ghoul doing the driving, but it seemed that the London chapter of the Sabbat had invented the meaning of 'roughing it.' They would do without a great many things that she was used to.

Ivan shifted in the passanger seat, scrubbing thick fingers through his brush cut. "Is the Haven adequate?"

"It is. There were a few security issues, but we have taken care of them." Sheila's eyes didn't leave the road. "There is ample food, though the Sabbat here number but a few."

Something in her tone caught Katarina's attention. "How many are there?"

"Bishop Montague oversees but two packs. They know of no others in the city." The sedan pulled smoothly off the highway and into an industrial area. "The Cammies are unusually alert and rumors fly through the air. I would not be surprised if our ranks thin more as the fearful leave."

Rodermark must be furious after the successful attack on the Barbican, just a few days before. The Lesombra of London, well hidden on the best of occasions, would be aching to disappear alltogether. She could understand why the Cardinal would want to send a strong leader into London to strengthen resolve, and perhaps encourage more to join the ranks.

If they survived the first week. If Rodermark had not managed to find her by then it would be beyond the Camarilla to get her out of London.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Better that they leave now, so that we may see those who are truly loyal to the cause.”

The last thing that their effort needed was its members fleeing mid-operation. Seperate the wheat from the chaff at the get-go, and at least they would then have an honest number of Cainites with which to work.

As the sedan travelled along the busy motorway, Sergei took in the darkened view of London. He had seen its sky lit in his boyhood years, when his family had relocated from Germany to Great Britain during the conflict of World War I. It was his first time returning to the British isles since then, yet it roused no nostalgia and sadness in him. Such emotions were beyond him now. With thoughts of sirens and gunfire pushed from his mind, the warlock turned to his Archbishop.

“What do you know of Montague?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"I know only a little. He is from Spain originally, of Moorish stock. The Cardinal informed him of our operation on New Years, but Montague did not take part, though he did provide us with the house we stayed at and several of the other London Keepers also aided us. As you know."

Katarina pursed her thin lips and continued, "He is no coward, but is overly cautious, sometimes to the point of paranoia. He will no doubt welcome my presence, and at the same time resent it." She leaned forward a little and asked Sheila, "You said two packs - how many do we number?"

The sedan turned left onto a seedy looking street. "Montague's retinue numbers ten plus himself. The two other packs number seven and nine. If you add our numbers there are but thirty-three Sabbat in all of London." Another sharp left took them deep between some buildings that appeared to be abandoned. Ortega stopped the car and hopped out to open the door for the Archbishop. "We are here."

"This place?" Katarina stepped out of the car gingerly, and looked around. The buildings boasted broken windows and smelled of unwashed cats. "The Haven is here?"

"Indeed, Archbishop. From what I could get out of one of the ductus, the house we stayed at over New Years was overrun by Camarilla mere days after we left. Most likely Nosferatu, but it could have been any clan. They have no other Haven but this one."

She raised her eyebrows. "The packs all reside here? Together?"

"For now."” Shelia led them to a covered door where they were greeted by a pair of Keepers.

"Archbishop," one murmured as he bowed. "Bishop Montague has been awaiting your arrival."

"Good. Take me to him at once." Katarina tried not to look at the dust surrounding them, nor the large mirror that hung on the wall just inside the door.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Some Kindred say that you can judge a ruler by his domain, by the haven he keeps. If that were the case, then the Bishop Montague was somewhat lacking. It looked as though the house hadn't been touched in decades. Torn wallpaper left scars of brickwork visible, floorboards groaned underfoot. The air was heavy and dank, with a strong scent of the dry blood that was splattered in patches across the floor and walls. It did little to excite Sergei.

The Keepers lead the Archbishop and her entourage into what appeared to be a small closet. Pushing aside a large dust sheet, they unveiled a set of stairs which descended into what must have once been the houses cellar. One Keeper remained in the upper level, replacing the cover, as the second continued down into the basement. Candlelight flickered in the darkness, the silence only broken by the sounds of footsteps on the old stairs.

Where the other Cainites were was yet to be seen, but the Bishop and his own cadre were all to be found in the cellar. Their collective gaze turned to the visitors. Sergei bowed his head accordingly. Though his respect for them was minimal at best, he preferred to avoid the usual discussion that came as a result of his traitorous past and so endeavoured to sweeten the Cainities at the earliest time.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Archbishop!" Montague was slight and shorter than Katarina, which was painfully obvious as he stood. "You honor us with your presence, though I regret we have no better welcome."

"Bishop Montague." She inclined her head briefly, and looked at the assembled Keepers. Several thoughts pressed into her head, but none were appropriate for mixed company. "The Cardinal has sent me to assist the London Sabbat."

"The Camarilla would not have been stirred up against us if -" The speaker, an impestuous blonde female, snapped her mouth shut and hunched her shoulders as though struck. Montague's nostrils flared as his eyes flitted from Katarina to his pack and back again.

