-- Phil Ochs - I Ain't Marching Anymore for i stole california from the mexican land fought in the bloody civil war yes, i even killed my brothers and so many others but i ain't marching anymore
for i marched in the battles of the german trench in a war that was bound to end all wars oh, i must have killed a thousand men and now they want me back again but i ain't marching anymore
it's always the old to lead us to the wars always the young to fall now look at all we've won with the saber and the gun tell me, is it worth it all?
-- Judy Collins - Thirsty Boots then tell me of the ones you've seen as far as you could see across the plain from field to town, a-marching to be free and of the rusted prison gates that turmble by degree like laughin' children one by one they look like you and me
so take off your thirsty boots and stay for a while your feet are hot and weary from a dusty mile and maybe i can make you laugh and maybe i can try lookin' for the evenin' and the mornin' in your eyes
-- Peter, Paul, and Mary - If I Had A Hammer if i had a song i'd sing it in the morning i'd sing it in the evening all over this land i'd sing out danger i'd sing out a warning i'd sing out love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land
well i've got a hammer and i've got a bell and i've got a song to sing all over this land it's the hammer of justice it's the bell of freedom it's a song about love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land
-- The Back Porch Majority - That's the Way It's Gonna Be even though you say hard times knock at my door, though you say i'll never smile anymore i just imagine that i'm ten feet tall then if i try i can climb the highest wall it doesn't matter if i slip down and fall that's the way it's gonna be wait and see just you wait and see
even though you say i've reached the end of my row though you say my times are all running low it's been so long since i tried to frown that old man trouble will never get me down it's all that easy when you know where you're bound that's the way it's gonna be wait and see
-- Hozier - To Noise Making (Sing) you don't have to sing it right but who could call you wrong? to put your emptiness to melody your awful heart to song you don't have to sing it nice, but honey sing it strong at best, you'll find a little remedy at worst, the world will sing along so honey, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing sing
who could ask you be unbroken or be brave again? or, honey, hope even on this side of the grave again and who could ask you to be sound or to feel sane again? but stick around until you hear that music play again
-- The Ballroom Thieves - Can't Cheat Death ooh-ooh-ooh.. i spilled blood in the water then let the storm roll in i put my hands in the fire watched my welcome wear thin salt in my wounds and spit in my eye i burned the path you walk on and i let none survive
we are painted with the fear that if the sea recedes it never comes back but there are two things i know for sure
i will be free and you can't cheat death
-- Look Homeward - Sister Death well death is not an actor we're all watching up on a stage she is more like a sister we grow closer to with age
so lay me down before my time on the hard and dusty earth so i can feel where i come from and to where i will return
-- Joy Williams - Canary there's a madness in the cavern a darkness that can blind and when it's every man for himself no one's getting out alive
but i will not shut my eyes oh i will not fall silent canary in the mine i will, ooh honey i will, i will
sing sing
-- Hozier - Someone New there's an art to life's distraction to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else; i guess any thrill will do
would things be easier if there was a right way? honey, there is no right way
and so i fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit every day with someone new
love with every stranger, the stranger the better
-- The Roches - Pretty and High the prince was confused so he asked the magician the magician arrived at the answer profound if she takes off her dress the sky will fall down cause she's pretty and high and a lie pretty and high and a lie
i work at the circus and i sleep with the clown when i took off my dress the sky fell down if the sky falls down we'll play on the ground cause i'm pretty and high and only partly a lie pretty and high and only partly a lie
-- Mimi and Richard Farina - The Falcon go build you a log cabin on a mountain so high and hear the feathered war-bird's yell as she goes screaming by she'll tease you she'll please you she'll satisfy your needs but someday she might turn around and bite the hand that feeds
your hours might be numbered your end might come someday go break her chain and free her brain and send her on her way and the falcon is a pretty bird wonders as she flies she asks us easy questions we tell her easy lies
-- Ben Howard - In Dreams always a riddle in the world she said always a riddle inside my head always a thing to wonder the way we come to be oh, it's a big old place for me, yeah it's a big old world indeed kicking my heels and wondering how i've been here so long
oh, in dreams i have watched it spin seen a violent crack of atoms where all light comes in oh, in dreams i saw aesop's kin just the carcass of a man now alone inside his skin
-- Joseph - Burn the White Flag noises closing in from all sides warning all the ways to die they say "you'd better give up you'd better give up" i say "i'll never give up, i'll never give up"
i'll be an army, no you're not gonna stop me gettin' through, ooh i'll sing a marching song and stomp through the halls louder than you, ooh i could surrender but i'd just be pretending, no i'd rather be dead than live a lie burn the white flag
-- Sara Watkins - I'm A Memory i'm a game you used to play i'm a plan that you delayed so well i'm the fire that burns in your mind
i'm a love you lost for a song i'm a voice on a green telephone i'm a day that lasted so long
i'm a dream that comes in the night i'm a face that fades with the light i'm a tear that falls out of sight
close your eyes i'm a memory
-- The Crane Wives - Tongues & Teeth abandon all your stupid dreams about the girl i could have been, my dear 'cause in the night i know you burn with feelings i cannot return, my dear oh, my dear
you gotta know that this won't last desperation will erase the fact i'm keeping all of the answers in my cigarette box yeah, the answer's in the second before the other shoe drops and if you're blind to that i am fine with that
oh, i will ruin you oh, i will ruin you it's a habit, i can't help it i know that you mean so well but i am not a vessel for your good intent
-- The Staves - Teeth White i don't know what to expect i feel a disconnect and in all my years i've never felt so young i'm not gonna break my back work until my bones crack if i'm the only one not having fun
i got my hair long and it's still wrong and i wanna know when i can stop taking it slow 'cause i've had enough
stop asking me why i won't take the things you give me i'm not gonna smile when you shake my hand and tell me you're not happy with me
Vampire: The Masquerade is the original roleplaying game of personal and political horror. You are a vampire, struggling for survival, supremacy, and your own fading humanity - afraid of what you are capable of, and fearful of the inhuman conspiracies that surround you.
I'll be frank and say that a lot of liberties get taken with the source material because my familiarity with the game is from the revised edition published back in '98, and let's face it--a lot of the material has about as much good taste as hot dog water laced with radioactive dirt. Most of these liberties are directly related to fixing some broken functionality/play-ability (especially regarding cross-property WoD interactions and more general cross-canon stuff) and trying to make it less of a bummer to engage with in general. Mostly writing out the following for friends so y'all don't have to suffer through the wiki pages.
Some basic vocab:
Kindred } What vampires call themselves and each other.
Kine } What they call humans.
Ghoul } A human that has ingested a vampire's blood. Doing so a certain number of times will both bond them to the vampire emotionally, making it difficult to resist orders and requests, as well as granting them some amount of power as well as incredible longevity if they continue to drink vampire blood at regular intervals.
The Masquerade } How vampires live in secret. It's considered to be a law in the Camarilla (see Sects) and is generally respected by all Kindred. Lots of faking humanity, taking great pains to not be found out, and not fucking around with the Second Inquisition (that one does what it says on the tin).
The Kiss } A very romantic way to speak about feeding from humans. A very pleasurable experience. See here for permissions info.
The Beast } The personification of hunger and loss of humanity within a vampire. Might also be a demon thing, depends on who you ask.
Frenzy } When a vampire loses control over their beast. It gets gnarly, and violent.
The Embrace } The act of creating another vampire. The human must be drained of blood and given vampire blood immediately.
Sire } The vampire that made you.
Childe/Childer } The vampires a sire has Embraced.
Clan } Vampires exist with distinct 'families' of blood that can be traced back to the original vampire, Caine (or Set, depending on who you ask). Each clan has its own powers and weaknesses, and vampires are generally very loyal to their clans.
Sect } How vampires ally and organize themselves politically.
-The Camarilla- Arguably the most organized and powerful sect in kindred society. They maintain the status quo among kindred for both protection and power. -The Sabbat- Loosely organized, typically painted as the bad sect because some of them have dark rituals about baby eating. -The Anarchs- Kindred that would rather overthrow the status quo. Poorly organized, but growing in number in North America. -The Independents- Those from clans that are not officially tied to any sect and who do not join up.
Prince } The Camarilla ruler of a city or general urban area.
Court } The group of high-ranking Camarilla vampires in a city (including the Prince, Primogen, Seneschal, Scourge, Sherrif, Harpy, Keeper of Elysium, and more bc why not I guess--not every court has every position filled) as well as the other vampires that rub elbows with them.
Elysium } Vampire neutral ground in the Camarilla. There is no fighting allowed, nor is there any breaking of the Masquerade if humans are present. Typically also where one would seek an audience with that area's Prince or other court members.
Notable clans Birdie might mention:
Daughters of Cacophony } Sirens- Birdie's bloodline, known for their singing. Their origin is a mystery even to them, though there are a lot of rumors.
Toreador } Roses- The classic tortured artists/art aficionados. Great at seduction and influence but very easily 'distracted' by the things they find beautiful.
Followers of Set } Corrupters- Religious (in a sense) clan that believes kindred are descended from the Egyptian god Set instead of Caine. They accept converts and have snake powers.
Ventrue } Blue Bloods- The most painfully organized clan, and they value power and dignitas. Typically found in very advantageous political and corporate positions. Good at control, very picky eaters.
Nosferatu } Clan of the Hidden- When Embraced, they get permanent deformities that mark them as being vampires and have to spend their nights in hiding. The best information network any kindred can rely on, for a price.
Malkavian } Lunatics- (Problematic, I know.) They are all connected with a magical mind network that can provide insight, mostly written off as crazy among other kindred.
Brujah } Agitators- You ever see somebody that's fight on sight with almost everyone? They can be philosopher warriors, too. Most prone to frenzy but real good at fighting stuff.
Gangrel } Clan of the Beast- Animal powers. Sometimes animal features, when they frenzy.
Lasombra } Shadows- Previously leaders in the Sabbat, they've got shadow powers and cannot cast reflections.
Tremere } Warlocks- Relatively self-isolating and powerful, if newish. They do blood magics.
Note: Working off this as a 'true' origin of the bloodline in play, though Birdie is unaware of it. Others with occult knowledge are welcome to have heard of this as a rumor or know it to be true through connections mentioned below.
The most common assumption about the Daughters of Cacophony (and their brothers, the Sons of Discord) is that their bloodline springs from the Toreador or Malkavian, with no one taking responsibility for them. Rumors spread that their origin is a Toreador Methuselah that was taken by the fae, a product of Malkavian experiments, the victim of being sired by mixed blood or a Tremere curse -- even that they might be bred by clans in the Sabbat to be sent to drive the Camarilla mad.
Rumors work well enough. Mystery lends itself to greater art, after all.
---
In the time just after the Camarilla founded, there was a mistake made in Florence.
A Ventrue named Sidonia and a Toreador named Edelinne were rivals in the way many genteel Kindred in the new Camarilla courts tended to be. It was something that came very close to affection, but was more often shown through squabbles over domain and disagreements about art.
In time, they came to agree one one thing: an artist named Donato. A composer of what would become operas, a favored member of the mortal Florentine Camerata. He wielded great power over the very shape of art in the city even as he created his own. There was great potential in him, if someone from the right clan were to Embrace him.
And so, the greater disagreement began. Edelinne's arguments were obvious, openly stated in every needling encounter with her rival. Sidonia, however, would be breaking with tradition. There was reasoning, of course, that art creates a legacy, earns dignitas more lasting than a city or a war, the opportunity to achieve another immortality in word and song instead of brick and gold, to be an architect of thought.
Mostly, Sidonia wanted to frustrate her ever-present 'friend' in a way that would last.
Donato was taken in the night and hidden by Sidonia in her haven for the time it took to train him and bring him up before presenting him to the clan. She had not consulted any but her own sire before taking on this new childe, too sure of her reasoning and too blinded by revenge to worry about how Donato would prove himself worthy of his lineage. This first part, to Sidonia, went perfectly. He was a quick learner, excited by the prospect of a new unlife unfolded before him, the time to write and prove himself to a more elite class of beings than his former peers of simple human nobility and merchant kings.
When presenting him to the Prince in Florence, Edelinne was incensed by the betrayal. To have lost out on a childe is one thing, but she had bragged to her fellows in her clan about the new blood she would bring in, about his prowess and his skill, only for him to be thrown in her face as one of the Ventrue brood. Publicly stolen from her and her blood, a greater insult than even Sidonia knew she was making.
Revenge was swift. Before Donato could even begin his next task of gaining dignitas and prove himself to his clan, Edelinne leveled a curse against him. If she couldn't have his genius and power for her clan, then neither could Sidonia, and she could suffer the shame of having a failed progeny. Donato was left disfigured, unable to do business or work with mortals (or even many Kindred) without causing dismay or potentially breaking the Masquerade.
The Ventrue clan, having rallied behind Sidonia in succor, provided a space for him to work unimpeded. It was still possible, they reasoned, that he could work in secret using ghouls as proxies to carry out his requests in more public arenas. They wouldn't hand out anything beyond the location, the privacy, and they would see what he could earn from there.
