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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The confused cat is dragging over his pigeon now to share.
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"Good to see I'm not the only one then. I'm a fail Gangrel, way too cute." She smiled holding out her hand. "Pleased to meet you though Jen."
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"Oh yay nother Gangrel! You're not fail Gangrel, if you were you'd be dead! Let the others tell you! Um...if you want your clanmates to know you're here....?"
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She does like this pink haired woman's attitude though. It's hard to be moody around her.
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Growltiger looks up from nomming pigeon and meows in agreement.
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"Are you a member of the Gangrel Scouts?"Jen's nose wrinkles and she giggles. That's not a real thing and she knows it, but Gangrels often make the best scouts anyway.
The smell of wolf-shifted Gangrel wafts toward them from around a corner, along with the faint click of claws. Whoever it is pants calmly and makes no attempt to disguise his sounds.
"Hey Khan!" Jen calls cheerfully, and then tells her "Khan's big and scary but he's got a gooshy chocolate center when you're cute and friendly." She winks.
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Sagira froze a moment when she felt the other one, only to glance at Jen instead of doing what instinct had taught her on how to survive, anything bigger and stronger, run and hide.
"You sure? He sounds dangerous."