"No, no they would not have. But eventually - eventually you would have been driven here anyway." Katarina walked a circle around the cellar, eying the candles warily. She'd never really approved of candlelight, since accidents were always bound to happen. Wax dripped silently in the room as she came to Montague's side. "Together we will do something about it. But I must speak with you in private, Bishop Montague, you and your ductus."

He snapped his fingers and the gathered Cainites began to move. "As you wish, Archbishop. Unfortunately my ductus, Patrick McClain, is not here at the moment. He will be back at sunrise, however, if you wish to wait?"

"No." She gestured at Sergei to follow them as Jorge Montague led them to another underground room. It appeared that they had expanded the cellar to reach underneath the adjoining house. Red candles lit the room and it appeared that they were in the Bishop's own room...s. Rooms. There were two small doors that led out of the main chamber. It was not spacious, and it was dank, but the Londoners seemed to be making do.

Once the doors had shut, leaving Katarina, Sergei and Jorge alone, she got right to the point. "The Cardinal told me there was something for me to do here, but he did not tell me what it was."

"Ah yes, yes, he told me to give you this." Jorge rummaged in an old rolltop desk and produced a sealed envelope.

She tore it open and removed a folded sheet of paper. "Please feel free to brief us on our situation while I read."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The envelope bore the wax-stamp seal of the Cardinal. The paper was crisp and had a faint, implacable aroma. The message itself was written in flourishing cursive and was addressed to the Bishop Montague. It detailed the Cardinals intentions of ultimately destroying the London Camarilla and taking the city for his own.

“The first attack on London was little more than appeasement for the Tzimisce,” the Bishop explained. “He wished to show them that London would not be taken through strong arm tactics. One does not simply walk into London and take it for their own.”

We risked our lives for nothing, then, Sergei thought. The Barbican assault had not been expected to succeed. In fact, the Cardinal's point would have been best proven if his soldiers had been destroyed by the Camarilla.

“More meticulous planning and scheming is required. The Cardinal proposes a number of possible courses of action, as you can see, but leaves the timing of their execution in your hands. He does not expect you to adhere rigidly to these suggestions, and welcomes any you yourselves may have, but would advise you strongly consider them.”

Katarina turned the letter over in her hands. The spider-scrawl handwriting covered both sides.

“The first suggestion that he makes is that you attempt to plant at least one double-agent within the ranks of our enemy. Of course this is not easy for Kindred such as us – our clans have long been divided from the lords of the Masquerade... but it is not unthinkable to gain such a foothold.”

Montague let these words hang in the air for a while. If a mole was to be used, they would have to be of one of the typically Camarilla-loyal clans. Given the small number of Sabbat in London, it seemed safe to assume that no-such Cainites existed in the capitol city. Even if they were to find a suitable candidate, it would take time for the higher-ranking Londonites to come to trust them. Sergei frowned.

“The second suggestion that he offers is that you make use of the hashshashin. The Assamites claim allegiance to no sect, only to blood. As tools, the assassins would prove invaluable. Perhaps you might have them kill the Prince, or his most powerful allies, leaving Rodermark's Final Death as something you yourself may deliver.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"An undercover agent would take far too long." Katarina turned the paper over again to read the first side again. "We would never be able to get someone trustworthy enough here fast enough, nor would the Camarilla bring a newcomer into their circle quickly. They will be on edge and distrusting of new faces."

An assassin, however… "Montague, do you know of such an Assamite?"

He cleared his throat, a nervous sound in the quiet underground room. "I took the liberty of sending my ductus to locate such an individual. The thought had occurred to me previously to the Cardinal’s suggestion, and I - we are backed into a corner, Archbishop."

"Indeed we are." Katarina ran her fingers through her ash blonde hair, suddenly wondering what she looked like after spending hours on a plane. Sergei caught her eye and the corner of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly. She put both hands to work putting the Cardinal’s letter back into the envelope. "To take out Rodermark… that would significantly weaken the Camarilla. But if we removed his Primogen first…" She tapped a finger on her lips, deep in thought.

Jorge cleared his throat once more, "The assassin can be sent for whenever you wish. It is too close to sunrise for a proper meeting tonight -"

"I am aware, Bishop."

Noises from the house above signified the return of the rest of the Cainites. It seemed that they occupied the two adjoining houses, though how the run-down buildings managed to avoid letting in sunlight during the day seemed a mystery. Montague looked upwards, and then back to the Archbishop. He had artfully avoided talking to or making eye contact with Sergei for the entire meeting.

'Archbishop, you must be weary from the long journey."

"Yes, and hungry." Her eyes tracked upwards where she could just sense living hearts entering the house above.