(It is said by some that he was counseled in secret by their Methuselah, Veddartha, and told ancient secrets about Gehenna, the Feast of Ages, and a coming nightmare.)
Edelinne, in turn, was run out of Florence and went to spend time in the Camarilla courts in France before, eventually, defecting to the Sabbat.
Donato, beneath an entertainment house in Florence, spent a hundred years there slowly going mad from music and isolation. As the building above became an opera house, he and his ghouls ensured it was reconstructed with avenues for him to move through unseen and his haven below was left undisturbed.
As the years went on, he took to 'teaching' the singers he felt had talent, if only to ensure any works produced above him were up to his own standards of quality.
One, in 1623, named Libra de Fabiani, he decided to sire -- a childe he could use to add to his legacy, is dignitas, who he could use to show his work, who he would blood bond to himself and use as needed. Donato took her from the shadowed hallways, and Embraced her in his haven down below, feeding her another singer he'd never been fond of.
It didn't take long for it to become apparent that her talents were not entirely his own. Maybe it was the curse Edelinne had afflicted him with, or maybe it was her own talent, but Libra was never bound to Donato as he'd planned. Instead, she was able to sing -- her words were convincing, her songs enchanting, and her instinct so acute and so immediate, the desire to survive and escape so clear, that it was barely a month before she sang her way out and above.
After this, not many know where she went. Some say that Veddartha, invested in this new bloodline and its potential in the coming final nights but uninterested in tying it closely back to his clan, shepherded her away to the British Isles, coached her on passing herself off as another clan to avoid questions or interrogation. Some say she wandered on her own, going mad from music only she could hear, Embracing those women whose imperfect mortal voices moved her.
None of them say so in mixed company. Even Libra's own Daughters know nothing of her troubled origin except what might be gleaned from a song she chooses to sing at just the right moment.
While others suspect Toreador and Malkavian, those who know any truth to the story are the Nosferatu that shared the haven space under the house in Florence, perhaps Donato and other Ventrue of the time who assisted in his edification, maybe even Veddartha.
Note: Again, not V:tM canon, but what are they gonna do? Call the TTRPG cops on me?
- basic disciplines are melpominee, presence, and fortitude, though many will also learn auspex at some point. - very few in number (only about 30 total in North America, roughly 100-200 worldwide mostly concentrated in Europe) - this includes the Sons of Discord (literally just what more masculine members of the bloodline call themselves don't make a big deal about it; there are also Children of Dissonance) - European Daughters do have a slightly more rigid clan structure given the higher concentration of them in that space and the higher number of Elders among them (Embraces require approval of another Daughter, they hold regular gatherings called Choruses, openly and solidly reject any alliances as a bloodline with any other clan or sect, Daughters are considered Novices, Intermediates, or Experts, and respect and train each other accordingly) - North American Daughters are largely divorced from this power structure, though they mimic it loosely (Daughters may still seek approval from their Sisters before an Embrace but it is not an offense if they don't, Choruses are held but not mandatory and not regularly, they still largely avoid enmeshment with local politics but will form alliances as individuals with clear ties to any sect being frowned upon, there are no titles to show their experience but they do defer to their elders in any capacity) - all members of the bloodline are incredibly selective about who they Embrace regardless, and it's seen as a sign of unrefined taste to take more than two Childer, which contributes to keeping their numbers so low - it is entirely possible that a group of them are responsible for the Beckoning at the direction of Veddartha for reasons unknown (fuckshit, fuckshit is the reasons) - Birdie is not the first Daughter to end up in a situation like she has going on in Denver, and the vulnerability of younger Daughters to this kind of thing is why they tend to stay in such close contact with their Sires even after starting off on their own - a Daughter that has become a Banshee is not necessarily devoid of humanity, but of willpower
MELPOMINEE---------------------------------------------- • The Missing Voice
The character can “throw” her voice anywhere within her line of sight. This enables the Daughter to carry on surreptitious conversations, sing duets with herself, or cause any number of distractions. This power can also be combined with other Melpominee powers to disguise their source (and some Daughters use it to conceal the fact that Melpominee powers do not function through recorded media).
System: This power functions automatically as long as the character wills it. However, using The Missing Voice while performing any action other than speech or singing incurs a penalty of two dice on that action due to the disruption of the character’s concentration.
•• Phantom Speaker
The Daughter can project her voice to any individual she has personally met. Distance is no object, but it must be night wherever the target presently is. The vampire can sing, talk, or otherwise project her voice in any way she sees fit (including other uses of Melpominee), but she cannot hear what she is saying, and therefore suffers a +1 difficulty to any rolls accompanying her utterance. For instance, the vampire could project her voice to an enemy in an attempt to intimidate him, but would suffer a +1 to the difficulty of the Charisma + Intimidation roll.
System: The player rolls Wits + Performance (difficulty 7) and spends a blood point. Each success allows one turn of speech; three or more successes allow speech for an entire scene.
••• Toreador's Bane
This power enables the vampire to entrance others with her voice. The effect duplicates the Toreador clan weakness, but can affect anyone. The target will sit still, in awe of the character's voice, until the character stops singing. Thus the effects can last seconds, minutes, hours or even the entire night.
System: The character makes a Charisma + Music roll (difficulty equals the target's Willpower [minus two for Toreador] and totals the successes, though one is enough to send the victim into this "trance." If the target wants to resist, she must make a Willpower roll (difficulty equals the number of accumulated successes.). If the target does not resist, than the trance will last until the character stops singing.
••• Madrigal
Music has the power to sway the listener, engendering specific emotions through artful lyrics, pounding crescendo, or haunting melody. The Daughters of Cacophony can tap into music’s power, forcing listeners to feel whatever they wish. The emotion becomes so powerful that the listener must act, though what a listener does isn’t something the Siren can directly control.
System: The player rolls Charisma + Performance (difficulty 7). Each success instills the chosen emotion in a fifth of the Kindred’s audience (more than five successes have no additional effect). The Storyteller decides precisely which members of the audience are affected.
Characters may resist this power for the duration of the scene with the expenditure of a Willpower point, but only if they have reason to believe that they are being controlled by outside individuals. The song the vampire sings must also reflect the emotion she wishes to engender — no one’s going to mob the concert security no matter how well she sings “High Hopes,” but they might if she performs “I Predict a Riot.”
Affected individuals should act in accordance with their Natures — enraged Conformists would join a riot but not start one, aroused Bravos may force their attentions on the object of their desire, and jealous Directors may send cronies after their rivals.
Multiple Daughters may use this Discipline in concert.
Those near the vampire suddenly desire to be closer to her and become receptive to her point of view. Awe is extremely useful for mass communication. It matters little what is said — the hearts of those affected lean toward the vampire’s opinion. The weak want to agree with her; even if the strong-willed resist, they soon find themselves outnumbered. Awe can turn a chancy deliberation into a certain resolution in the vampire’s favor almost before her opponents know that the tide has turned.
Despite the intensity of this attraction, those so smitten do not lose their sense of self-preservation. Danger breaks the spell of fascination, as does leaving the area. Those subject to Awe will remember how they felt in the vampire’s presence, however. This will influence their reactions should they ever encounter her again.
System: The player spends a blood point and rolls Charisma + Performance (difficulty 7). The number of successes rolled determines how many people are affected, as noted on the chart below. If there are more people present than the character can influence, Awe affects those with lower Willpower ratings first. The power stays in effect for the remainder of the scene or until the character chooses to drop it.
Successes Result
1 success One person 2 successes Two people 3 successes Six people 4 successes 20 people 5 successes Everyone in the vampire’s immediate vicinity (an entire auditorium, a mob)
Those affected can use Willpower points to overcome the effect, but must continue spending Willpower every scene for as long as they remain in the same area as the vampire. As soon as an individual spends a number of Willpower points equal to the successes rolled, he shakes off the Awe completely and remains unaffected for the rest of the night.
•• Dread Gaze
While all Kindred can frighten others by physically revealing their true vampiric natures — baring claws and fangs, glaring with malevolence, hissing loudly with malice — this power focuses these elements to insanely terrifying levels. Dread Gaze engenders unbearable terror in its victim, stupefying him into madness, immobility, or reckless flight. Even the most stalwart individual will fall back from the vampire’s horrific visage.
System: The player rolls Charisma + Intimidation (difficulty equal to the victim’s Wits + Courage). Success indicates the victim is cowed, while failure means the target is startled but not terrified by the sight. Three or more successes means he runs away in abject fear; victims who have nowhere to run claw at the walls, hoping to dig a way out rather than face the vampire.
Moreover, each success subtracts one from the target’s action dice pools next turn. The character may attempt Dread Gaze once per turn against a single target, though she may also perform it as an extended action, adding her successes in order to subjugate the target completely. Once the target loses enough dice that he cannot perform any action, he’s so shaken and terrified that he curls up on the ground and weeps. Failure during the extended action means the attempt falters. The character loses all her collected successes and can start over next turn, while the victim may act normally again.
A botch at any time indicates the target is not at all impressed — perhaps even finding the vampire’s antics comical — and remains immune to any further uses of Presence by the character for the rest of the story.
••• Entrancement
This power bends others’ emotions, making them the vampire’s willing servants. Due to what these individuals see as true and enduring devotion, they heed the vampire’s every desire. Since this is done willingly, instead of having their wills sapped, these servants retain their creativity and individuality.
While these obedient minions are more personable and spirited than the mind-slaves created by Dominate, they’re also somewhat unpredictable. Further, since Entrancement is of a temporary duration, dealing with a lapsed servant can be troublesome. A wise Kindred either disposes of those she Entrances after they serve their usefulness, or binds them more securely by a blood bond (made much easier by the minion’s willingness to serve).
System: The player spends a blood point and rolls Appearance + Empathy (difficulty equal to the target’s current Willpower points); the number of successes determines how long the subject is Entranced, as per the chart below. (Subjects can still spend Willpower to temporarily resist, like any other Presence power.) The Storyteller may wish to make the roll instead, since the character is never certain of the strength of her hold on the victim. The vampire may try to keep the subject under her thrall, but can do so only after the initial Entrancement wears off. Attempting this power while Entrancement is already in operation has no effect.
Successes Result
Botch Subject cannot be entranced for the rest of the story.
Failure Subject cannot be entranced for the rest of the night.
1 success One hour 2 successes One day 3 successes One week 4 successes One month 5 successes One year
There's also Fortitude, but that just means she's sturdy and can take more damage than average. All of the above will work in threads about as well as we want them to, and it's safe to assume a character from another canon might even be entirely immune to some or all of them for Reasons.
The first time Birdie goes through Denver, it seems nice. The Prince, in particular, seems nice. One night, early on in her stay, they sit together for hours and talk -- about war, about the protests and the movements, about peace and music.
She doesn't usually get close to the high ranking Cams. It's bad business, especially when she's all dressed in lies about her clan and her reasons. But with Edward, he makes it easy enough, seems agreeable enough. He's got a council, and a band, and policies of rule that tickle the part of what might be left of her soul that cries out for things to be just and fair.
It isn't until she's left Denver and continued west that she considers he had manufactured the ease.
---
They aren't really much of a coterie, in practice. Birdie, Michael, Jessie, and Trent orbit each other casually in turns, all young by rights and easily lost in the shuffle of time and distance. Sometimes they catch up in one city or another. Now, they travel together, going east again after spending a few years wandering up and down the pacific coast. The other three know about Birdie's clan, have helped her get to a called chorus before and play the game well enough to not out her when they visit together.
Anarchs all, in some fashion. Or only in fashion -- it's difficult to tell sometimes what's a true ideologue and what's a pleasing looking patch to wear on one's jacket.
It's Birdie that suggests they stop in Denver for a while.
Michael is the one, on the first night, that suggests linking in with the local Anarchs.
Jessie catches wind of the way Denver has changed before Birdie can come to terms with the idea.
Trent, though, is the one that decides it's time to change Denver again.
For a few months there are meetings. Birdie sits in on them, uneasy but sympathetic. She's invited, too, to visit with Edward again. These visits make her nervous, more sympathetic in turn to the meetings on the other nights. Combined, they make her want to run into the Rockies rather than stay and see how things play out.
She doesn't get the chance because when it happens, then, it happens quickly.
One night, Birdie sees them all in turn, one after the other. Michael and Jessie and Trent, brief little moments, kisses on cheeks and tense shoulders.
The next night they're gone, and Edward Summons her to the Broadstreet.
---
He doesn't ask anything of her that first night beyond her company, sitting her down at his left hand to observe the night's proceedings by his side. His mood is lighter, though, in a way that's disconcerting.
It goes on like this, getting summoned every few nights and spending the rest looking for her coterie loosely strung. Duke is the one that suggests early on that they've just headed out of town, left her there since she's so amendable to how good Denver is for the kindred that live their unlives there. It is said with no small amount of cruel joy at seeing the way her smile falters.
---
Weeks pass before Birdie gets an invitation, the kind that isn't a summons but still can't be refused.
One of Edward's ghouls is waiting for her outside her temporary haven even before she rouses herself for the evening. Technically, she probably could have made an excuse and kept her distance -- it's not as if the ghoul could overpower her and force her into the car. Still...
