Ahhh, that's better! It took me way too long to get this computer set up, I'll say that. We already had electricity down here in the warren, but the phone line was another story. I wish more communities would use underground-running lines…it sure would make it easier for on-line Nosferatu. Aw well, I shouldn't complain, at least I've got all what I've got down here.
Last night was interesting…the first Kindred gathering since we kicked the tar outta those bloody Sabbat and ran their asses all the way back to Trenton where they belong! I guess that our dear old Prince, William, a Ventrue, felt that it was safe enough to be social again, and rightly so, 'cause a lot more of us have been coming into the city. Most of the other Kindred of Swarthmore cleared out after those two Caitiff died, and those of us who stayed to fight have found ourselves in the positions of power vacated by the cowards.
It's been a tough five past years, and I'm sorely sorry that I haven't had time to update the warren files. As it is, I'll have to settle for this copy as my common records, leaving out things that could endanger us with our… um … 'elder brothers'. Therefore, if my computer is destroyed, if the warren falls, or if this information is discovered by strangers, our deepest secrets, the ones known by all Nosferatu who live under the streets of Swarthmore, will be safe.
Well, anyway. The Prince had called us all to meet at one of his estates to get aquatinted and whatnot. As usual, I got there first to make sure that everything was going down all right, then stuck around for a while as people began showing up. After a bit, I snuck in behind an old man who professed to William that he was a Malkavian. Hmm…we haven't had many of then here for a few years, could be good for the city, but it could be a bad sign as well, best to keep my eyes out for trouble.
When I got in - damn it! Punted again! Yeah, yeah, I want to sign back on. Skins alive, you'd think I had better things to do with my time than sit here while my damn modem blinks at me. I just don't understand it…I've seen Brujah moving faster than thought itself, and yet, it takes that little widget bit of electricity so long to get to wherever it goes. Maybe it goes to Russia or something.
At any rate, when I got in, I saw the usual faces, as well as a whole bunch of new ones. Charletton, the head Gangrel, was there with her childe and ghoul, three gypsies out on the town for the evening. Raoul, the Toreador who's been acting as our sheriff, was entertaining a…scantily…um, I mean, well-dressed young woman. Joe, the Ventrue who was quite useful during the war in helping us get whatever big-ass, customized, ego-boosting gun we wanted, was lounging on the couch, and Valentine, that loud Brujah, was talking war stories with his little crony, Reese.
Yep, this was setting up to be a pretty interesting night. I appeared in one of the large chairs, startling Raoul a wee bit. He whirled about in surprise, but then relaxed when he saw that it was just me.
"Sneaking around again?"
"Naw, pal," I said, "I keep telling ya, it's not sneaking about. If not a person happens to see nor hear me, well, I can't be held responsible."
The Toreador arched his eyebrows (artfully, of course) and walked away to be important somewhere else. Others were coming in, and I kept my ears pricked for anything interesting. Joe walked up beside me.
"Look at him, he's got to be a Tremere. She's obviously a Toreador, and I bet he's a Brujah."
I nodded. The young girl what'd been hanging on Raoul was gibbbering to Valentine about what it was like to be a model. Ugh. One of those Toreador. I just hate the way they go on as if they're just the absolute center of the universe and mighty Caine himself should just bow down before them and all. Makes me want to puke, that is, if I still could. No, wait, I can…but I don't feel like it now.
I met some of the newcomers. Joe was right, the little guy was a Tremere, and there was another one over sitting on the couch. The bigger one I didn't like so much…he was just a bit too social, like he was trying too hard. Johnny, my little brother, tugged on my pants, so I bent down to him.
"Girnish, he smells," the young wraith whispered to me. I laughed and ruffed his hair…pretty quick on the up-take for a ninety-four year-old three year-old.
"That he does, Johnny, that he does. Let's us just watch and see what happens to him, hmm?"
Charletton came into the room yelling, and I looked up, ready for trouble. In this town, one never quite knows what's going to happen next…is it the Sabbat, a pack of rabid Lupines, or Gehenna itself? No, someone just insulted the gypsies, no cause for alarm, that is, until she catches him. By now everyone was paying attention as she reamed out Raoul. Heh, I'll bet he watches his tongue after that.
