Let's Play VtM: Wild Nights - Chapter 10

Click here and disable ads!

B - C

(Storyfag - London's previous Prince was assassinated during the Gehenna panics, the so-called 'Final Nights'. Hence Kirkbeck's rise to power as a figure who could satisfy most of the vying Camarilla parties. Whether or not he's as impotent as he appears remains to be seen, of course...Basically, I wanted to start afresh for this 'version of events'.)

BB has it.

Chapter 2 - A Body In The Water

The Kine crouches in the corner of the bathroom. His jowly, alcohol-rimmed face quakes and spams, his eyes fixed on the floor, his body wrapped in an absurd flowery-yellow dressing-gown. He does not speak.

You step gently over the puddle of bathwater and gaze curiously down at the broken little body in the red-spotted dress. Bobbing up and down in the half-filled, soapy bath.

“I couldn’t stop myself.”

His voice is a croak of pure self-loathing. Self-loathing…but perhaps, even now, you detect a touch of satisfaction. Relief that a long-enduring hunger has been satisfied.

Gently, with the tip of your cane, you peel back the girl’s hair. A purple choker of bruises surrounds her throat.

“I’d waited so long...I, I fucking knew I mustn’t…her little bangle. Oh, God, the little bangle she wore…”

“If you want my help,” you say, calmly, gazing up at the dripping patch on the fleur-de-lils tiling on the wall, where a soapy hand has apparently clawed up and out, “you’ll have to stop that sort of talk.”

He spasms, frantic, driving his fists against his forehead, letting out a high-pitched keening sound.

You crouch down to him. He raises his head, slowly, to meet your gaze. His eyes are glassy and sleepless. A child, you think. A creature with no idea of how to control its own darkness, how to manipulate it…

“When was the last time anyone else saw the girl?” you ask. “Focus, please. Stop crying. Look at me. When was the last time anyone else saw your daughter?”

His eyes, wide and pink-veined, wilt beneath the sternness of your frown. His mind quails for a moment, protesting, and then it’s yours.

“The nanny,” he says. “Uh…Maria...Maria Ostanova, I think. East European. Russian? I don’t know. She’d have been here most of the day. My wife’s in Naples for the week, and I…I…”

“Does the nanny have a husband? A boyfriend?” you ask.

“What? I…I have no idea. Once…wait, once there was a man she brought back. Yes, yes – Lucy got on with him. He rode her on his shoulders."

“Then it’s very simple,” you tell him. “You came back tonight after work - early - late?"

"It...uh...well, late. Late. Nine. I'd been at party HQ, you see - and when I got back, Lucy said she wanted a bath, and when I saw her..."

You halt him with a quiet wave of your hand.

"Fine," you say. "I don't want to hear it. You returned home from work late, and being a stressed and - let's face it - self-absorbed man, you started watching the television, assuming that your daughter had been put to bed. You continued making business-related phone calls very late into the night, and now you'll go to bed. In the morning, you will awake and, like the good father that you are, you'll go into Lucy's room to get her ready for school. You will find her missing. You will be distraught. You will first attempt to call Maria, then the police. You will be utterly devastated, some time later, when the police break into Maria's dwelling-place to find Lucy's body hidden there. Maria will confess that she let her boyfriend murder your little girl in a horrific fit of sexual violence. He, too, will break down under questioning. There will undoubtedly be suspicion placed upon you as well, but so long as this apartment is clean - and habeas corpus, of course, will do wonders - and as long as nobody heard you wailing like a chimpanzee through the walls, the murderers will plead guilty and the doctors won't trouble to examine too closely the exact shape of the bruises on Lucy's neck. But whatever happens - look at me - even if you're arrested, even if you're condemned, you never spoke to me, and you never spoke to Humphrey. I'll need to take away your phone. Don't worry - you'll get an identical replacement."

He gapes.

"N-no," he says, "b-but I was the one who..."

You focus, applying the entire force of your will; his mind struggles for a second, and then gives in entirely. A shame, you think, to be so heavy-handed, but some people are simply too weak to maintain a lie of their own accord.