Edward's haven was just outside of Denver proper. When Birdie is walked in, she sees:
The courtyard.
Shackles in the ground.
Jessie's boots kicked up against the wall.
Everything open to where there will, in a few hours, be sun.
---
He holds her hands in his when he makes his proposal, sitting across from her in his home, the detritus of hundreds of years of life around them that show what she thinks may be a love of music that could rival her own.
"You know what it's like," he says, cool and even, a thumb stroking back and forth over her own, "to want peace. I know you do. And I hope you understand that it is all I want here."
She can feel the slick honey of it in her mind and doesn't think to resist it. It melts so warmly with the Fugue.
"The Daughters have such gifts, Bridget. There is so much you can do here to help me. I am sorry that your friends cannot be a part of it, now, but stay. Be the Keeper of Elysium in Denver and let us make this whole city an Elysium for everyone that comes here for peace."
Birdie smiles, and god but that part of her soul wherever it is feels like it sings when she says, "Yes."
---
There is no more honey after that.
---
There is a house that he deigns to let her choose from a list of his holdings. Don Alonzo is the one that does the paperwork for it, smiles at her as he hands her the keys.
"Do not pinch your face like that, dear," he tells her. "The basement space is lovely on this one, and the rest will be taken care of for you, of course. Concern yourself with the Broadstreet and your duties, and smile a little. We do not wrinkle, you know, but it makes you look much lovelier."
And she smiles, because it isn't Don Alonzo that had made the bars for the cage. He's just helping her make a nest in it.
---
It's a few years in Denver before Birdie takes up with Jason. They bond easily over music. He likes that she guesses he's Jimi before he says it and doesn't make a big deal of it, and she likes...
Well. She likes the attention.
Laying together one evening, near sunrise, she tells him about all the places she's been. The ways she knows to go, between territories of Lupines and Kindred alike. Shows she'd played and how much she misses being in a car, cooped up in a backseat singing along to the radio with whoever it is she travels with.
"You could travel with me," she offers. Innocent and light in the dim next of her bed. "Bring your guitar, we'd make a hell of an act, don't you think?"
Jason, though, tenses. "Why would I want to go?"
For her part, Birdie doesn't catch this for what it is, doesn't notice the rising tension. The Fugue plays louder with hope. "You can't tell me playing second fiddle to Edward and his childer is satisfying for you."
"He's been good to me, over the years. They all have."
She stops to look at him. "There's more to it than that. I want more than that."
Jason lets the conversation die, waving away the concern and hope like cobwebs so he can dress and get back to his own haven before the sun rises.
---
He tells Edward, later, about what was said. Out of concern, on Jason's part, and the fine tuned needling Edward has become accustomed to doing to those in his circle to find out what he wants to know.
And what he doesn't want to know.
---
Birdie and Jason don't lay together anymore. She is still fond, and so is he, but the moment for it passes when Edward starts having his ghouls escort her from her home to the Broadstreet every night.
---
A year or so later, an old friend passes through Denver. Birdie and Quinn knew each other from the 80's, when she'd first set out to travel on her own. He ran a bar in Philadelphia, let her sing to help with everyone getting fed, easy and well.
She hesitates to let him know what's going on, at first, and maybe that was the mistake.
The more he sees, though, the more he notices, the more Edward keeps his eye on the both of them. It isn't long before he has Quinn in the courtyard, and then effectively exiled from the city entirely.
"He is still alive, Bridget," he tells Birdie after when he finds her sitting sullen in the green room, looking at the reflection of herself -- red-rimmed eyes and deep frown. "This is a delicate balance I'm keeping here. You know that."
---
Not long after that, she calls out for Lorelai.
And Lorelai comes, passionate and addled, but aware enough at first to make it seem like an easy visit. She doesn't like that Edward knows their clan when he meets her. She does not like that her Daughter seems so clipped and contained.
There are threats, those thinly veiled ones Kindred have so readily kept in their arsenals, but Edward doesn't consider them valid enough to worry. He lets her stay with Birdie, gives them the space inside Birdie's home and not much else in the rest of the city. Always a ghoul nearby, or another Kindred playing friend our tour guide or host, to keep tabs on what they do and where they go.
---
The night it goes to shit is cold and snowy.
A saving grace, in hindsight.
With every passing evening, Lorelai seems less and less herself. Hours will pass with her completely unaware of what goes on around her as she hums to the tune of the Fugue in her mind.
The Broadstreet crowd is thin, mostly Kindred and their ghouls, regulars hoping for a Kiss at the end of the night regardless of how difficult it will be for them to get home again when the night is through. Birdie is on stage, when it starts. Something in the backroom she doesn't see between Lorelai and the inner circle of Denver that overpowers all other sound.
A scream, first. Then the power goes out.
Lorelai wanders out into the empty streets, humming to herself, Birdie trailing behind. She doesn't understand what happened, but she knows to follow her Sire.
So, too, follow Duke and Edward. A few others, in Duke's security 'team,' such as it was.
The fight is hard, after, for Birdie to remember in great detail.
What she remembers most is Lorelai. Screaming, mostly, in ways she'd never seen before. She remembers flesh coming apart under the jackets of the others, under her own. Someone falling and not getting back up. Shadows coming from between buildings that held Lorelai still. And, finally, she remembers putting the stake -- a broken chair leg -- through her Sire's heart before more damage could be done.
---
"I believe," Edward tells her later in his own haven as she convalesces, "that you didn't know what she was going to do. I know what you value, Bridget, and that was not... That wasn't something you wanted to happen, was it?"
It isn't honey, anymore, but it is something languid and smooth and fear-tasting that has her saying, "No, I didn't-- I've never seen that before."
(He knows, immediately, that disposing of Lorelai entirely will earn him only Birdie's enmity for as long as they both walk the earth. So he decides, instead, to be kind. What he considers to be kind. As kind as taking her to his own home to heal, to feed only from his ghouls, to be under constant watch that is only protection from a certain point of view.)
"She won't meet the Final Death for the infraction. I will keep her safe, for you."
an overheard conversation about your OC a letter written by your OC’s family member a report written by your OC’s teacher or mentor a letter from your OC to their love interest letters between two of your OC’s companions about them someone describing a time your OC helped them someone describing a time your OC hurt them your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries a future historian’s account of your OC’s actions a description of your OC by someone who hates them your OC’s description of their game’s events your OC overheard while drunk transcript of an interview with your OC your OC talking about your favorite quest a letter to your OC from a companion they haven’t seen in a while a conversation between your OC and their best friend a description of your OC’s family by a future historian
L - It is. I hope you’re here to tell me you like her and not chide me about my method of bringing her to us.
V - No, no, I’m not so romantic as that, but romantic enough to appreciate a whirlwind. And her voice is good. Kamaria told me about how you found her, was she really not headlining?
L - She was, a few times. It seems that was more a fluke than a plan. When she wasn’t on stage or working some other terribly menial job, she was at protests. Apparently she lost someone in that war.
V - You don’t know who?
L - Brother, I think. It’s not relevant now, is it?
V - Isn’t it? Wasn’t your family before of consequence to you when you joined us?
L - ...Not particularly, no.
V - That’s cold, Lorelai, but I won’t push. Just take my advice and don’t push her. We are a chorus, every voice is necessary to build our sound. If she despairs because of this, it would be a shame.
L - Thank you. I appreciate that you think I would be so crass as to ruin my own Childe so readily now that I have her.
V - You’re welcome. And have her come see me tomorrow night, I’d like to find her full range.
L - Of course, Viktorya. Your approval does mean so much to me.
V - It’s not you I’m going to be approving of tomorrow, but you do have it for now.
I got your letters, even managed to read them before they shuffled us around again. Have to move all my stuff each time so I try to keep it light.
You probably wouldn’t be surprised at how many here don’t want to be here. I passed around a couple of those essays you sent, they’re really popular with some of the guys. Not so much the officers but I don’t think anything is popular with them except maybe Ed Sullivan and keeping the war machine going.
Anyway, if you got more of those to send, keep ‘em coming! And tell Marie and Mom to stop trying to send cookies. They never get here in time, and I love them both but they were never good at baking. Feels bad to have them put in all that effort for stale cookies the guys the next tent over tried to use as hockey pucks.
Good to hear about your album idea, though! Maybe when it’s done you can send me that. We just have to hope it doesn’t break getting across the globe, crushed by someone else’s hockey puck cookies.
Maybe just send socks. My feet never feel dry anymore.
Your favorite brother, Sam
P.S. - I know you’re gonna ask me to tell you the truth about all this. You already know what it is, so I don’t see the point in putting it on paper. One of us has to stay positive, right? You just keep being the one worrying Mom by screaming at Generals and I’ll tell her how nice the plants are over here, and hope it’ll all be fine.
You will like who I have found in the city. Her voice is clear, both in tone and message. One of this new set of musicians playing at being older than they are -- they grow like weeds here, all on top of each other in this neighborhood, then spilling out across the rest of the country. Given time, I’m sure maybe even Viktoriya will see one she likes.
Her name is Bridget, but I have known that for some months now. She hadn’t noticed me until this, which is good for us both. Most nights I have seen her she is singing background for some other personality, consigned to forgettable harmonies. There is a record of her own she made that I am sending with this letter. It is tempting, as I am sure you know, to take her in only halfway to start, but I do not wish to waste any more time than I need to. You must understand, you have Childer of your own, how you know when you hear them that they’ll be yours.
Do not tell me again about the issues here. I know them well enough, and I won’t be spending any time in their courts. When I’m able, when we are able, we’ll leave the city. I refuse to be beholden to asking permission to save a voice from anyone other than my Sisters.
As always, you may advise me against this, and I will pretend to listen.
Has anyone told you that they miss you being in meetings? I’ve been in five since I got to [city??] of varying levels of seriousness, where I have to pay every bit of attention to what’s going on, and every time I find myself glancing to my left to see your opinion, wishing you were there to break some tension, anything.
You can frame this for your office, too, if you really want. If you print it I’ll sign it.
My hope is that at the end of all this frustration I’ll have some information that’s useful, for Lorelai and my sisters. Myself, too, if I’m being honest.
How are things in Vegas? How is Angel Hair? Tell me about what I’m missing if you think I’ll actually miss it and the rest can just be a fun mystery compared to the other mystery I have on my plate. And tell Montrose and Jocalo and everyone else I said hello.
When I get back to Vegas you can fill me in on more enjoyable things.
Miss you, Birdie
letters between two of your OC’s companions about them
Birdie isn’t on board. Not completely. She knows the guy, and she knows the situation is bad, but she still won’t commit. Can’t really blame her, but is there anything you could do to convince her? Get her in on things? No doubt she’d be helpful in getting others into it, galvanizing the troops or whatever.
Should be fine if she doesn’t come around, I know she won’t turn on us at least.
-Trent
--
T-
Just talked to her. No dice. She’s skittish about the ‘potential violence’ or some shit, doesn’t think there’s enough people here pissed off about it all to come around and do anything no matter what she sings, and if they do they might go too hard or he’ll come down too hard to keep it on lock. Tried to get that protest heart in her beating but nada.
Plus, Jessie has been talking her ominous shit. Maybe she told Birdie about it and that’s what’s got her doing this conscientious objector dance. Jessie is still in, but that talk wasn’t good.
Birdie? Oh yeah, she’s fantastic. There was this one time, when she first came through in ‘95 and she managed to hold the whole place together for us.
It’s never that much of an issue for us, you know, keeping a business running one way or another. The things we do and don’t do, we can keep it afloat. We can keep the money moving in and out, but we can’t always make it look more legitimate.
Restaurants and laundromats had been our thing for the longest time. Plain, simple, we know how to make the money look right if anyone decided to start looking too close. We got good herds from ‘em for the most part, too. Regulars, nothing too unseemly.
Then Diego wanted expand, he wanted a club. A bar, and music and shows and all that shit. The bar part was fine, it was like a restaurant but with only a burger and a lot of booze. Fudging the numbers there was old hat, but tickets? Cover charges? Dealing with the goddamn acts?
That shithole was the worst reviewed place in town. Some punk kid for that local culture paper put us on the front page for being so bad. I’m talkin’ “Food’s fine but the rest of this place is a disaster” kinda thing, and I didn’t realize how much that mattered until it happened. Apparently the acts we were getting all sucked, didn’t match the atmosphere or something? No one buying tickets, and obvious enough that our numbers didn’t look passable no matter what we did.
For a while we tried to get better acts, see if that would fix it. The ones that actually showed up were nightmares, and the other ones knew the rep and wouldn’t set foot in the place.
One night, this kid comes in. She’s gorgeous, looks a little dippy, and first thing she did was find out who owned the joint. Talked to my guys on top, worked her way down to me and Diego, asked us if we know what the fuck we were doing. I think it was, “Do you know how to run that place at all? Because if you don’t, I can give you some pointers.”
All she wanted in return was a spot, the stage some nights, and access. Real clear she didn’t want anything permanent, didn’t want to run the place or anything like that. Called it a place to land, and she’d make it work.
Five months in we had goddamn crowds in the place. Making money and faking money all at the same time, even got a new front page from that goddamn punk at the entertainment paper.