The Toreador came up to me and started playing at fancy introductions, but I really hate to put up false pretenses, that is, unless it's my face, or I can benefit from it. Her name was Justice, had a father that was a lawyer, and was a friend of Monique, that stupid little Caitiff. In fact, I should stress the was of the phrase, 'cause Justice told us that the girl had been killed by Sabbat in New York City. Well, what did she expect?!? It's their territory! Did her sire teach her nothing? Oh yeah, her sire was that thieving, clanless boy who got himself murdered. I can't believe the Prince bought Larcen's line about the Sabbat doing it…down here, I knew what was going on, and I see the results of the guilty crime.
Suddenly, this big guy, Rocky, I believe, took a swing at the Tremere I'd been talking to earlier. Raoul was there in an instant, damn Celerity, and hauled both of them into a separate room with the Prince. Joe quickly side-stepped over to me.
"Go see what's going on."
I gave him such a look…yeah, thanks Mr. Ventrue, I completely wouldn't have thought of that on my own. Huh. Joe's a good guy, but sometimes he's just a bit too much like his clan-mates. Nipping down into the hall, I vanished and entered the side room. William was scowling, as usual, and talking about how it was his house and his city and what did they think they were doing? Rocky was confused and said that the Tremere had made him say something nasty 'bout Philadelphia, when he loved his home city. The accused, to whom Raoul referred to as 'Eurotrash', admitted that he did.
The man went on to say that Philadelphia was a dirty city, as for all who were born or lived there. Rocky was really straining to be good in front of the Prince and not just pop the Tremere in the face. Willie just yelled at them for fighting, and told Eurotrash to leave the mind-control back in the Chantry where it belonged. As that seemed to be that, or so the saying goes, I left their company and returned to the main room and visibility. Joe was standing by the fireplace.
"Not much of interest went on. Raoul said they were fighting, the Tremere said bad stuff 'bout Philly, Rocky didn't like it, and the Prince said don't do it again. Hardly even worth listening in," I reported.
The old man, the Professor, I think he said his name was, was talking to a very well-dressed woman who was lounging on one of the chairs. Toreador, had to be, but she carried herself like a Ventrue. Hmm. This could stand some investigation. I went over and sat down, listening to the conversation. The woman noticed me immediately.
"Good evening, and you are?"
"Girnish Tan, pleased to meet ya," I responded, with my usual hearty handshake that left her a bit pale, probably trying to gage my social standings and mortal upbringing. Yeah, I'm blue-collar and proud of it…my people worked the mines, and so did I.
"Oh, I see. Have you been in this city long?"
"Well, you could say that." About fifteen years, but I wasn't going to volunteer that information just yet, better to see how this all plays out.
"Yes, well. Do you know how often Gabrielle comes here?" she asked with a smile. I've seen that kind of look on both animals and people, but I sure as standing, was not going to be the pray tonight! So, she knew the Ventrue Justicar by name…interesting…because those who do don't go throwing that around, even in this town, which the powerful woman appeared to favor.
"Who, the Justicar? Well, I've heard of her, and I believe that she's been to Swarthmore before, but I don't think she makes regular stops or anything."
"Hmm, yes, thank you."
Damn to furies, how much did she know, and more important, why did she want to know what she did, and what was she planning to do with the information? Better make her a study tonight, among others. But for now, cool off, play the fool, all the easier to catch her later in a fumble. Conversation's the key…yeah, if she's a Toreador like I suspected, then that shouldn't be too hard.
"Well, I do know that she travels a great deal, in fact, you look like the traveling type yourself," I spoke up.
The woman smiled like a poisoned chocolate; sweet, smooth, and deadly, she didn't even hear the snap of the trap. "Why yes, I've been all over the world, to most every place one can imagine. I've probably even spent time in your home town."
"Oh, so you've been to Dnangarwyth." C'mon little bunny, take the carrot, step into the snare.
A flash of confusion swept across her face. "Well, I've been all across Ireland, but I can't say that I've ever been to…that place." Gottcha!