"You love your daughter," you tell him, firmly, and he nods, helpless to resist. "You love her wholeheartedly and healthily, as a father, and you'd never do anything to hurt her. She's in bed, and you're going to go to bed now too. You'll wake up at seven, and you'll make her breakfast in bed. You'll come into her room with the breakfast tray to wake her up. Won't that be a lovely surprise?"

"Yes," he says, and a look of pure, innocent pleasure spreads across his face. "Yes, that'll be nice for her. I've been too busy recently."

Rummaging in your pocket for your notebook, you write out the number of the Cathayan cargo container and tell him to see what information the office has on it, when he gets a chance, before helping him to his feet. He gives his water-stained dressing-gown a slightly odd look, and then wanders off absent-mindedly across the landing.

You spare a single glance in the direction of the little corpse, bobbing in the bubbles, and then call up Fellowes about having it removed to the nanny's house and hidden there. The domination, you decide, you'll leave to a young Ventrue fellow who's been trying to impress you for some time. It will be an interesting test of character.

*

The swans bark and cackle, flapping their ghostly wings, in the lake in St. James' Park. With a careful, insouciant ease, you vault the nearest fence and saunter across the darkened grass.

As you reach the path, figures step out from behind the elms. Not getting too close. Simply making their presence felt.

Someone snatches hold of your arm. In your ear, Erika Schiller whispers,

"You're fucking late, man-pig."

Delicately, you extricate yourself, and turn to gaze into a face that might once have been pretty were it not for the four parallel scars running from the jagged chin to the high, pale forehead, and the fogged white eye flickering beneath tortured lids. A neat grey bun and a long, weathered leather jacket and a gaze of utmost contempt.

"Evening, Sheriff," you respond, cheerfully.

The Sheriff glares at you.

"Have an excuse, do you?" she asks. "Or do you think the Prince's summons is just a fucking invitation to stroll in when you please?"

"I didn't get a summons from the Prince," you snap back, holding her stare. "I got a summons from that fool du Marchais. On a letter with a Penny Black stamp."

You've often wondered whether or not Schiller's loathing for du Marchais is greater than her intense dislike for you - and the faintest edge of a smile, distorting the largest of her scars, seems to give you an answer.

"Go on, then," she says, jerking her head irritably towards the centre of the park. "They've been scheming for the past hour. Probably talking about you, you know."

You turn disdainfully away from her, and stride on. As you approach, the two shapes standing alone out on the grass become distinct; the small figure of the Prince, wrapped up tightly in coat and scarf - looking, as ever, you think, with a slight sneer, more like a kine history professor with his lined face and small, trimmed beard, and the beefy, blonde-haired du Marchais, in dusty, out-dated clothes that might have been fashionable sixty years ago. Du Marchais, you cannot help but notice, is whispering something close to Kirkbeck's ear, but breaks off as he notices you. Damnation. Has he been using the time to butter up the old man against you?

As you open your mouth, Kirkbeck raises his head to acknowledge you. He looks weary.

"I have no desire," he says, in his familiar, monotone Scottish brogue, "to hear your excuses. You have cost me time and you have shown me disregard. I will now explain the matter to you as quickly as possible, and you will damn well listen to me. Esteban already understands the details, so perhaps the two of you will be glad to work on this together."

He takes a breath.

"Terence Rannigan was kidnapped on the street last night. We have every reason to suspect he is dead."

You have to try hard to maintain your poker face. Terence Rannigan. Baron of Wimbledon. One of Kirkbeck's last remaining allies in the low urban sprawl of the far south, overrun with Anarch communities and hives of Sabbat thugs. How is it that nobody's told you about this?

"Kidnapped," du Marchais says, loudly, "on Whitehall. A black Land Rover snatched him up. Two of the Prince's men saw it. But now nobody knows where he's been taken, and nobody's saying who might have been responsible. Anything to say for yourself?"

"I had thought," you respond, giving him a sweet smile, "that Whitehall was your domain, Baron."

He gives you a stare of utter hatred.