She leaves, you know. That’s what she does. Doesn’t matter how good a thing she’s got wherever it is she’s at, she’s gonna go.
And it’s not like she’s gotta go on a trip and come back or anything that simple. Not like she’s just itching to move around and she’ll remember you after she’s gone, keep in touch. That’d be too damn kind.
We had a good thing, a real good thing. I though she loved me, and maybe she did. Brid stuck around for a whole three years, and every time she realized another big chunk of time had gone by she’d say something like, “Can’t believe I’m still here.” Was like a little dig every time, like what I was trying to build didn’t matter to her at all.
I was coming into a lot then. We came into things about the same time, but I never had it in me to wander around like her. Didn’t even think I needed someone with me like that, but she has this way of getting to you, getting in your head. Maybe it’s the music? I don’t know, but she got in so deep, like she knew everything about me that I’d never told anyone else before, not in nearly a hundred years.
But I was coming up, I was getting established. Putting down my roots as deep as I could so I could make changes, the kinds we’d talked about. And we had this good thing that I thought was good for her, too. I’d made plans with her in them, thought maybe she’d settled, maybe she wanted the power I could get for her with how things were shaking out. The things we could’ve done together...
One night, I come home from court and she’s gone. No talk about it before, no hints, no warning. Just this little note on the dresser, ‘S- Gotta be on my way. Be well. Love, Brid.’ Just like that, she was out the door and out of the city and just gone, no calls no letters. Like she was just renting space in my haven, in my heart, until she got bored of it.
your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries
I am not much of a healer, but I will take these notes so I may remember more clearly what has gone on here.
Currently it is fourteen days since the incident and Edward’s Broadstreet. The rest of those that survived are mostly healed from the worst of their injuries without the need of intervention and are returning to normal.
Bridget has not.
Whatever it is that her Sire did, which I still do not understand but am thankful I was not there to see up close before the end, there are places where it seems muscle was nearly ripped from the bone where others it was as if she’d been cut down by some large sword. She was incapacitated for two nights, not including the night of the incident, and her mobility is diminished as we wait for the greater damage to heal. This impacts her right side more than her left, which is logical given how she had to approach.
At this time I no longer fear she will succumb to the Final Death, though it concerns me how delayed her recovery has become. Whether it is a case of mental anguish over the events or some other issue, it is a weakness now that Edward is aware of and more than happy to use to his advantage. Had he not lost two of his Childe’s enforcers in the night, I am sure I would have seen him laugh. Once the incident resolved, both the injured and incapacitated were transported to his haven, and in the night that followed, what remained of Lorelai was secured and taken elsewhere.
I can see that this would have been a good time to bind her to him, and so has he. We did discuss this before she came back to herself. Whether it is hubris or idealism that has kept him from doing so, I do not care. Perhaps I underestimate them both and it is fear that she would drain him out of rage?
Regardless, it is good that he has not. Now she is healing and we are patient.
a description of your OC by someone who hates them
Insidious. And, it may be a different kind of insult among us, but I think ‘leech’ fits, too.
When she first came through Denver, I can admit that I was intrigued by her and her skills, once I was let in on what they were. They’re impressive, but her acumen in other areas is sorely lacking. When she came back through, Edward was charmed even as her little friends plotted. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion, back when they did that and filmed it for fun.
For all her free-love nonsense, her peace, her protest, she is a conniving snipe, and luckily too stupid to do any lasting harm.
To be honest, when it first started I thought I’d be able to get out of it again.
The first time I came through Denver, it seemed nice? Edward seemed like he was running it well, like he had the best interests of everyone there in mind with everything he did. Coming back through, I had no idea that so much had changed. From what I figured out after, something happened after I’d been through the first time with someone using medicine to Embrace a bunch of Fledglings, followed by what nearly became all-out war trying to track them down and remove them from the picture because he was afraid it was a ploy to unseat him.
My coterie and I came back through and it was... Everyone was suspicious of everyone else, looking over shoulders and sending up flags. It was liking walking into a bar the night after an FBI raid, only it was like that all the time.
Trent and Michael and Jessie, the ones I’d come in with, got close to the Anarchs in the city. They weren’t happy with how things were going, but they followed Edward’s lead anyway to make sure the nights kept going smooth for the sake of everyone. They didn’t have enough pull, and not near enough power to go against Edward’s establishment.
And his establishment was mostly his own Childer. Duke was acting as Sherriff and had his own small team under him. Karen was in the band, but she was big on making sure Edward was happy. Both Leslies would inform, and his Primogen council was either in his band or working for him in some other industry in the city. It was enmeshed from top to bottom. The only one that wasn’t was Don Alonzo, who was acting as Seneschal, and went along with Edward saying that he, Duke, and Don Alonzo were running the city as a council instead of the usual Cam structure. And there was nothing to show Don Alonzo wasn’t happy with the arrangement. He had his own Childer working under him to perform his own duties.
It’s how it was, and everyone who wasn’t happy with it didn’t stay in Denver very long.
That included my coterie.
After about a week, Michael and Trent decided that they’d be the ones to unseat him and claim the city as Anarch territory. Full stop. I had a bad feeling about it, tried to keep out of what they were doing much as I could. Jessie did, too-- Malkavian, you know? She felt it more than I did but she went along with them because they were closer than I was.
One night they were there and the next they weren’t.
Edward has this house, outside the city. There’s a courtyard, got all sorts of windows and shades. That’s where anyone not happy with how things were run were going. No one was really leaving, they were set out there in the day, sometimes for weeks...
They were gone, and he kept me around. Figured out I was a Daughter after the first time I came through and decided that I could help him keep people happy.
For a while I played along like it was just another gig. I knew they were gone but I didn’t want to believe-- I was stupid. Or maybe it was him, I don’t know. But I stayed, and I played it like it was just another gig, told myself it was better than letting them all tear out each other’s throats, and figured I’d get gone after things settled. ‘Keeper of Elysium’ isn’t so bad a gig, right? Kinda thing sounds good on paper.
Except they never settled. And every time I talked about making my way out, the hold got tighter. Not just him, but his ghouls. They’d follow me around the city, he put in a security system around the house I’d been given to use to let him know when I left and when I got back. All that shit. It was like being on house arrest.
Eventually, I called out to my Sire. What I didn’t realize is that she wasn’t herself. One night she went... I don’t even know what to call it. Some of the other Daughters call it Banshee, but I’d never heard of it actually happening before. Just rumors. She attacked everyone, even me. And when she was stopped, Edward held her body hostage to keep me from leaving.
A few years later, I met Ouija. I’d had friends come through before thinking they could get me out, but it hadn’t worked well for anyone. This time, apparently, they timed it just right. Don Alonzo was ready to take things over himself and all we had to do was help him out and I was free to take Lorelai and go when it was done.
“No, no! It’s not!” She’s laughing, sitting on a lounge chair with a small snake wrapped around her wrist and a glass of blood in hand. “It’s not-- It’s not how any of that happened, okay?”
A vague gesture with the glass.
“How it happened was, it fell? It did, it fell! I didn’t smash anything, I swear, it fell!”
You should know I saw you again. Passing through Denver. Didn’t see me in the crowd, of course. Always too focused on the music. It was good, that’s good. Besides, I don’t look the same as I did the last time you came through Sacramento.
Some of us age, after all.
Whatever your secret is, you can keep it. You look far too sad for all that youth you have the moment those lights go down, even if you have everyone in the place mooning after you, same as always.
Back when you first left, I was so mad at you. I thought it was me, something I’d done. Even owning a club of my own wasn’t cool enough for you and you’d gone on to find something better than I could do, but seeing you again like this maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you just need to run and the staying in one place is what you couldn’t handle and not me.
Call me sometime, my number never changed. Miracle of technology, right? All that, our letters, and cat videos all in one little brick we keep in our pocket. Use it, if not with me then someone else that can tell those smiles on stage aren’t what you want them to be.
Nines was the one that suggested they step out for a conversation. Birdie still isn't sure exactly why, but she's not one to push about it. Maybe he could tell how annoyed she'd been, sitting there overhearing Smiling Jack ramble on. Or maybe he just wanted the air, which she certainly couldn't complain about.
"So," she risks venturing the ask only after they've settled, sitting up on a roof a few blocks away but still firmly in Anarch territory – her feet dangling over the edge, his back against the wall, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"
For all she's seen of how Los Angeles works (or doesn't, in many cases), Nines was someone to know within its scope. Birdie herself was no stranger to Anarch tendencies in Camarilla territory, but something about the dynamics here felt… Off. Like someone had gone and rewound her strings mid-song, each note jangling too tight or too loose. Even the Fugue sounded different here, never quite managing to resolve on a harmonic chord.
For a moment he seems unsure, then says, mock serious, "I was gonna ask if you had a joint, but that might be stereotyping. Not trying to offend."
Quite the opposite of offense, Birdie laughs, bright and clear, the discordant tune of Los Angeles fading somewhat in the background. "Here, hold on," and there, after digging around in her jacket pockets, is a baggie with a few already-rolled joints lined up neatly inside. Nines laughs himself, but it's more a vaguely surprised chuckle than anything like what came out of Birdie, as she pulls one out and lights it.
Once it's lit she leans over to pass it to Nines with a smile. "There, enjoy some stereotypical puff-puff-pass."
He does, and she wonders if this might have been it. Nines just wanting a moment out to get a little high with a new face in town rather than the known elements. Then he leans forward to pass it back to her, looking far more serious than one puff ought to grant him. "You're Camarilla, right?"
Birdie takes back the joint with a cheery, "Nope," letting her lips pop that final 'p' as she fishes out her lighter again so she can take her own puff without the little doobie going out in the wind. She's careful not to show any offense at the assumption, even though she's pretty sure it comes from her reputation from Denver, and that's a sore spot that may never really heal.
She takes some time to reorient herself on the ledge, turning away from the drop and the ground below to stretch her legs out in front of her toward Nines, ankles crossed, and takes another long pull to hold in as she passes the joint back. It isn't until he's taking his own drag that she lets the smoke out again, slow and unhurried, not needing to breathe in again for desperate lack of oxygen, only so she can speak. "I've been around, and been in more Camarilla territories than I think I can remember enough to count, but I'm not official or anything."
"A true wanderer, yeah?"
He doesn't sound mean with it, but it's not a nice tone either. Somewhere in the middle, aggressively neutral, closed off and wary, but Birdie smiles anyway. Like a reflex, like a defense. "You could say that, yeah."
Nines offers the joint back but she waves it off, opting to lean back on her hands and let him take the next few rounds for himself. It's a vulnerable position to lounge in, and it's a little calculated to be so. Point herself out as not being a threat, as not being here to attack. Just talk, just get high and philosophize much as it suits them both.
It surprises her a little when he follows up with, "So you've seen what they're like," and she considers that maybe her reputation from Denver isn't sore in the same way she thought it might be.
"I've seen a lot of ways they're like, Nines. Good and bad, it's always different. Every Prince is different, every domain, every problem and every way to solve a problem. It's like," and here, maybe, the weed is getting to her just a smidge, "Like a house frame. There's the same kind of wood, the same supports, but not every house gets built the same, or has the same things going on inside it."
It looks, at least a little, like he's considering that. It isn't until he's passing her the joint again that he hits her with, "Are you here to do what you did in Denver, then?" It lands on her like a slap, and she doesn't have to calculate the absolute mouth-open, wide-eyed confusion it leaves her in. Her reputation must be supremely fucked up, but she supposses, once she's got her bearings again enough to take a drag, at least he isn't angry and assuming she's a Camarilla spy or something.
"No," and the word comes out with a small plume of smoke. Where before she was smiling on reflex, now she's gone morose, curled in just slightly as she leans again to pass. "I'm never doing anything like Denver again if I can help it. And if you knew what happened, you wouldn't have asked that."
There's a stretch of time, where she looks down at the ground below them and can feel Nines looking at her, that she might otherwise count in heartbeats or breaths. Since she has neither, she counts it in measures of the Fugue, three-quarter time now, still not quite right but as persistently present as always. Her focus is so split she nearly misses what he says:
"Sorry about that, I guess. People talk."
He's offering her the joint again, but she waves it off with more finality than before. Pretty sure he isn't actually sorry, either. "Keep it."
People talk. That's certainly accurate. And from everything she's heard about how Los Angeles turns around itself, Anarch and Camarilla and everything outbetween, it seems they never tell a full story.
"Well, you're right about people talking. Not all of them listen, but they talk plenty. Always have. And for the record, Denver is still Camarilla. Just… Lasombra flavored, now, instead of McCarthyist Wannabe."
She forces herself back into the performance of ease, pulling her attention to Nines and the conversation at hand, her hands back behind her on the ledge to hold herself up. "What do you think the Camarilla is for, anyway?"
Birdie watches his face go from normally expressive to closed off, hard. Just shy of angry, like he's had this conversation before and didn't like it much at all.
"Controlling other Kindred, and keeping power to themselves."
Birdie is very conscious, then, of not laughing at that. Instead she nods, amicable to begin her disagreement.
"Remember when they started saying that about unions? I know you're old enough to know."
