Jen Daring (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thebrownacid) wrote2014-08-09 08:47 pm
thebrownacid) wrote2014-08-09 08:47 pm
Entry tags:
Random Encounters
[This is a casual rp starter for scenes with Jen Daring, the world's most harmless Malkavian Antitribu. It serves as a warmup spot for character ideas for the After Gehenna game.]
San Francisco was a fishing village now. Bay water lapped the bases of the surviving skyscrapers, so clear now you could see down to the shattered street. Some brave divers went for artifacts down there: jewelry, surviving tools, random items to decorate their chambers with and claim bragging rights just for surviving. An old hubcap could cost you your life now that the Farrallones and the Bay were wed in one stretch of water over the drowned city. Sharks--the main risk in the area and also the main livelihood. They might get a fisherman now and again, but most nights in the high village with its precarious catwalks, it was they who became dinner.
When the sun went down the fishing crews lowered ropes down the side of the buildings and hauled up the boats along with their catch. The hard, ugly end-of-the-day work was necessary, for one breed of shark hunted at night and could take out even the few old yachts they had left.
The grunts and creaks of the ropes and thunk and scrape of the rising boats were the first thing Jen heard when she woke that night. She opened the closet she was curled up in and spilled out, yawning hugely. The outer wall of the hotel room she was squatting in had shattered outward, and a huge, battle-scarred gray cat crouched among the bricks, messily dining on a pigeon the size of a football. He looked up at her with his one good eye and meowed conversationally.
Within half an hour they had both eaten, and Jen was sitting quietly on the edge of the cracked rooftop plaza of the hotel. Other villagers, human and otherwise, milled on the rooftop by torchlight, enjoying a barbecue out in the cool night air. The cat sat next to her, keeping watch. Jen was a little unfocused, distracted by the blobs of golden and royal blue light dancing through the air. She knew something was going to happen soon and she should be here for it, but not what.
San Francisco was a fishing village now. Bay water lapped the bases of the surviving skyscrapers, so clear now you could see down to the shattered street. Some brave divers went for artifacts down there: jewelry, surviving tools, random items to decorate their chambers with and claim bragging rights just for surviving. An old hubcap could cost you your life now that the Farrallones and the Bay were wed in one stretch of water over the drowned city. Sharks--the main risk in the area and also the main livelihood. They might get a fisherman now and again, but most nights in the high village with its precarious catwalks, it was they who became dinner.
When the sun went down the fishing crews lowered ropes down the side of the buildings and hauled up the boats along with their catch. The hard, ugly end-of-the-day work was necessary, for one breed of shark hunted at night and could take out even the few old yachts they had left.
The grunts and creaks of the ropes and thunk and scrape of the rising boats were the first thing Jen heard when she woke that night. She opened the closet she was curled up in and spilled out, yawning hugely. The outer wall of the hotel room she was squatting in had shattered outward, and a huge, battle-scarred gray cat crouched among the bricks, messily dining on a pigeon the size of a football. He looked up at her with his one good eye and meowed conversationally.
Within half an hour they had both eaten, and Jen was sitting quietly on the edge of the cracked rooftop plaza of the hotel. Other villagers, human and otherwise, milled on the rooftop by torchlight, enjoying a barbecue out in the cool night air. The cat sat next to her, keeping watch. Jen was a little unfocused, distracted by the blobs of golden and royal blue light dancing through the air. She knew something was going to happen soon and she should be here for it, but not what.
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...because the Embrace kills the piece of a Mage's soul that makes magic, and it hurts them more than anything. Blood tears well up in her eyes and she starts sobbing.
"Oh no...oh no! That's s-so bad! I'm so sorry that's so terrible!"
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"They were dicks." As hard as it is to admit, even now, he knows it's true. He remembers how they looked at him, like they were waiting for him to fail. Even his sire. Especially his sire.
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Growltiger butts his head against the newcomer's hand, then mrrs softly and bounces off to see to his weepy mistress. Sorry dude. Duty calls.
"I can't live with vampires like that. If my Pack didn't put up with me I dunno w-what I'd do. I promise, they...they're...well, I can't call them all good people but they're better than that."
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"Did they leave you all alone then? That happened after my sire died. Which pretty much happened right after he made me. Oops."
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She looks at him worriedly, then swallows and starts gathering up the piles of rolls onto the platter. "It's different now. We decide for ourselves how we live. We don't have to be monsters any more."
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The cat meows up at her and se nods down at him. "Yeah, Growly, the guys who did this didn't tell him anything. Bastards."
She looks up at him. "I'll fix. What do you want to know?"
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"Okay well somebody hasta teach you stuff, because otherwise you'll die. And when we die we tend to take people with us which is extra bad.
"Clans are different families of vampires. We're all real different, with different powers and stuff."
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"I don't care 'bout powers." He bites his lip. "I just wanna be normal."
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"If you don't want to kill humans, like me and Noor and Catherine, you don't have to. Managing your thirst is a skill you can learn too. She's never ever killed an innocent person in three centuries!
"And you can learn which animals have blood rich enough to hunt them for. Like sometimes, we bring down a big dinosaur together! The carnivores especially have yummy yummy blood."
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