"Perhaps," he snaps, "I would have more effective control over my domain, were I not hounded by you at every turn, lied to by your puppets and partners-in-crime, thwarted by your insolence-"

"Enough," the Prince says, quietly. Du Marchais, with a little bow of acknowledgement, falls silent.

Kirkbeck turns. Beyond the treeline, the golden lights of the Palace burn.

"I sometimes wish," he murmurs, with a little sadness, "that I could get inside. Find the Monitors. Ask them what secrets their eyes have seen."

He scratches thoughtfully at the top of his balding pate.

"The primogen," he says, "will have to be told. I want this investigated. Rannigan was taken on your territory - no, I don't care which of you claims to be the true leader of your pathetic kine-ridden strip of land. You will report to Schiller when you have news. If Terence is alive, I want him found. If he's dead, I want the corpse retrieved. And should the Sabbat turn out to be responsible...well...a show of strength will be required. The Camarilla in this damned city will have to show unity for once. Start tomorrow night...it'll be dawn before long.

You nod. Kirkbeck glances at you, then across to du Marchais.

"The two of you want Whitehall for yourselves?" he says. "Then find Terence Rannigan."

The implications of this statement are left hanging in the air.

"And Esteban," Kirkbeck adds, turning to go, "remember what we spoke about, please. I'll be in touch."

The short figure shuffles away across the grass, and into darkness.

*

Du Marchais catches up with you at the edge of the park. His sullen face arranges itself into a welcoming smile.

"Listen," he says, "listen, I know what Kirkbeck said. But if we don't find Rannigan, we'll both be in for it."

"Perhaps," you murmur, with a little shrug, not giving anything away. 'In for it'? Does he really think you'd be held responsible?

"The point is," du Marchais continues, "we should help each other. I have information, I share it with you. You have information, you share it with me. Yes? Why don't you come over to my suite tomorrow night and, ah, we'll discuss our plan of attack?"

He pats you, in a manner which is presumably supposed to be amicable rather than condescending, on the arm.

"We've always had our differences," he adds, "but I do admire what you've done. Your work with the kine, the political kine...ingenious. Simply ingenious. Anyway...keep in touch, yes?"

"I don't suppose you know," you ask, "what Rannigan was doing in Whitehall last night?"

He meets your eye, a little too forcefully.

"No," he says. "No, I'm afraid I don't have a clue. I thought maybe you would. What a mess, eh?"

He gives you a quick nod - which appears to you almost worried - and scurries away, back into the depths of the park.

Hopping back over the fence, you take your cane back into your hand and stroll unhurriedly back down the pavement, considering your next move.

A) A word with these two men who saw Rannigan's kidnap is in order. I should track down the Sheriff and ask her to introduce them.

B) What's really required here is a subtle method of framing du Marchais as a suspect in the kidnapping. (Perhaps if I asked Oscar to help me track down the Land Rover? Or found someone in du Marchais' employ who'd be willing to lie?)

C) I'll visit du Marchais. Perhaps it's a trap, or perhaps he's simply deluded enough to think he can trick me into feeding him my information. Either way, with a little guile (and perhaps use of one of my contacts), I should be able to come out with the upper hand.

D) A damn good tracker is required - to find a single vampire in an enormous city. Perhaps a visit to the Gangrel in Hampstead Heath? Or a gifted Malkavian...if I feel I can decipher their ramblings.

E) Word on the street is important here. Karthik may know more about why Rannigan would have gone to Whitehall - or who he was seeing there.

F) Such trivial matters are below me. I think I'll delegate to Fellowes, and concentrate on the Cathayans. That might be a feather in my cap with the Prince - enough to make him forget about failure with Rannigan.

G) Perhaps it would be wise to try and investigate whether or not the Sabbat is responsible. Is there some way I can make use of the traitor Wilkinson?

First hand accounts would help. There's no reason to share the credit.

A.

E.

H) A mix of several of the above. That would include:

- Oscar is availible by phone, so we should call him and ask him to track the Land Rover. No need to pin it on du Marchais just yet, or at all. It may yield interesting information in and of itself. If it provides us with a way to frame du Marchais anyway, we can entertain the idea then.