And she doesn't laugh, but she does take some satisfaction in watching his confusion cloud his eyes for a moment, that non-verbal what the fuck in the corners that lets her know she's touched on something he never considered.
"Are you saying the Camarilla is a union?"
Birdie shrugs as best she can in her position, tilts her head to one side as she watches him. "When it's working like it oughta, yeah. We all pay our dues and let the reps duke it out with the bosses. They've got power, but it's power they gotta use for something, right? Like keeping up the Masquerade? In all the places I've been, there can be corruption for sure. But when there's a Prince, there's someone that's got the job to solve the problems for the rest of us. It can break if the Prince fucks up, but it can break a lot faster, and a lot worse, if we all stop paying our dues and sending out our reps."
The words hang there in the air between them long enough that Birdie wonders if maybe he's a little too high to get this deep into things, but he takes another drag and says, "Yeah, they said you were a hippie. Sure as shit sound like one," before flicking the remnants off the edge of the roof toward the ground below them.
His tone, at least, isn't completely accusatory. Instead, she's got the distinct feeling she's being dismissed.
"What, you have a better idea of how the Camarilla works with your wealth of experience in their courts?"
That catches him up. Not just the words, the subtle jab at how he hasn't left the city to see how things work elsewhere, but her own tone – light, easy. No fight, just making a point.
"Maybe I'm just not as trusting as you are." And that stings, enough that Birdie lets it show with a wince, looks away at the light-polluted sky above them.
"I might be a hippie, but I was the protesting kind. Anti-war, anti-government. FBI listening in at the bar because I sang songs that made communism look too appealing kinda hippie."
Nines, at least, has the temerity to appear like he's reconsidering his assessment of her. "You trust LaCroix, though, don't you?"
She considers that a moment. Birdie has only really had the chance to talk to her a handful of times, but she comes with Ouija Roman's high regards. If there is anyone she trusts these nights, it's the Setite Primogen of Las Vegas that helped get her out of Denver.
"I do, yeah. I've seen Princes with less reason do… Terrible things to Anarchs. To anyone they don't like or don't trust. Torture, blood hunts… You might not trust LaCroix, but she's trying to help as best she can, even if you don't understand why or how she's doing it."
None of this seems to be what Nines wants to hear, but she appreciates that he keeps it to himself for the most part. A change in his expression – sour, cold – and grunt to acknowledge he's heard her rather than some animated, angry rebuttal.
They sit like that long enough that Birdie opts to enjoy the silence, the touch of high she's riding, the breeze in her hair. Much more enjoyable than still being stuck inside.
It lasts a few minutes before Nines breaks it with a careful, "Is there anyone you don't?"
And isn't that a question of the night? She considers the question, and the kindred she's met in Los Angeles so far. Her answer might be a bit much, all things considered, but everything she knows about Nines and Anarchs besides tell her he'd rather her honesty than mincing words for his ego, or anyone else's.
So she answers honestly, without reservation or hedging.
"I don't trust Jack." Birdie watches his expression, the way his eyes widen a little, eyebrows go up, and takes the lack of immediate argument as a sign to continue. "My brother died in Vietnam. Trip wire out on some patrol after he got drafted. He died alone and afraid and with wet socks. If I told that to Jack, he'd probably laugh, and I don't think you can argue different. He's the kind that likes seeing people hurt, that laughs at war movies and the sound of gunshots and riots. He'd throw a brick and not care who it hits so long as they bleed for it. Someone like that doesn't help anyone else but themself."
Setrakian trails off, fingers tapping against the pages of the journal where he’s keeping his notes. He and Birdie sit across from each other at Fet’s long table at his place, the closest to neutral ground possible. Mostly because of how uneasy she’s been in the basement of the pawn shop.
They’ve been going over similarities and differences, Kindred vs. Strigoi, Birdie feeling the strange pressure of advocating for Kindred from a pretty vulnerable position. Fet left the room for some fresh air while she was explaining a vague theory that maybe the Strigoi made by the Master were like Vozhd, which had probably been the worst track to do down. ‘Oh yeah, they might be like these giant monsters some of us make out of people pieces sometimes for fun with dark magic rituals, they infested sewers in Los Angeles for a while from what I’ve heard. And by the way, we’re totally cool, really different from the Master just give us a chance.’
He hadn’t taken that theory well, given the set of his jaw when he’d stepped out.
Birdie curls in her seat, one foot on the chair and knee pressed to her chest, arms around it, and waits for the professor to finish. When a few more moments pass without him picking that thought back up, she prods, “What were you wondering?”
The look he gives her for that is as piercing as ever, and she can’t tell at first if it’s because she interrupted his thinking or because he’s just always going to look at her like that, like she’s a curiosity.
“From what you have told me, secrecy is paramount. This... Masquerade you all adhere to for survival.” He taps the page again, letting that hang for a second before he continues. “Why would you take the risk of a relationship with Mr. Fet, with any living person? What did you hope to gain?”
It feels, suddenly, like sitting at the kitchen table with her Ma and Joshua after Daddy had died, with him asking her what she expects to get out of running around like she does other than a reputation. A laugh gets out of her without her really having any control over the noise, a sudden bark followed immediately by silence. She puts her chin on her knee, lets herself consider the answer.
“I just wanted something good.” Her voice is quiet at that admission, naked honesty. The silence after it feels heavy while she puts the words together in her head that she wants to say next. “I spent the last ten years somewhere I couldn’t... Exist. Not as myself, not really. Not with people, Kindred or Kine. Everyone turned each other in, I was followed around, I couldn’t even sing what I wanted to. So I came back to New York and got greedy.”
Birdie can’t place the look on Setrakian’s face now, whether that knit in his brows is pained or angry or picking apart her words for further inquiry, so she looks away, focuses instead on some random piece of industrial architecture nearby.
His response is a ragged hum and that ever-present scowl. “No need for belaboring excuses.”
There's a lot of ritual to be had with the Setites. Birdie isn't generally invited to the more serious inner workings when they happen, despite her favored friend status and nights spent at the Wadjet. Those are the ones that are brought in fully, converted or Sired into the clan or sect or however you'd like to slice it. Those are for the ones with Faith, capital F, in a way Birdie doesn't imagine herself capable of despite it all.
She does, however, have a standing invitation to all the others that are less ritual and more excuse to engage in vice and revelry. And, maybe, blood beer, depending on the brewing time of the current batches.
[ something something she gets invited to an orgy with ouija ]
The rooms are lush. Every surface is soft, the colors rich and vibrant from the rugs to the pillows that are strewn on every piece of furniture and all over the floor.
[ something something setup blah blah ]
When Ouija finds her again in the tangle of limbs and pillows and noise, she's on her back splayed over a chaise lounge, one person thrusting into her as she works someone else beside her with her fingers. Her braids are a half-done mess by this point, and who knows where her dress has ended up. All that's left on her is jewelry, with one earring missing. Probably underneath another group somewhere. They watch as writhes and smiles and moans into a kiss, two, three.
Then Birdie's voice is at their ear, keening, "Come here, I miss you," and what choice do they have?
They make their way over, tiptoeing gingerly over configurations in twos and fives, and she smiles up at them like she's the most delighted creature on earth just to see them.
"You came!" She reaches up with her free hand to cup the side of Ouija's face once they're in range, hums happily when they maneuver and lift her shoulders to situate themselves at her back, propping her up to see all that thrusting going on.
"Three times so far, actually." They kiss her cheek, then her mouth when she laughs, their hands at her breasts.
Birdie moans, her hand scrabbling behind her and into their hair when they roll one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She moans again when her hand is pulled away from her work and the woman at her side moves to straddle her stomach to face the thruster and she pulls Birdie's hand around her waist to reposition it to continue.
She watches as the others kiss, and strains to turn her head to Ouija as best she can in their current position. "Sit on my face," said with a desperate kind of whine to it. "I want to feel you on my mouth for four and five."
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references
music
assorted
for i stole california from the mexican land
fought in the bloody civil war
yes, i even killed my brothers
and so many others
but i ain't marching anymore
for i marched in the battles of the german trench
in a war that was bound to end all wars
oh, i must have killed a thousand men
and now they want me back again
but i ain't marching anymore
it's always the old to lead us to the wars
always the young to fall
now look at all we've won with the saber and the gun
tell me, is it worth it all?
-- Judy Collins - Thirsty Boots
then tell me of the ones you've seen as far as you could see
across the plain from field to town, a-marching to be free
and of the rusted prison gates that turmble by degree
like laughin' children one by one
they look like you and me
so take off your thirsty boots and stay for a while
your feet are hot and weary from a dusty mile
and maybe i can make you laugh and maybe i can try
lookin' for the evenin' and the mornin' in your eyes
-- Peter, Paul, and Mary - If I Had A Hammer
if i had a song
i'd sing it in the morning
i'd sing it in the evening
all over this land
i'd sing out danger
i'd sing out a warning
i'd sing out love between
my brothers and my sisters
all over this land
well i've got a hammer
and i've got a bell
and i've got a song to sing
all over this land
it's the hammer of justice
it's the bell of freedom
it's a song about love between
my brothers and my sisters
all over this land
-- The Back Porch Majority - That's the Way It's Gonna Be
even though you say hard times knock at my door,
though you say i'll never smile anymore
i just imagine that i'm ten feet tall
then if i try i can climb the highest wall
it doesn't matter if i slip down and fall
that's the way it's gonna be
wait and see
just you wait and see
even though you say i've reached the end of my row
though you say my times are all running low
it's been so long since i tried to frown
that old man trouble will never get me down
it's all that easy when you know where you're bound
that's the way it's gonna be
wait and see
-- Hozier - To Noise Making (Sing)
you don't have to sing it right
but who could call you wrong?
to put your emptiness to melody
your awful heart to song
you don't have to sing it nice, but honey sing it strong
at best, you'll find a little remedy
at worst, the world will sing along
so honey, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing sing
who could ask you
be unbroken or be brave again?
or, honey, hope even on this side of the grave again
and who could ask you to be sound or to feel sane again?
but stick around until you hear that music play again
-- The Ballroom Thieves - Can't Cheat Death
ooh-ooh-ooh..
i spilled blood in the water
then let the storm roll in
i put my hands in the fire
watched my welcome wear thin
salt in my wounds and spit in my eye
i burned the path you walk on
and i let none survive
we are painted with the fear that if
the sea recedes it never comes back
but there are two things i know for sure
i will be free
and you can't cheat death
-- Look Homeward - Sister Death
well death is not an actor
we're all watching up on a stage
she is more like a sister
we grow closer to with age
so lay me down before my time
on the hard and dusty earth
so i can feel where i come from
and to where i will return
-- Joy Williams - Canary
there's a madness in the cavern
a darkness that can blind
and when it's every man for himself
no one's getting out alive
but i will not shut my eyes
oh i will not fall silent
canary in the mine
i will, ooh honey i will, i will
sing
sing
-- Hozier - Someone New
there's an art to life's distraction
to somehow escape the burning wait, the art of scraping through
some like to imagine
the dark caress of someone else; i guess any thrill will do
would things be easier if there was a right way?
honey, there is no right way
and so i fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit
every day with someone new
love with every stranger, the stranger the better
-- The Roches - Pretty and High
the prince was confused
so he asked the magician
the magician arrived
at the answer profound
if she takes off her dress
the sky will fall down
cause she's pretty and high and a lie
pretty and high and a lie
i work at the circus
and i sleep with the clown
when i took off my dress
the sky fell down
if the sky falls down
we'll play on the ground
cause i'm pretty and high and only partly a lie
pretty and high and only partly a lie
-- Mimi and Richard Farina - The Falcon
go build you a log cabin
on a mountain so high
and hear the feathered war-bird's yell
as she goes screaming by
she'll tease you
she'll please you
she'll satisfy your needs
but someday she might turn around
and bite the hand that feeds
your hours might be numbered
your end might come someday
go break her chain and free her brain
and send her on her way
and the falcon is a pretty bird
wonders as she flies
she asks us easy questions
we tell her easy lies
-- Ben Howard - In Dreams
always a riddle in the world she said
always a riddle inside my head
always a thing to wonder the way we come to be
oh, it's a big old place for me, yeah
it's a big old world indeed
kicking my heels and wondering how i've been here so long
oh, in dreams i have watched it spin
seen a violent crack of atoms where all light comes in
oh, in dreams i saw aesop's kin
just the carcass of a man now alone inside his skin
-- Joseph - Burn the White Flag
noises closing in from all sides
warning all the ways to die
they say "you'd better give up
you'd better give up"
i say "i'll never give up, i'll never give up"
i'll be an army, no you're
not gonna stop me gettin' through, ooh
i'll sing a marching song and
stomp through the halls louder than you, ooh
i could surrender but i'd
just be pretending, no i'd
rather be dead than live a lie
burn the white flag
-- Sara Watkins - I'm A Memory
i'm a game you used to play
i'm a plan that you delayed so well
i'm the fire that burns in your mind
i'm a love you lost for a song
i'm a voice on a green telephone
i'm a day that lasted so long
i'm a dream that comes in the night
i'm a face that fades with the light
i'm a tear that falls out of sight
close your eyes i'm a memory
-- The Crane Wives - Tongues & Teeth
abandon all your stupid dreams
about the girl i could have been, my dear
'cause in the night i know you burn with feelings
i cannot return, my dear
oh, my dear
you gotta know that this won't last
desperation will erase the fact
i'm keeping all
of the answers in my cigarette box
yeah, the answer's in the second before the other shoe drops
and if you're blind to that
i am fine with that
oh, i will ruin you
oh, i will ruin you
it's a habit, i can't help it
i know that you mean so well
but i am not a vessel for your good intent
-- The Staves - Teeth White
i don't know what to expect
i feel a disconnect
and in all my years i've never felt so young
i'm not gonna break my back
work until my bones crack
if i'm the only one not having fun
i got my hair long and it's still wrong
and i wanna know
when i can stop taking it slow
'cause i've had enough
stop asking me why i won't take the things you give me
i'm not gonna smile
when you shake my hand and tell me
you're not happy with me
movies/videos
books
canon
general
basics
I'll be frank and say that a lot of liberties get taken with the source material because my familiarity with the game is from the revised edition published back in '98, and let's face it--a lot of the material has about as much good taste as hot dog water laced with radioactive dirt. Most of these liberties are directly related to fixing some broken functionality/play-ability (especially regarding cross-property WoD interactions and more general cross-canon stuff) and trying to make it less of a bummer to engage with in general. Mostly writing out the following for friends so y'all don't have to suffer through the wiki pages.