"Well, it's no wonder! Dnangarwyth isn't in Ireland, it's in Wales. A small mining town, in fact. You'll probably never hear of it again." Aha! Advantage mine!
"So, you come from over there?" The old Malkavian stepped back into the conversation as the Toreador slinked off after Joe.
"Yep, I do."
"How nice," he said, and went on prattling about some or such that he knew who was from Ireland. Damn it! I'm Welsh! I'm not Irish! No offense to our island kin, but I'm no drunk-ass, lucky charm-pushing brawling bastard. As the Professor went on and on, he leaned on his great, intricately carved cane. Hmm, I've seen the make of it before.
"Pardon sir, but your cane, did you buy it in Scotland?"
"Why yes, I picked it up at a local store, hand-made too."
I took it from him…it was weighted perfectly. Let's just check the bottom, and there, just as I thought. "This was made by one of the McCleod clan. See, that's their crest on the floor-tip. Specifically, I believe it was carved by Cash McCleod." Cash was a good man, born a carver, Embraced a Gangrel. Wise country boy, but perpetually melancholy…death caught him with a wife and two boys left behind, only to watch them grow old and die as he lived eternal in the cold nights of the moors.
Then, a noise. Eurotrash the Tremere went flying into the wall at the far end of the room, and Rocky started smashing a small folding chair that had been in the corner. Rushing in, less-than-dashing, Raoul calmed the boy down and dragged him off somewhere. I gave the man a hand as he stood.
"You've got to be more careful, you're going to get yourself killed," I told him.
"I don't know what happened. I was trying to manipulate him, and he frenzied," Eurotrash squalled back, rubbing his tender jaw.
I rolled my eyes and wished I could breathe, 'cause this fool definitely warranted a big sigh. "Buddy, I'm telling ya, don't piss off a Brujah, or ya deserve all that ya get. Besides, be careful. This is Swarthmore, so don't go thinking that you can act like a total dickhead and get into whatever trouble you want. You're clan isn't going to step in a bail you out, and not many in this town still fear the name Tremere, we've seen far worse."
The man shrugged and walked off. Tsk, so tactless. Johnny was right…no successful pub would take wagers on the Tremere's life-span in this city. All around was the buzz of people talking, but one little bit in particular caught my ears.
"So, have you ever been to a conclave before? Really? Hmm."
That Toreador was still fawning over Joe, trying to pump him for information. It wasn't like she'd actually get any, but this still needed to be taken care of. Now then, who needed to know…ah yes, Willie the Prince. He was talking with the short Tremere, so I made my way over to him as I sensed closure in the conversation. Always pays to be polite, and you'd be surprised just how much.
"M'lord Prince, if I could have a word with you?"
"Yes, of course Girnish," he said, and we walked into the small side room, "Now then, what seems to be the problem?" Wise man, he knows that when a Nosferatu needs a word, then something's gotta be up or going down.
"You see that woman with Joe?"
"Yes. The Toreador. What's wrong with her?"
"Well," I hesitated.
"No, go on. If it's a matter of concern then I think that, as the Prince, I need to know."
I nodded. "There's nothing wrong with her per se, but it just seems to me like she's trying to pull something, like she keeps asking things that I'm pretty sure that she already knows."
"For example?"
"Well, she seems really interested in the Ventrue Justicar, and called her by name, asking how regularly she comes to our city. Those who know such powerful Kindred by name would not be foolish enough to go throwing that around, unless…"
"Unless what?" Now I had him hooked.
"Unless they were powerful enough, or had enough influence, or had something up their sleeve so they would have no need to be worried."
He turned…aw fuckin' asshole! I swear to whoever happens to listening at the moment, if I get another invitation to a pornographic website, I'm going to frenzy! I don't care what they're licking or sucking! I mean, I'm a rotting, undead corpse! Where do these people get my e-mail address? It's not like I'm listed or anything. Hmm, perhaps I should send them a picture of me…yeah…Naked Nosferatu of the Net or something. Delete, delete, delete. There, that should take care of it.