- Fellowes is also availible by phone, so we might ask him to perform another task. Which task shall it be depends largely on how much can we trust him. The problem is, he seems to be only good for violent stuff, and none of the options requires any, for now. Maybe he could be our envoy to our potential Gangrel/Malkavian tracker? Or maybe to Karthik?

- Personally we should follow A) and question the men who saw Rannigan kidnapped. But that does not mean neglecting phonecalls!

- If possible, maybe we could consult du Marchais by phone? Or is such technology too much for him? Anyway, the intent would be to scam him for info without divulging too much of our own info.

I like Storyfag's suggestion, multitasking is the modern way of doing things.

This seems like a good compromise. Voting for this.

Du Marchais is acting highly suspiciously and his invitation might well be a trap. Framing him would be amusing, but it could backfire and it would leave us in the dark as to what's going on. (Of course, he might actually be guilty, but we shouldn't rely on that.)

I doubt that the men who saw the kidnapping will have much useful information. At best, they'll offer some clues as to what Rannigan was doing there. At worst, they took part in the kidnapping and will only lie to us.

Even a good tracker would have a hard time finding one man in London (and, let's face it, we're probably not going to understand what a Malkavian might tell us). Using Wilkinson is tempting, but we'd be wasting our time if the Sabbat isn't responsible. Oscar might be useful, but we should perhaps not use him unless we have to. Delegating doesn't seem sensible.

I'm voting E. Karthik might give us some useful tips that will tell us what, who and where we should investigate.

Frame Du Marchaisk in such a way that Kirkbec position gets weakened , let him realize that he does need our help, not the other way around, just verify if Sabbat is involved trough Wilkinson, just to know if we are against a bunch of psychos or something more dangerous.

I like storyfags' suggestion but I think we should go see Du Marchais in person. There are niceties to be observed, even if he is a pillock.

A
i like the sheriff


Could you also add more about how we look? And maybe an addendum with names and such. I am getting lost already.
I would like to add that this is my favorite LP on the Dex as of right now right after the Battles of the Buldge LP.

Good thinking; I'll add a dramatis personae when I get a chance. And thanks!

As to your Ventrue's appearance, I had this in mind-

A proper young gentleman, you’d say, upon looking at him. Slightly old-fashioned, perhaps, even conceited, in the conservative cut of his blonde hair and his quietly courtly language and bearing. Wearing a dark suit that’s expensive without being flashy, and, upon occasion, carrying a silver-tipped cane that might seem an eccentric, even absurd quirk in someone with less natural presence.

But if you looked a little closer, you might begin to notice the coldness of his sardonic smile; the callousness lingering beneath those blue eyes. And the way his fingers constantly tapped at the pommel of his cane...

This is cool man, I really hope you'll be doing this for a long while. I don't keep up with these story LPs usually, but this one I will because I am definitively a Masquerade fag. I used to play games back then, good times, I love this setting. Plus I like your writing so far.

I don't know how these LPs usually work, but I find the H) option to be superfluous. You shouldn't give players the ability to make their own options, or this will get out of control, in my opinion. Unless this is particular to this phase of the story ; but I feel we'd try to make the best of all options, which removes the pressure of making a choice that excludes the others, which is the point in the first place in my opinion.

So with that in mind, I'm voting for B. If we're going asshole, might as well go full asshole. We need to think ahead and be aggressive bros - take down this sucker, he can be an obstacle in the long run. This is all about climbing the asshole ladder

E) Two random witnesses may not help much. Trying to frame anyone and make declared enemies so soon, with so little information, is as unwise as

Looks nice ! Well, not really nice, but she looks good. Hopefully, we won't make her kill us.

I agree with Cass about the whole 'let's fuck 'em all up' angle. we are ventrue. we play a gentleman's game, and we're not a lacroix wannabe, I hope.

also, I also also agree with serious bidness: the 'other' choice, interesting as though it may be, just makes the whole concept of choices kinda moot. it would be more interesting if each choice came attached to say, A) do something X by yourself or A2) do you use contact Y? instead of leaving it all in the open.

besides, open choices are a pain in the ass to write (...:/) and you'll have lots more readers in this LP than in the lovecraft one, so i'd avise you caution with those.