Some basic vocab:
Notable clans Birdie might mention:
daughters of cacophony
lore
clan structure
powers
There's also Fortitude, but that just means she's sturdy and can take more damage than average. All of the above will work in threads about as well as we want them to, and it's safe to assume a character from another canon might even be entirely immune to some or all of them for Reasons.
writing
backstory
denver
escalation
She doesn't usually get close to the high ranking Cams. It's bad business, especially when she's all dressed in lies about her clan and her reasons. But with Edward, he makes it easy enough, seems agreeable enough. He's got a council, and a band, and policies of rule that tickle the part of what might be left of her soul that cries out for things to be just and fair.
It isn't until she's left Denver and continued west that she considers he had manufactured the ease.
---
They aren't really much of a coterie, in practice. Birdie, Michael, Jessie, and Trent orbit each other casually in turns, all young by rights and easily lost in the shuffle of time and distance. Sometimes they catch up in one city or another. Now, they travel together, going east again after spending a few years wandering up and down the pacific coast. The other three know about Birdie's clan, have helped her get to a called chorus before and play the game well enough to not out her when they visit together.
Anarchs all, in some fashion. Or only in fashion -- it's difficult to tell sometimes what's a true ideologue and what's a pleasing looking patch to wear on one's jacket.
It's Birdie that suggests they stop in Denver for a while.
Michael is the one, on the first night, that suggests linking in with the local Anarchs.
Jessie catches wind of the way Denver has changed before Birdie can come to terms with the idea.
Trent, though, is the one that decides it's time to change Denver again.
For a few months there are meetings. Birdie sits in on them, uneasy but sympathetic. She's invited, too, to visit with Edward again. These visits make her nervous, more sympathetic in turn to the meetings on the other nights. Combined, they make her want to run into the Rockies rather than stay and see how things play out.
She doesn't get the chance because when it happens, then, it happens quickly.
One night, Birdie sees them all in turn, one after the other. Michael and Jessie and Trent, brief little moments, kisses on cheeks and tense shoulders.
The next night they're gone, and Edward Summons her to the Broadstreet.
---
He doesn't ask anything of her that first night beyond her company, sitting her down at his left hand to observe the night's proceedings by his side. His mood is lighter, though, in a way that's disconcerting.
It goes on like this, getting summoned every few nights and spending the rest looking for her coterie loosely strung. Duke is the one that suggests early on that they've just headed out of town, left her there since she's so amendable to how good Denver is for the kindred that live their unlives there. It is said with no small amount of cruel joy at seeing the way her smile falters.
---
Weeks pass before Birdie gets an invitation, the kind that isn't a summons but still can't be refused.
One of Edward's ghouls is waiting for her outside her temporary haven even before she rouses herself for the evening. Technically, she probably could have made an excuse and kept her distance -- it's not as if the ghoul could overpower her and force her into the car. Still...
Edward's haven was just outside of Denver proper. When Birdie is walked in, she sees:
The courtyard.
Shackles in the ground.
Jessie's boots kicked up against the wall.
Everything open to where there will, in a few hours, be sun.
---
He holds her hands in his when he makes his proposal, sitting across from her in his home, the detritus of hundreds of years of life around them that show what she thinks may be a love of music that could rival her own.
"You know what it's like," he says, cool and even, a thumb stroking back and forth over her own, "to want peace. I know you do. And I hope you understand that it is all I want here."
She can feel the slick honey of it in her mind and doesn't think to resist it. It melts so warmly with the Fugue.
"The Daughters have such gifts, Bridget. There is so much you can do here to help me. I am sorry that your friends cannot be a part of it, now, but stay. Be the Keeper of Elysium in Denver and let us make this whole city an Elysium for everyone that comes here for peace."
Birdie smiles, and god but that part of her soul wherever it is feels like it sings when she says, "Yes."
---
There is no more honey after that.
---
There is a house that he deigns to let her choose from a list of his holdings. Don Alonzo is the one that does the paperwork for it, smiles at her as he hands her the keys.
"Do not pinch your face like that, dear," he tells her. "The basement space is lovely on this one, and the rest will be taken care of for you, of course. Concern yourself with the Broadstreet and your duties, and smile a little. We do not wrinkle, you know, but it makes you look much lovelier."
And she smiles, because it isn't Don Alonzo that had made the bars for the cage. He's just helping her make a nest in it.
---
It's a few years in Denver before Birdie takes up with Jason. They bond easily over music. He likes that she guesses he's Jimi before he says it and doesn't make a big deal of it, and she likes...
Well. She likes the attention.
Laying together one evening, near sunrise, she tells him about all the places she's been. The ways she knows to go, between territories of Lupines and Kindred alike. Shows she'd played and how much she misses being in a car, cooped up in a backseat singing along to the radio with whoever it is she travels with.
"You could travel with me," she offers. Innocent and light in the dim next of her bed. "Bring your guitar, we'd make a hell of an act, don't you think?"
Jason, though, tenses. "Why would I want to go?"
For her part, Birdie doesn't catch this for what it is, doesn't notice the rising tension. The Fugue plays louder with hope. "You can't tell me playing second fiddle to Edward and his childer is satisfying for you."
"He's been good to me, over the years. They all have."
She stops to look at him. "There's more to it than that. I want more than that."
Jason lets the conversation die, waving away the concern and hope like cobwebs so he can dress and get back to his own haven before the sun rises.
---
He tells Edward, later, about what was said. Out of concern, on Jason's part, and the fine tuned needling Edward has become accustomed to doing to those in his circle to find out what he wants to know.
And what he doesn't want to know.
---
Birdie and Jason don't lay together anymore. She is still fond, and so is he, but the moment for it passes when Edward starts having his ghouls escort her from her home to the Broadstreet every night.
---
A year or so later, an old friend passes through Denver. Birdie and Quinn knew each other from the 80's, when she'd first set out to travel on her own. He ran a bar in Philadelphia, let her sing to help with everyone getting fed, easy and well.
She hesitates to let him know what's going on, at first, and maybe that was the mistake.
The more he sees, though, the more he notices, the more Edward keeps his eye on the both of them. It isn't long before he has Quinn in the courtyard, and then effectively exiled from the city entirely.
"He is still alive, Bridget," he tells Birdie after when he finds her sitting sullen in the green room, looking at the reflection of herself -- red-rimmed eyes and deep frown. "This is a delicate balance I'm keeping here. You know that."
---
Not long after that, she calls out for Lorelai.
And Lorelai comes, passionate and addled, but aware enough at first to make it seem like an easy visit. She doesn't like that Edward knows their clan when he meets her. She does not like that her Daughter seems so clipped and contained.
There are threats, those thinly veiled ones Kindred have so readily kept in their arsenals, but Edward doesn't consider them valid enough to worry. He lets her stay with Birdie, gives them the space inside Birdie's home and not much else in the rest of the city. Always a ghoul nearby, or another Kindred playing friend our tour guide or host, to keep tabs on what they do and where they go.
---
The night it goes to shit is cold and snowy.
A saving grace, in hindsight.
With every passing evening, Lorelai seems less and less herself. Hours will pass with her completely unaware of what goes on around her as she hums to the tune of the Fugue in her mind.
The Broadstreet crowd is thin, mostly Kindred and their ghouls, regulars hoping for a Kiss at the end of the night regardless of how difficult it will be for them to get home again when the night is through. Birdie is on stage, when it starts. Something in the backroom she doesn't see between Lorelai and the inner circle of Denver that overpowers all other sound.
A scream, first. Then the power goes out.
Lorelai wanders out into the empty streets, humming to herself, Birdie trailing behind. She doesn't understand what happened, but she knows to follow her Sire.
So, too, follow Duke and Edward. A few others, in Duke's security 'team,' such as it was.
The fight is hard, after, for Birdie to remember in great detail.
What she remembers most is Lorelai. Screaming, mostly, in ways she'd never seen before. She remembers flesh coming apart under the jackets of the others, under her own. Someone falling and not getting back up. Shadows coming from between buildings that held Lorelai still. And, finally, she remembers putting the stake -- a broken chair leg -- through her Sire's heart before more damage could be done.
---
"I believe," Edward tells her later in his own haven as she convalesces, "that you didn't know what she was going to do. I know what you value, Bridget, and that was not... That wasn't something you wanted to happen, was it?"
It isn't honey, anymore, but it is something languid and smooth and fear-tasting that has her saying, "No, I didn't-- I've never seen that before."
(He knows, immediately, that disposing of Lorelai entirely will earn him only Birdie's enmity for as long as they both walk the earth. So he decides, instead, to be kind. What he considers to be kind. As kind as taking her to his own home to heal, to feed only from his ghouls, to be under constant watch that is only protection from a certain point of view.)
"She won't meet the Final Death for the infraction. I will keep her safe, for you."
Another lock clicks into place.
prompts
oc prompts
an overheard conversation about your OC
V - So that’s your Bridget?
L - It is. I hope you’re here to tell me you like her and not chide me about my method of bringing her to us.
V - No, no, I’m not so romantic as that, but romantic enough to appreciate a whirlwind. And her voice is good. Kamaria told me about how you found her, was she really not headlining?
L - She was, a few times. It seems that was more a fluke than a plan. When she wasn’t on stage or working some other terribly menial job, she was at protests. Apparently she lost someone in that war.
V - You don’t know who?
L - Brother, I think. It’s not relevant now, is it?
V - Isn’t it? Wasn’t your family before of consequence to you when you joined us?
L - ...Not particularly, no.
V - That’s cold, Lorelai, but I won’t push. Just take my advice and don’t push her. We are a chorus, every voice is necessary to build our sound. If she despairs because of this, it would be a shame.
L - Thank you. I appreciate that you think I would be so crass as to ruin my own Childe so readily now that I have her.
V - You’re welcome. And have her come see me tomorrow night, I’d like to find her full range.
L - Of course, Viktorya. Your approval does mean so much to me.
V - It’s not you I’m going to be approving of tomorrow, but you do have it for now.
a letter written by your OC’s family member
Birdie,
I got your letters, even managed to read them before they shuffled us around again. Have to move all my stuff each time so I try to keep it light.
You probably wouldn’t be surprised at how many here don’t want to be here. I passed around a couple of those essays you sent, they’re really popular with some of the guys. Not so much the officers but I don’t think anything is popular with them except maybe Ed Sullivan and keeping the war machine going.
Anyway, if you got more of those to send, keep ‘em coming! And tell Marie and Mom to stop trying to send cookies. They never get here in time, and I love them both but they were never good at baking. Feels bad to have them put in all that effort for stale cookies the guys the next tent over tried to use as hockey pucks.
Good to hear about your album idea, though! Maybe when it’s done you can send me that. We just have to hope it doesn’t break getting across the globe, crushed by someone else’s hockey puck cookies.
Maybe just send socks. My feet never feel dry anymore.
Your favorite brother,
Sam
P.S. - I know you’re gonna ask me to tell you the truth about all this. You already know what it is, so I don’t see the point in putting it on paper. One of us has to stay positive, right? You just keep being the one worrying Mom by screaming at Generals and I’ll tell her how nice the plants are over here, and hope it’ll all be fine.
a report written by your OC’s teacher or mentor
Kamaria,
You will like who I have found in the city. Her voice is clear, both in tone and message. One of this new set of musicians playing at being older than they are -- they grow like weeds here, all on top of each other in this neighborhood, then spilling out across the rest of the country. Given time, I’m sure maybe even Viktoriya will see one she likes.
Her name is Bridget, but I have known that for some months now. She hadn’t noticed me until this, which is good for us both. Most nights I have seen her she is singing background for some other personality, consigned to forgettable harmonies. There is a record of her own she made that I am sending with this letter. It is tempting, as I am sure you know, to take her in only halfway to start, but I do not wish to waste any more time than I need to. You must understand, you have Childer of your own, how you know when you hear them that they’ll be yours.