"Of course. Your needs will be provided for." Montague wrung his hands, and added, "This room is at your disposal, Archbishop." He moved towards the door, and she put out a hand to stop him.

"Montague, make sure the bodies are thrown out into the street. Not anywhere near here, of course, somewhere around the Barbican would be best, but it is probably too guarded. In random places around London, where they will be found and not traced back to us."

He paused, a light appearing in his eyes as he understood. "Of course, Archbishop."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Bishop excused himself and soon the muffled sounds above quietened. Alone, Sergei surveyed the room which they had been gifted with. Evidently Montague had no taste for luxury – or perhaps he simply had no money for luxury. Either way, the Vizier paid the fact little mind. He was not accustomed to or comfortable with lavish dwellings. All that he required was a place to sleep and somewhere secure to store various essential items.

“You intend to attack the Primogen, then?” he asked, as he set down the briefcase he had been carrying. It's locks popped open, revealing to him an array of unusual and seemingly unconnected items. One by one he counted them, accounting for their presence and ensuring they remained intact.

“To cause chaos and confusion among the clans, leaving Rodermark without the organization or manpower necessary to defend against a larger Sabbat attack?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Yes." She poked the dusty looking four poster bed that dominated the room, and walked to one of the other doors. Opening it, she discovered a closet of sorts filled with musty, Victorian era clothing. Katarina made a face and shut the door, leaving the other door untouched. "The loss of the other haven is unfortunate. Four packs together in two houses… We must address this… situation as well."

If she were remaining in London longer than a few days, she would have to find a Haven of her own. Jorge Montague had gone to ground like a frightened quail, and it would not take much effort on the Camarilla’s part to flush him out. "We may be hidden, but I have to ask myself if it is worth it."

There was a rap on the door, and Ivan entered. "Archbishop…" He stepped aside to allow her a view into the outer chamber. Several dark shapes huddled together in the center of the room, the thump of living blood in their veins. She caught the look on Ivan’s face, however, and moved to the doorway for a better look. Six naked mortals sat in a vaguely semi-circular pattern, their eyes vacant and staring. "Street people," the huge Keeper explained. "They have been stripped and washed."

They certainly were not pleasing to look at, but the Hunger cared not. She advanced to the nearest one, a male, and tipped his head back, tracing his jugular with a fingernail. "The bodies are to be dumped around the city when we are finished, Ivan."

"Yes, Archbishop." Shelia and the others filtered into the cellar as Katarina made her choice and took the mortal into the privacy of Montague’s room. The rest of her pack feasted in the outer cellar, and come daybreak they would all rest in the same room. If the London packs lacked cohesiveness, then she would show them how a true pack behaved.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

When sunrise came, fatigue soon set in. The houses fell deadly silent as their inhabitants slipped into a deep slumber. Images flickered over the insides of Sergei's eyes, vague and indistinct, yet the day passed without interruption. When at last the Cainities awoke, it seemed almost to be done in synchronization – the pack having spent so long together, that there bodies had become attuned to one another. Barely a moment was wasted once the sun had set. Quickly scouts began to report back to the Bishop with details of Police reports and suspected Camarilla activity.

Sergei had moved into the upstairs portion of the house, and drifted silently between the groups, listening to their chatter. They pointedly ignored him, but he wasn't interested in conversing, only in hearing what they had to say. Once he had gleaned what he wished to know, he returned to the cellar, where he found the Archbishop being tended to by her groomers, smoothing and primping her appearance. The Tremere bowed his head, both in respect and to avert his eyes.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina looked up as Sergei entered the room and raised an eyebrow. "How are our friends upstairs?" She turned slightly away from him as the two ghouls rubbed her naked body with a special lotion to keep her skin milk white and smooth.

It was pretentious, perhaps, to assume a modesty she did not feel, but it was habit. She was certainly not ashamed of her body, and did not feel paticularly uncomfortable with Sergei seeing it. But still she turned her back to him, and waited his answer.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It was not the nudity that caused Sergei to avert his eyes. He now knew all too well the vanity of the Lasombra, how conscious they were of their physical appearance. Instead of searching awkwardly for a place to settle his eyes, he paced to the table on which his briefcase was sat and began to leaf through some papers inside.

“Unsettled,” he replied, his back turned. “Apparently there are reports of Nosferatu scouts coming far too close to discovering the haven. I expect it's difficult to find a place to hide in a city so rampant with Camarilla. Scattering the drained kine seems to be having the desired effect, however. That will be keeping some of them busy, at least.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The ghouls draped a silk robe around her shoulders, and the Archbishop belted it as she turned and sat down. The kine carefully pulled a comb through her hair, loosening the tangles that had formed during the day.

"There will be a shortage of places to hide in a city such as this one. Even if we could procure another Haven amongst the Independents there is a high probability that someone would run straight to the Prince and inform him."