I'll echo the thought that H seems to somewhat defeat the purpose. Although, it does open the opportunity for something valid that might have been overlooked, and an eclectic approach does hold the risk of spreading yourself too thin, which could be interesting. But that isn't always applicable. Just thoughts.

Anyway, E. It seems like a solid approach at this stage.

How do you plan phonecalls to work, grotsnik, bro?

I will vote E, I like the Karthik option as well. However, since you said we'll be able to make phonecalls at any time-

I suggest doing as storyfag did. Phonecall to track the rover, ignore Fellowes. Proceed with option E.

Also, I want to meet this Ravnos fucker, doesn't everyone else? Let's meet this Ravnos. FUCK BROS RAVBRO

edit- if we can't have a collar grabbing Brujah, then I think our ventrue needs to be a true bro in other ways. Karthik sounds like a true bro. BROS DO IT FOR YOUR BRO OR I WILL GOUGE YOUR EYE SOCKETS

p. sure a ventrue that has enough clout to let the prince waiting is capable of intimidating any other vampire by more subtle means than cape-grabbing

BEwaRE The hIDDen eNEMY, for THEY THE oNe sTRIke FIrst.
bEWARe THE pEBBLe UNderfoot, FOR UNSEEn sTuMBLe AT cRItICAL MoMENT.
dO NOT LET...

that said, do not let events happened in your domain without your knowing. All options lead to ignoring this threat are eliminated. This could may lead to one strong and upcoming faction.

Contact with Sheriff to forge connections, and get 1st hand vampiric senses 's impression of the event. We know nothing at this moment.

Mind you, a phone call to that crazy nosferatu Oscar to see what he can find on street camera: car's plate, faces, that sort of thing. If it's convenient.

grotsnik my dear bro, I shant be nitpicky, don't let me tell you how to run your show. But I think there may be too many options all at once in a post such as this.

Also, if it's possible to make phonecalls each round, perhaps you could have 2 votes per post?

a,b,c: vote on who we can call for info (only one call per round / turn possibly?)
1.2.3: vote on chosen course of actions in response to previous round.

It may also be useful to only have 2-3 options per round so that voting does not become so diffuse. I had this problem in my /gd/ forum roleplay, people will not go where you want them to go and too much choice makes the choosing difficult (all the options you offer are useful, but not all seem to be immediate courses of action).

Framing Esteban for example is a long-term plan, whereas contacting the Ravnos or the Sheriff are immediate courses of action. Framing Esteban is a long-term narrative decision, which is yours to make, whereas if we are voting on the immediates you can then direct us through unfolding narrative towards the idea of framing Esteban to be a desireable long-term outcome, or something entirely different.

edit- infact, the way you did last decision was perfect, so we could vote b/b. what the fuck am i saying.

Motherfucking excellence. Bravo!

The sage advice of SB, root, Rod and yuri is heeded. H was a bit unnecessary. No more H. H is gone from all of our lives.

In terms of options, yuri, yeah, you're totally right, there were too many there, in retrospect, and the du Marchais one was out of plac - but I am planning it that the particular physical action you take in this choice will...well, shit will happen as a result. Meaning there'll probably be a few less possibilities in future choices. But again, wise input of you guys = awesome unt incredibly helpful.

Phone calls I intended as a 'free' action within certain limitations...basically, I did consider having a cap on them, but it seemed much more devious and fun just to have those natural constraints in place. If you trust too much to your juniors (as storyfag has done? Maybe. Maybe not) there's a higher chance of one of them getting something wrong, the incompetent bunglers. If you call up X for help every 5 minutes, he may consider you weak and act accordingly. Keep pestering Y on his day off and he might just be so pissed off that he ignores your call when there's sixteen angry Sabbat members with shotguns cornering you in a cupboard and you need to call in the cavalry. So don't worry...spamming that mobile will come back to haunt you in the end.