Do not tell me again about the issues here. I know them well enough, and I won’t be spending any time in their courts. When I’m able, when we are able, we’ll leave the city. I refuse to be beholden to asking permission to save a voice from anyone other than my Sisters.
As always, you may advise me against this, and I will pretend to listen.
I’m sure we will both see you soon.
Your Sister,
Lorelai
a letter from your OC to their love interest
Ouija,
Has anyone told you that they miss you being in meetings? I’ve been in five since I got to [city??] of varying levels of seriousness, where I have to pay every bit of attention to what’s going on, and every time I find myself glancing to my left to see your opinion, wishing you were there to break some tension, anything.
You can frame this for your office, too, if you really want. If you print it I’ll sign it.
My hope is that at the end of all this frustration I’ll have some information that’s useful, for Lorelai and my sisters. Myself, too, if I’m being honest.
How are things in Vegas? How is Angel Hair? Tell me about what I’m missing if you think I’ll actually miss it and the rest can just be a fun mystery compared to the other mystery I have on my plate. And tell Montrose and Jocalo and everyone else I said hello.
When I get back to Vegas you can fill me in on more enjoyable things.
Miss you,
Birdie
letters between two of your OC’s companions about them
Mike,
Birdie isn’t on board. Not completely. She knows the guy, and she knows the situation is bad, but she still won’t commit. Can’t really blame her, but is there anything you could do to convince her? Get her in on things? No doubt she’d be helpful in getting others into it, galvanizing the troops or whatever.
Should be fine if she doesn’t come around, I know she won’t turn on us at least.
-Trent
--
T-
Just talked to her. No dice. She’s skittish about the ‘potential violence’ or some shit, doesn’t think there’s enough people here pissed off about it all to come around and do anything no matter what she sings, and if they do they might go too hard or he’ll come down too hard to keep it on lock. Tried to get that protest heart in her beating but nada.
Plus, Jessie has been talking her ominous shit. Maybe she told Birdie about it and that’s what’s got her doing this conscientious objector dance. Jessie is still in, but that talk wasn’t good.
We gotta be careful. Watch your back.
-M
someone describing a time your OC helped them
Birdie? Oh yeah, she’s fantastic. There was this one time, when she first came through in ‘95 and she managed to hold the whole place together for us.
It’s never that much of an issue for us, you know, keeping a business running one way or another. The things we do and don’t do, we can keep it afloat. We can keep the money moving in and out, but we can’t always make it look more legitimate.
Restaurants and laundromats had been our thing for the longest time. Plain, simple, we know how to make the money look right if anyone decided to start looking too close. We got good herds from ‘em for the most part, too. Regulars, nothing too unseemly.
Then Diego wanted expand, he wanted a club. A bar, and music and shows and all that shit. The bar part was fine, it was like a restaurant but with only a burger and a lot of booze. Fudging the numbers there was old hat, but tickets? Cover charges? Dealing with the goddamn acts?
That shithole was the worst reviewed place in town. Some punk kid for that local culture paper put us on the front page for being so bad. I’m talkin’ “Food’s fine but the rest of this place is a disaster” kinda thing, and I didn’t realize how much that mattered until it happened. Apparently the acts we were getting all sucked, didn’t match the atmosphere or something? No one buying tickets, and obvious enough that our numbers didn’t look passable no matter what we did.
For a while we tried to get better acts, see if that would fix it. The ones that actually showed up were nightmares, and the other ones knew the rep and wouldn’t set foot in the place.
One night, this kid comes in. She’s gorgeous, looks a little dippy, and first thing she did was find out who owned the joint. Talked to my guys on top, worked her way down to me and Diego, asked us if we know what the fuck we were doing. I think it was, “Do you know how to run that place at all? Because if you don’t, I can give you some pointers.”
All she wanted in return was a spot, the stage some nights, and access. Real clear she didn’t want anything permanent, didn’t want to run the place or anything like that. Called it a place to land, and she’d make it work.
Five months in we had goddamn crowds in the place. Making money and faking money all at the same time, even got a new front page from that goddamn punk at the entertainment paper.
someone describing a time your OC hurt them
She leaves, you know. That’s what she does. Doesn’t matter how good a thing she’s got wherever it is she’s at, she’s gonna go.
And it’s not like she’s gotta go on a trip and come back or anything that simple. Not like she’s just itching to move around and she’ll remember you after she’s gone, keep in touch. That’d be too damn kind.
We had a good thing, a real good thing. I though she loved me, and maybe she did. Brid stuck around for a whole three years, and every time she realized another big chunk of time had gone by she’d say something like, “Can’t believe I’m still here.” Was like a little dig every time, like what I was trying to build didn’t matter to her at all.
I was coming into a lot then. We came into things about the same time, but I never had it in me to wander around like her. Didn’t even think I needed someone with me like that, but she has this way of getting to you, getting in your head. Maybe it’s the music? I don’t know, but she got in so deep, like she knew everything about me that I’d never told anyone else before, not in nearly a hundred years.
But I was coming up, I was getting established. Putting down my roots as deep as I could so I could make changes, the kinds we’d talked about. And we had this good thing that I thought was good for her, too. I’d made plans with her in them, thought maybe she’d settled, maybe she wanted the power I could get for her with how things were shaking out. The things we could’ve done together...
One night, I come home from court and she’s gone. No talk about it before, no hints, no warning. Just this little note on the dresser, ‘S- Gotta be on my way. Be well. Love, Brid.’ Just like that, she was out the door and out of the city and just gone, no calls no letters. Like she was just renting space in my haven, in my heart, until she got bored of it.
your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries
I am not much of a healer, but I will take these notes so I may remember more clearly what has gone on here.
Currently it is fourteen days since the incident and Edward’s Broadstreet. The rest of those that survived are mostly healed from the worst of their injuries without the need of intervention and are returning to normal.
Bridget has not.
Whatever it is that her Sire did, which I still do not understand but am thankful I was not there to see up close before the end, there are places where it seems muscle was nearly ripped from the bone where others it was as if she’d been cut down by some large sword. She was incapacitated for two nights, not including the night of the incident, and her mobility is diminished as we wait for the greater damage to heal. This impacts her right side more than her left, which is logical given how she had to approach.
At this time I no longer fear she will succumb to the Final Death, though it concerns me how delayed her recovery has become. Whether it is a case of mental anguish over the events or some other issue, it is a weakness now that Edward is aware of and more than happy to use to his advantage. Had he not lost two of his Childe’s enforcers in the night, I am sure I would have seen him laugh. Once the incident resolved, both the injured and incapacitated were transported to his haven, and in the night that followed, what remained of Lorelai was secured and taken elsewhere.
I can see that this would have been a good time to bind her to him, and so has he. We did discuss this before she came back to herself. Whether it is hubris or idealism that has kept him from doing so, I do not care. Perhaps I underestimate them both and it is fear that she would drain him out of rage?
Regardless, it is good that he has not. Now she is healing and we are patient.
a description of your OC by someone who hates them
Insidious. And, it may be a different kind of insult among us, but I think ‘leech’ fits, too.
When she first came through Denver, I can admit that I was intrigued by her and her skills, once I was let in on what they were. They’re impressive, but her acumen in other areas is sorely lacking. When she came back through, Edward was charmed even as her little friends plotted. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion, back when they did that and filmed it for fun.
For all her free-love nonsense, her peace, her protest, she is a conniving snipe, and luckily too stupid to do any lasting harm.
your OC’s description of their game’s events
To be honest, when it first started I thought I’d be able to get out of it again.
The first time I came through Denver, it seemed nice? Edward seemed like he was running it well, like he had the best interests of everyone there in mind with everything he did. Coming back through, I had no idea that so much had changed. From what I figured out after, something happened after I’d been through the first time with someone using medicine to Embrace a bunch of Fledglings, followed by what nearly became all-out war trying to track them down and remove them from the picture because he was afraid it was a ploy to unseat him.
My coterie and I came back through and it was... Everyone was suspicious of everyone else, looking over shoulders and sending up flags. It was liking walking into a bar the night after an FBI raid, only it was like that all the time.
Trent and Michael and Jessie, the ones I’d come in with, got close to the Anarchs in the city. They weren’t happy with how things were going, but they followed Edward’s lead anyway to make sure the nights kept going smooth for the sake of everyone. They didn’t have enough pull, and not near enough power to go against Edward’s establishment.
And his establishment was mostly his own Childer. Duke was acting as Sherriff and had his own small team under him. Karen was in the band, but she was big on making sure Edward was happy. Both Leslies would inform, and his Primogen council was either in his band or working for him in some other industry in the city. It was enmeshed from top to bottom. The only one that wasn’t was Don Alonzo, who was acting as Seneschal, and went along with Edward saying that he, Duke, and Don Alonzo were running the city as a council instead of the usual Cam structure. And there was nothing to show Don Alonzo wasn’t happy with the arrangement. He had his own Childer working under him to perform his own duties.
It’s how it was, and everyone who wasn’t happy with it didn’t stay in Denver very long.
That included my coterie.
After about a week, Michael and Trent decided that they’d be the ones to unseat him and claim the city as Anarch territory. Full stop. I had a bad feeling about it, tried to keep out of what they were doing much as I could. Jessie did, too-- Malkavian, you know? She felt it more than I did but she went along with them because they were closer than I was.
One night they were there and the next they weren’t.
Edward has this house, outside the city. There’s a courtyard, got all sorts of windows and shades. That’s where anyone not happy with how things were run were going. No one was really leaving, they were set out there in the day, sometimes for weeks...
They were gone, and he kept me around. Figured out I was a Daughter after the first time I came through and decided that I could help him keep people happy.
For a while I played along like it was just another gig. I knew they were gone but I didn’t want to believe-- I was stupid. Or maybe it was him, I don’t know. But I stayed, and I played it like it was just another gig, told myself it was better than letting them all tear out each other’s throats, and figured I’d get gone after things settled. ‘Keeper of Elysium’ isn’t so bad a gig, right? Kinda thing sounds good on paper.
Except they never settled. And every time I talked about making my way out, the hold got tighter. Not just him, but his ghouls. They’d follow me around the city, he put in a security system around the house I’d been given to use to let him know when I left and when I got back. All that shit. It was like being on house arrest.
Eventually, I called out to my Sire. What I didn’t realize is that she wasn’t herself. One night she went... I don’t even know what to call it. Some of the other Daughters call it Banshee, but I’d never heard of it actually happening before. Just rumors. She attacked everyone, even me. And when she was stopped, Edward held her body hostage to keep me from leaving.
A few years later, I met Ouija. I’d had friends come through before thinking they could get me out, but it hadn’t worked well for anyone. This time, apparently, they timed it just right. Don Alonzo was ready to take things over himself and all we had to do was help him out and I was free to take Lorelai and go when it was done.
Now I’m here.
your OC overheard while drunk
“No, no! It’s not!” She’s laughing, sitting on a lounge chair with a small snake wrapped around her wrist and a glass of blood in hand. “It’s not-- It’s not how any of that happened, okay?”
A vague gesture with the glass.
“How it happened was, it fell? It did, it fell! I didn’t smash anything, I swear, it fell!”
Laughter, then a sudden and reverent gasp.
“Oh, Angel Hair smiled at me.”
transcript of an interview with your OC
DET. HOGAN - Your name?
B. LEWIS - Who knows.
HOGAN - I’d assume you’d know, miss.
LEWIS - I can probably tell you the name of every soldier that died in the last release, but no, I don’t think I can give you mine. Sorry.
HOGAN - Miss, we have your license.
LEWIS - Then why are you asking me? Do you not know how to read?
HOGAN - I’d advise you to take this very seriously, Miss Lewis.
LEWIS - Oh, you do know how to read! Congratulations!
HOGAN - Miss Lewis.
LEWIS - Don’t know her. Sounds like a dud.
HOGAN - Where were you on the night of April 15th?
LEWIS - Harold Carver, Jack Duff--
HOGAN - Miss Lewis you--
LEWIS - David Glover, David Gorrell--
HOGAN - You were witnessed by multiple people breaking the tail lights--
LEWIS - [ Shouting ] Jimmy Harper! William Kelly! Donald Long!
HOGAN - Damaging police property! City property!
LEWIS - [ Continued ] Ira Rice! Harold Vanbuskirk!
HOGAN - [ Shouting ] Now quiet down!
LEWIS - [ Cont. ] Raymond Austermann! Dorsie Register!
HOGAN - [ To OFFICER O’CONNOLLEY ] Can’t we shut her up?
LEWIS - You can goddamn try! [ Singing ] Oh I marched in the Battle of New Orleans--
HOGAN - Jesus Christ.
a letter to your OC from a companion they haven’t seen in years
Bridget,
You should know I saw you again. Passing through Denver. Didn’t see me in the crowd, of course. Always too focused on the music. It was good, that’s good. Besides, I don’t look the same as I did the last time you came through Sacramento.
Some of us age, after all.
Whatever your secret is, you can keep it. You look far too sad for all that youth you have the moment those lights go down, even if you have everyone in the place mooning after you, same as always.
