thebrownacid | Random Encounters

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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.

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"Oh, okay. You're not a kang-roo, are you?"

The figure behind her pauses, then slowly facepalms and shakes her masked head.

"Garou," says a raspy voice from the mouth of the staircase. A middle aged nonhuman woman with frizzy russet hair steps out. "Sweetie, just say werewolf, you're never gonna get that right." She pauses a bit away and her nostrils flare.

Jen leans over and whispers "Vote for ally stuff. This isn't like before the war, we don't just kill people."

"Nnf. Nnf. Yep, smells like wolf. But he can't be Garou. He ain't enough of an asshole."

Heh. "Can you sum up all werewolves that way? I'll agree some are, but that's true of any group of people."

Jen starts "Maggie--" but Maggie just scoffs.

"The Garou used to like to kill my people on sight when they were around more. If there were nice ones running around, they sure didn't live in Saskatchewan." She sniffs derisively this time, and looks over her shoulder, out over the water.

"Danica and Petra are on their way. He already left, didn't he?"

Jen droops visibly. "...yeah."

"The odds are against everyone bitten being a killer, although I suppose the ones that were could murder the ones that weren't as... bloodthirsty."

He did say bitten, not knowing he's given himself away without a doubt. Oops.

"Bitten?" Maggie blinks, and sniffs him delicately again. "Huh! No, sweetie, you're not Garou, Garou are genetic. You've got a wolf-soul, yeah, but not the...crap I forgot what they call it. It's sort of a massive inborn anger management program." She rubs her chin. "Well that's new. Anyway. Hi. I'm Maggie, packmate to these guys. Did anyone level with this guy?"

Jen just blinks so Maggie goes on blithely. "Oh, well then. Hi, we're vampires. No, we're not planning to eat you."

"No disclaimer necessary, I guess what you all were." By scent. "And you haven't mobbed me on sight."

On to the main question: "No. Not genetic. It was a lab experiment with me as an unwilling subject, if you're curious. I'm Donald."

"Nah, the war is over, we don't have to play by those shit rules anymore so we don't." A tall blond woman wearing biker leathers comes out of the stairwell with a few others walking behind them. Maggie bumps fists with her as she stops a little ways off.

Jen nodnods. "Made things easier on a bunch of us."

But everyone goes quiet when he mentions the lab experiment. "...what?" the hippievamp asks in mild horror. Not surprise though. As if she's heard of other sorts of...experiments.

He seems more awkward than upset. "As I said to Jen, it was years ago. Irrelevant and not going to happen to anyone else. I've adjusted."

Maggie steps back, swearing softly under her breath, and the big blonde woman touches her shoulder comfortingly. Meanwhile a distressed, inarticulate noise comes from behind 8's mask and she twitches agitatedly. Jen strokes her arm and she slowly quiets.

"Well some of us are big on moral outrage. But um...." Jen's lower lip trembles. "Some of us came from labs too. The Technocracy. Big experiments on people. New species. Lots of vivisection and stuff." 8 flinches and Jen goes back to comforting her.

The blonde, and the strangely colorless tall figure in the pale suit behind her, glance between all the participants. Then they step aside to let someone else through.

This is a shorter, slighter woman, pale, thin-faced, with dark green eyes and black hair, in a concealing dark blue coat and boots.

"A werewolf virus. The Technocracy is trying to develop a werewolf virus." Her eyes narrow thoughtfully, and then she steps forward. "Jen. You've made a new friend, why don't you introduce us?"

Jen nodnodnods. "Danica, this is Donald. Donald, this is Danica. She handles alllll the weird stuff."

"You... have nothing to worry about. I can promise you that. It didn't happen in America, for starters." Details are going to be kept to himself, thank you. It was several worlds ago he was altered.

"Besides, I have to assume none of you can catch diseases. Any sort of diseases."

In times of chaos, it's not difficult for anyone to slip into a place relatively unnoticed. Normally he wouldn't bother, would see that chaos and move in the other direction. Normally he's following no particular path, and for the most part problems that are not his problem are easily avoided.

This one is his problem. His problem is in the form of a 5'8" grey-haired man standing in the middle of a group Roland would want to keep an eye on even on a regular day. He tries to stay unnoticed as he edges closer, but it's difficult to look like a random bypasser when he can't keep his eyes off his friend and the crowd surrounding him. He finds himself sending out his mind a little, trying to feel around the edges of their thoughts to see how likely that the crowd is going to become a mob.

The crowd is agitated but calming, partly under the influence of a tall figure in a grey hat and fedora standing with the knot of vampires. She is sending out waves of Zenlike calm touched with caution.

Of other note: the woman in the dark blue, almost wizardlike cloak, whose mind gives a weird sense of being hugely expanded. And the pink haired girl with the cat, who feels...bubbly. Cushy. Kind of euphoric. Finally, the masked and completely covered figure next to her, which is balled up, closed in on itself, and strangely animal-like.

Danica lifts her chin, her voice rising slightly to command the attention of the group around her but also making it audible. "We have a problem. Apparently there's a Gangrel in this region who considers this his territory, and he's challenged Khan to a one-on-one using the sharks."

The woman(?) in grey speaks up in a calm, light tone. "There's an eighty-five percent chance that the traditional terms of the challenge will not be honored, and that Khan is walking into a trap."

Danica nods grimly as Jen whimpers and Maggie swears under her breath. The witchy-looking woman goes on. "Petra and Noor are already tracking them. We gather our forces, we make a plan and we wait for them to get back in touch."