She thought in silence for a few moments, then added, "I will send Uri and Sheila to scout for possible locations, along with a representative from each of the other packs. Traveling in the Shadows they should not have any trouble with the Camarilla, Nosferatu or no." She smiled as another thought occurred to her.

"Tonight the rest of us will hunt. Ivan will have to remain here, as he could be followed, but I think taking to the streets and scaring the mortals will accomplish much to through the Prince off our scent. He will be too busy trying to weave his precious Veil."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The plan was somewhat primitive, Sergei thought, but all great wars had to start somehow. Idly, he leafed through the pages of a red, leather-bound book. “It won't take long for them to catch wind of what we're doing,” he said quietly. “Is it really worth the risk?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"It seems a desperate act, and the Camarilla will interpet it as such. We will openly hunt tonight, and then in a few days we will do it again. By then we will have a new Haven, a back-up for when this one fails." The ghoul doing her hair carefully pulled it into a ponytail, securing it and then stepping back. The second ghoul came forward to dress her.

Standing up she disrobed again, clothing herself in jeans and a black AC/DC t-shirt. "When they discover this place they will see how many we number. I will leave only a few Keepers here, enough for them to think they have found only one pack. And while they are distracted and laughing at us, the Primogen will be dying."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

A small smile turned the corners of the warlock's lips. Sergei set the book he held back inside his briefcase and fastened the locks shut. If they were to be hunting mortals, he would need nothing of its contents. He turned back to the Archbishop, who was newly outfitted to blend in with the London night-life. “Ready to paint the town red?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She looped a belt around her waist and sat down to pull on a pair of slim black boots. "Let's go." Katarina smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It has been too long since I danced."

The Cainites split up and left the haven - some staying behind to guard it, others going out to locate a new base of operations. One with a better location and less dirt. Katarina, Sergei, and Fyodor Karpushka their Noddite priest headed towards one of the more popular clubs. Montague was visiting an upscale neighborhood where a visible death would cause the loudest uproar, and two other small groups of Keepers were heading to other locations around the city.

Fyodor scrubbed his hands through his closely clipped white blond hair, sharp black eyes taking in everything though he said little. He had as little regard as Katarina for the traditional Sabbat beliefs, though the rituals were always performed with precision. He looked a little uncomfortable his modern clothes, but his skills with Dominate would probably come in handy tonight.

He tugged at the dark green t-shirt that clung to his body, and fiddled with his belt. "Mortals wear such constricting clothing."

Katarina slapped him on the rear. "One cannot wear robes all the time, Fyodor. Isn't that right, Segei?" She looked over her shoulder at the Tremere with a wink.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Indeed.”

The trio had descended upon London's Soho District, Dean Street to be precise, to the infamous Batcave. Fortunately for Fyodor, blending in with the so-called 'Batcavers' wasn't likely to be an issue, as the club was a haven for misfits and oddities alike. No one style of dress pervaded, but rather patrons dressed as they pleased – some in typical goth fashion, others in sharply-cut suits, some even in the rags and studs of the bygone punk era.

Though the club was already packed, and the entry line vast, the power of Fyodor's blood alone was enough to secure their entrance. Once inside they appeared no different from the scores of dancers and drinkers around them, and were even over-shadowed by some of the more flamboyant club-goers. Sergei smirked as he watched a pair decked in crushed velvet and ruffles drift by, their faces powdered white as death, their nails filed to points.

“I'm sure I'm not the only one,” he muttered to Katarina, “that see's the irony here.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The kine around them were oblivious to the Cainites in their midst, bodies crushed together and gyrating to the beat of the music that drowned out everything else. Katarina hooked her fingers through her belt loops, "It brings to mind the saying, 'be careful what you wish for.'" She turned to Fyodor, "We start at midnight."

The blonde Keeper nodded, and followed a tray of drinks to the bar. Katarina lost sight of him quickly, but she hooked her arm through Sergei's and led him out onto the dance floor. She loved to dance, though what was considered 'dancing' these days was vastly different to the courtly dances she'd been taught as a child. Still, she'd made a point to keep up on things of that nature, and did not worry that they would stand out.

Well, they would stand out. Dancers moved aside as they walked among them without knowing why they did, and the Archbishop put her arms around Sergei's neck as the music changed and the beat slowed. "I wonder who will see us here tonight..." She spoke directly into his ear so he could hear her over the noise of the club.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Unlike his Archbishop, Sergei could not dance. His youth had not permitted him the chance to learn and certainly he had no inclination to pick up the skill since his embrace. Fortunately it was not often required of him to dance, and times like these his ineptitude was not too obvious, thanks to the dark dance floor and throng of bodies around him. He followed Katarina's lead as best he could, glancing here and there at the crowd around them, entranced by the music.

“Very few, I expect,” he murmured in reply, still smirking. “They seem completely enraptured by themselves... so self-centred.”