Back when you first left, I was so mad at you. I thought it was me, something I’d done. Even owning a club of my own wasn’t cool enough for you and you’d gone on to find something better than I could do, but seeing you again like this maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you just need to run and the staying in one place is what you couldn’t handle and not me.
Call me sometime, my number never changed. Miracle of technology, right? All that, our letters, and cat videos all in one little brick we keep in our pocket. Use it, if not with me then someone else that can tell those smiles on stage aren’t what you want them to be.
-Jenny
assorted
a conversation - for ~terrifies
"So," she risks venturing the ask only after they've settled, sitting up on a roof a few blocks away but still firmly in Anarch territory – her feet dangling over the edge, his back against the wall, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"
For all she's seen of how Los Angeles works (or doesn't, in many cases), Nines was someone to know within its scope. Birdie herself was no stranger to Anarch tendencies in Camarilla territory, but something about the dynamics here felt… Off. Like someone had gone and rewound her strings mid-song, each note jangling too tight or too loose. Even the Fugue sounded different here, never quite managing to resolve on a harmonic chord.
For a moment he seems unsure, then says, mock serious, "I was gonna ask if you had a joint, but that might be stereotyping. Not trying to offend."
Quite the opposite of offense, Birdie laughs, bright and clear, the discordant tune of Los Angeles fading somewhat in the background. "Here, hold on," and there, after digging around in her jacket pockets, is a baggie with a few already-rolled joints lined up neatly inside. Nines laughs himself, but it's more a vaguely surprised chuckle than anything like what came out of Birdie, as she pulls one out and lights it.
Once it's lit she leans over to pass it to Nines with a smile. "There, enjoy some stereotypical puff-puff-pass."
He does, and she wonders if this might have been it. Nines just wanting a moment out to get a little high with a new face in town rather than the known elements. Then he leans forward to pass it back to her, looking far more serious than one puff ought to grant him. "You're Camarilla, right?"
Birdie takes back the joint with a cheery, "Nope," letting her lips pop that final 'p' as she fishes out her lighter again so she can take her own puff without the little doobie going out in the wind. She's careful not to show any offense at the assumption, even though she's pretty sure it comes from her reputation from Denver, and that's a sore spot that may never really heal.
She takes some time to reorient herself on the ledge, turning away from the drop and the ground below to stretch her legs out in front of her toward Nines, ankles crossed, and takes another long pull to hold in as she passes the joint back. It isn't until he's taking his own drag that she lets the smoke out again, slow and unhurried, not needing to breathe in again for desperate lack of oxygen, only so she can speak. "I've been around, and been in more Camarilla territories than I think I can remember enough to count, but I'm not official or anything."
"A true wanderer, yeah?"
He doesn't sound mean with it, but it's not a nice tone either. Somewhere in the middle, aggressively neutral, closed off and wary, but Birdie smiles anyway. Like a reflex, like a defense. "You could say that, yeah."
Nines offers the joint back but she waves it off, opting to lean back on her hands and let him take the next few rounds for himself. It's a vulnerable position to lounge in, and it's a little calculated to be so. Point herself out as not being a threat, as not being here to attack. Just talk, just get high and philosophize much as it suits them both.
It surprises her a little when he follows up with, "So you've seen what they're like," and she considers that maybe her reputation from Denver isn't sore in the same way she thought it might be.
"I've seen a lot of ways they're like, Nines. Good and bad, it's always different. Every Prince is different, every domain, every problem and every way to solve a problem. It's like," and here, maybe, the weed is getting to her just a smidge, "Like a house frame. There's the same kind of wood, the same supports, but not every house gets built the same, or has the same things going on inside it."
It looks, at least a little, like he's considering that. It isn't until he's passing her the joint again that he hits her with, "Are you here to do what you did in Denver, then?" It lands on her like a slap, and she doesn't have to calculate the absolute mouth-open, wide-eyed confusion it leaves her in. Her reputation must be supremely fucked up, but she supposses, once she's got her bearings again enough to take a drag, at least he isn't angry and assuming she's a Camarilla spy or something.
"No," and the word comes out with a small plume of smoke. Where before she was smiling on reflex, now she's gone morose, curled in just slightly as she leans again to pass. "I'm never doing anything like Denver again if I can help it. And if you knew what happened, you wouldn't have asked that."
There's a stretch of time, where she looks down at the ground below them and can feel Nines looking at her, that she might otherwise count in heartbeats or breaths. Since she has neither, she counts it in measures of the Fugue, three-quarter time now, still not quite right but as persistently present as always. Her focus is so split she nearly misses what he says:
"Sorry about that, I guess. People talk."
He's offering her the joint again, but she waves it off with more finality than before. Pretty sure he isn't actually sorry, either. "Keep it."
People talk. That's certainly accurate. And from everything she's heard about how Los Angeles turns around itself, Anarch and Camarilla and everything outbetween, it seems they never tell a full story.
"Well, you're right about people talking. Not all of them listen, but they talk plenty. Always have. And for the record, Denver is still Camarilla. Just… Lasombra flavored, now, instead of McCarthyist Wannabe."
She forces herself back into the performance of ease, pulling her attention to Nines and the conversation at hand, her hands back behind her on the ledge to hold herself up. "What do you think the Camarilla is for, anyway?"
Birdie watches his face go from normally expressive to closed off, hard. Just shy of angry, like he's had this conversation before and didn't like it much at all.
"Controlling other Kindred, and keeping power to themselves."
Birdie is very conscious, then, of not laughing at that. Instead she nods, amicable to begin her disagreement.
"Remember when they started saying that about unions? I know you're old enough to know."
And she doesn't laugh, but she does take some satisfaction in watching his confusion cloud his eyes for a moment, that non-verbal what the fuck in the corners that lets her know she's touched on something he never considered.
"Are you saying the Camarilla is a union?"
Birdie shrugs as best she can in her position, tilts her head to one side as she watches him. "When it's working like it oughta, yeah. We all pay our dues and let the reps duke it out with the bosses. They've got power, but it's power they gotta use for something, right? Like keeping up the Masquerade? In all the places I've been, there can be corruption for sure. But when there's a Prince, there's someone that's got the job to solve the problems for the rest of us. It can break if the Prince fucks up, but it can break a lot faster, and a lot worse, if we all stop paying our dues and sending out our reps."
The words hang there in the air between them long enough that Birdie wonders if maybe he's a little too high to get this deep into things, but he takes another drag and says, "Yeah, they said you were a hippie. Sure as shit sound like one," before flicking the remnants off the edge of the roof toward the ground below them.
His tone, at least, isn't completely accusatory. Instead, she's got the distinct feeling she's being dismissed.
"What, you have a better idea of how the Camarilla works with your wealth of experience in their courts?"
That catches him up. Not just the words, the subtle jab at how he hasn't left the city to see how things work elsewhere, but her own tone – light, easy. No fight, just making a point.
"Maybe I'm just not as trusting as you are." And that stings, enough that Birdie lets it show with a wince, looks away at the light-polluted sky above them.
"I might be a hippie, but I was the protesting kind. Anti-war, anti-government. FBI listening in at the bar because I sang songs that made communism look too appealing kinda hippie."
Nines, at least, has the temerity to appear like he's reconsidering his assessment of her. "You trust LaCroix, though, don't you?"
She considers that a moment. Birdie has only really had the chance to talk to her a handful of times, but she comes with Ouija Roman's high regards. If there is anyone she trusts these nights, it's the Setite Primogen of Las Vegas that helped get her out of Denver.
"I do, yeah. I've seen Princes with less reason do… Terrible things to Anarchs. To anyone they don't like or don't trust. Torture, blood hunts… You might not trust LaCroix, but she's trying to help as best she can, even if you don't understand why or how she's doing it."
None of this seems to be what Nines wants to hear, but she appreciates that he keeps it to himself for the most part. A change in his expression – sour, cold – and grunt to acknowledge he's heard her rather than some animated, angry rebuttal.
They sit like that long enough that Birdie opts to enjoy the silence, the touch of high she's riding, the breeze in her hair. Much more enjoyable than still being stuck inside.
It lasts a few minutes before Nines breaks it with a careful, "Is there anyone you don't?"
And isn't that a question of the night? She considers the question, and the kindred she's met in Los Angeles so far. Her answer might be a bit much, all things considered, but everything she knows about Nines and Anarchs besides tell her he'd rather her honesty than mincing words for his ego, or anyone else's.
So she answers honestly, without reservation or hedging.
"I don't trust Jack." Birdie watches his expression, the way his eyes widen a little, eyebrows go up, and takes the lack of immediate argument as a sign to continue. "My brother died in Vietnam. Trip wire out on some patrol after he got drafted. He died alone and afraid and with wet socks. If I told that to Jack, he'd probably laugh, and I don't think you can argue different. He's the kind that likes seeing people hurt, that laughs at war movies and the sound of gunshots and riots. He'd throw a brick and not care who it hits so long as they bleed for it. Someone like that doesn't help anyone else but themself."
thanksgiving wip - for ~exterminatory
Setrakian trails off, fingers tapping against the pages of the journal where he’s keeping his notes. He and Birdie sit across from each other at Fet’s long table at his place, the closest to neutral ground possible. Mostly because of how uneasy she’s been in the basement of the pawn shop.
They’ve been going over similarities and differences, Kindred vs. Strigoi, Birdie feeling the strange pressure of advocating for Kindred from a pretty vulnerable position. Fet left the room for some fresh air while she was explaining a vague theory that maybe the Strigoi made by the Master were like Vozhd, which had probably been the worst track to do down. ‘Oh yeah, they might be like these giant monsters some of us make out of people pieces sometimes for fun with dark magic rituals, they infested sewers in Los Angeles for a while from what I’ve heard. And by the way, we’re totally cool, really different from the Master just give us a chance.’
He hadn’t taken that theory well, given the set of his jaw when he’d stepped out.
Birdie curls in her seat, one foot on the chair and knee pressed to her chest, arms around it, and waits for the professor to finish. When a few more moments pass without him picking that thought back up, she prods, “What were you wondering?”
The look he gives her for that is as piercing as ever, and she can’t tell at first if it’s because she interrupted his thinking or because he’s just always going to look at her like that, like she’s a curiosity.
“From what you have told me, secrecy is paramount. This... Masquerade you all adhere to for survival.” He taps the page again, letting that hang for a second before he continues. “Why would you take the risk of a relationship with Mr. Fet, with any living person? What did you hope to gain?”
It feels, suddenly, like sitting at the kitchen table with her Ma and Joshua after Daddy had died, with him asking her what she expects to get out of running around like she does other than a reputation. A laugh gets out of her without her really having any control over the noise, a sudden bark followed immediately by silence. She puts her chin on her knee, lets herself consider the answer.
“I just wanted something good.” Her voice is quiet at that admission, naked honesty. The silence after it feels heavy while she puts the words together in her head that she wants to say next. “I spent the last ten years somewhere I couldn’t... Exist. Not as myself, not really. Not with people, Kindred or Kine. Everyone turned each other in, I was followed around, I couldn’t even sing what I wanted to. So I came back to New York and got greedy.”
Birdie can’t place the look on Setrakian’s face now, whether that knit in his brows is pained or angry or picking apart her words for further inquiry, so she looks away, focuses instead on some random piece of industrial architecture nearby.
His response is a ragged hum and that ever-present scowl. “No need for belaboring excuses.”
wip - orgy - for ~terrifies
She does, however, have a standing invitation to all the others that are less ritual and more excuse to engage in vice and revelry. And, maybe, blood beer, depending on the brewing time of the current batches.
[ something something she gets invited to an orgy with ouija ]
The rooms are lush. Every surface is soft, the colors rich and vibrant from the rugs to the pillows that are strewn on every piece of furniture and all over the floor.
[ something something setup blah blah ]
When Ouija finds her again in the tangle of limbs and pillows and noise, she's on her back splayed over a chaise lounge, one person thrusting into her as she works someone else beside her with her fingers. Her braids are a half-done mess by this point, and who knows where her dress has ended up. All that's left on her is jewelry, with one earring missing. Probably underneath another group somewhere. They watch as writhes and smiles and moans into a kiss, two, three.
Then Birdie's voice is at their ear, keening, "Come here, I miss you," and what choice do they have?
They make their way over, tiptoeing gingerly over configurations in twos and fives, and she smiles up at them like she's the most delighted creature on earth just to see them.
"You came!" She reaches up with her free hand to cup the side of Ouija's face once they're in range, hums happily when they maneuver and lift her shoulders to situate themselves at her back, propping her up to see all that thrusting going on.
"Three times so far, actually." They kiss her cheek, then her mouth when she laughs, their hands at her breasts.
Birdie moans, her hand scrabbling behind her and into their hair when they roll one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She moans again when her hand is pulled away from her work and the woman at her side moves to straddle her stomach to face the thruster and she pulls Birdie's hand around her waist to reposition it to continue.
She watches as the others kiss, and strains to turn her head to Ouija as best she can in their current position. "Sit on my face," said with a desperate kind of whine to it. "I want to feel you on my mouth for four and five."