All of you, stop sending foreign emotions into his brainmeats. Once upon a time he had practiced shielding against intruders. Remind him later to get back into the habit...

And their new topic doesn't have much to do with him. This is where he stands awkwardly, plate of cold food in his hands...

Roland notes the names and basic facts of the speech even as he dismisses them. They're not important to him now, but who knows? The most important thing is that everyone seems so focused on it. Before he'd closed his mind again and put up what defenses he has, he'd gotten enough vague feelings to know a little about who it is he's walking amongst. Don't mind Roland, he'll just be slipping behind and between a couple of you, trying to get closer to Donald. He'll stay away from the woman in blue - if what he'd felt in that one was the touch, there's too much chance of being noticed and noted as an outsider - but he has to get close to one or two others. If they stay focused on that speech long enough for him to grasp Donald's sleeve and lead him away, then everything will've gone to plan. Things usually don't, but it never hurts to try.

It's the goddamned cat that catches him. Of course. Something roughly the mass of a furry bowling ball winds around his legs trying to get his attention. "Mow. Mowwww. Mow."

And then Cotton Candy Brain notices him too and squeaks, bouncing. "Oh hi new person! Did you eat yet?"

Their witchy leader pauses and looks over with a baffled scowl. "What the fuck--Jen! Are you trying to break your old record for taking in strays tonight?"

Jen replies cheerily, "Maybe!" and their fearless leader sighs and rubs her face.

People's scents stick in his brain, never to be forgotten. He picks up on it as soon as Roland approaches, turning around.

"Roland. It's good to see you. I thought you'd gotten... left behind."

Which was depressing as hell, these last weeks.

Roland wobbles a bit as the bowling ball demands his attention and then rebalances himself, shooting a brief look of disappointment down at it. Pets. The one thing that can never quite be convinced to properly ignore you. That disappointment is quickly dismissed in favor of the man in front of him, though, and Roland reaches out with the remaining two-fingers-and-thumb of his right hand to grasp at Donald's. "I did."

His eyes move quickly down the whole of his friend and up again. At least a brief, cursory assessment can't wait but anything else will have to, so after he does it he moves his expression into something polite, squeezes Donald's hand, then lets go of it to hunker in front of the cat. "Thank you miss, but I've eaten," he lies, presenting the back of his knuckles for the cat to sniff. "And as to strays, you don't need to worry about that. We're only passing through. We've no intention making ourselves a nuisance, nor pressing our noses into your business."

Jen beams mutely at the reunion and bounces up and down, while the big blond woman snorts and Maggie chuckles and hides her face. "...cubs."

The cat sniffs him in businesslike manner. Damn, it has a lot of old battle scars. "Owm." He pats the stranger's knuckles with a paw. Apparently he passes.

Danica nods grimly. "I have no problem with the locals getting involved, or visitors either, as long as nobody's working contrary to my team. But I'll be honest and say that this guy and whoever is working with him is likely a risk to everyone in the region."

"Relax." He's going to stand closer to Roland than the vampire bunch, and that's who he addresses first, quietly. "We're safe. We're not in any trouble with them."

As Danica said, but it probably means more coming from Donald.

To the team: "I have a place to stay. No need to take in 'strays'."

And he offers his cold 'dinner' to Roland. Better than nothing.

Curious gesture for a cat but Roland doesn't think long on that, just stands to study Donald for a second. After that second he nods minutely, something relaxing in his posture as he looks back to the rest of them. "Just how large would that region be? Nothing we could walk out of in a day or two?"

He keeps looking toward the others, attentive and polite, and nudges the plate back toward Donald without looking at him. He knows how much you have to eat. Get to it.

The cat meows and paws the air as the plate gets offered back and forth. Hey, I'll take it! Jen hrmphs and looks around for the cat's leftover dinner but the sharkspray has washed it somewhere she can't immediately find. Sigh.

At the question Danica looks him over a moment, then glances between Maggie and the figure in Grey. "We're gathering information now but ultimately we won't be able to determine that until we find out what we are up against. If evacuating to the mainland will do the trick I'll end up reccomending it. Otherwise there's nothing for it but to go kick this guy's ass until he thinks twice about picking any more fights."

The grey-clad one speaks up again. "Preliminary estimates indicate over a hundred unexplained disappearances from villages up and down the coast and inland over the last three months. Still determining range."

He eyes the cat, shrugs to himself, and donates part of the fish. Not all of it. Food is good, variety is better. He'll finally eat the dang thing.

He's quietly judging them for not noticing so many disappearances earlier. Excuse him for having worked with the FBI so long ago.

"Sharks, though. Are there other animals to watch out for?"

A border dispute. Some things never change no matter how far you travel. Well, Donald could have walked into much worse. Roland could have found much worse, when he'd come for him. And the people Donald had found here - well, you never can tell. More than human, probably, at least some of them, and it doesn't take much to figure out that there's something strange about that grey one. It's not as if he doesn't trust Donald's judgement that they're safe, but more cautious men have been fooled on less.

"And those disappearances," he adds onto the end of Donald's question. "Those aren't a usual part of something like this."

"Animals," Jen replies sadly. "All animals but bugs. And if he has vampire friends or people working for him, them too."

"Inevitably them too," the grey one corrects. "This is not a matter of one territorial Gangrel. The amount of disappearances goes well beyond the norm. This does not indicate the predatory habits of one vampire. But rather, several."

Danica sighs through her nose. "Until Petra gets a lock on them there's not much to do but wait."

It's not his fight. One hundred dead is hard to walk by, though. He can guess that's only the beginning of the casualties.

"By the way, what's a Gangrel?"

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