Anyway, the Prince turned and walked out of the room. "Don't worry, whatever happens, I can take care of it," William said as he returned to the hallway. Foolish man, but what're ya gonna do?
The party was at it's fungus point, you know, after you've introduced yourself to the new kids, said your bit to your pals, and done your business with the Prince; so that everyone's kind of milling around and no one really knows what to say to anyone else. I hate that, in fact, the night's still a bit young, I could go out and find some excitement, either that, or to Dunkin' Donuts and get some treats. The best kind, though you have to make them yourself, are the blood-filled ones, but that gives "time to make the donuts" kind of a morbid turn.
Valentine started going on about being in Vietnam, but I distanced myself from that conversation. So, he crawled about in the jungles for a bit, huh, that's no war. Until one's been in the trenches, one has not known war. Justice, that irritatingly stupid Toreador, was talking about her friend Monique. Ugh, I made a face, and so did Johnny. I laughed as he tugged at my pants, trying to get my attention.
"Girnish, my tummy hurts."
That'd confuse a dog on the moors. I didn't even know wraiths had parts that could hurt, and further, Johnny'd never complained about anything like that before. This could be something important.
"Do you want to go home?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Um, pardon me?" It was the Prince.
"Yes m'Lord?"
"Who are you talking to?" I got his drift. There I was talking to the wall next to me.
"I'm no Malkavian, I'm just talking to my little brother, Johnny," I replied. Johnny looked up and waved.
"There's no one there."
"Of course there is, Lord Prince," Charletton had over-heard the conversation and made her way over, "there's a little spirit boy, a ghost, but you're just not the kind who can see such things." The Prince shrugged and walked away.
The Gangrel herself usually had a gypsy wraith with her, so I knew that she was gifted with the sight of Those Beyond, as it used to be called in Dnangarwyth. "Oh, hello there young one," she said to Johnny. He blushed and hid behind my leg, then doubled over in pain. This did not bode well.
"Is he all right?" Charletton asked, concerned.
"I'm not really sure, he's been kind of sick lately."
It sounded like a row was going on in the kitchen, and Valentine and Raoul ran off real fast to see what was up. I sat down in the corner chair to see what would develop. Again, the Prince walked over to me.
"They fight even in my domain, that idiot Tremere just can't leave the Giovanni alone."
That got my attention faster than Celerity. "Rocky's a Giovanni?" William nodded.
I shuddered and moved into invisibility. Those bastards are always up to something, and we've been lucky in Swarthmore to have avoided any trouble with them. The first Prince here was one, and though he was betrayed and murdered by his Ventrue lover, his wraith still haunts the city. A few years back we had a problem when a Brujah ghoul, unknowingly born Giovanni, was taken by a Toreador to be given the Kiss, only to be Embraced by a Caitiff. We'd have been wiped out by the sick fuckers if not for Eve Giovanni, who pulled a few favors. The whole clan knows to much, and if even half of the stories of the horrible things they do to wraiths are true, then all Kindred everywhere are in deep shit.
The fight appeared to be over, though when I tried to reach the kitchen, Valentine blocked me, saying how he and Raoul wanted to see everyone in the main room, where we got a 'talking to' 'bout how no one should fight. By the time I got to the kitchen where Charletton was, the Prince and Warren were also there. Damn. She'd have to be warned about the Giovanni. No wonder Johnny was feeling off.
It took a while, but I finally sent Starline, the younger Gangrel, in to fetch her sire. "Yes, Girnish, what is the matter?"
"You know that kid, Rocky? He's no Brujah, he a Giovanni."
"Oh my God!" followed by what sounded like Romanian curses. She yelled at her gypsy woman to leave at house at once, which she did, after scooping up Johnny as well. I hoped that he'd be able to find me back in the sewers later. Justice looked at us distastefully as she passed, giving me a snag of an idea.
"Hey Charletton, want to have some fun with that one?"
She smiled impishly. "Sure."
I headed out into the main room and said that I needed to talk with her, needed to tell her something important about her late friend Monique. I led her into a side room, followed by a small red fox, I mean, Gangrel, or something.
"Yeah, what'd you want to tell me?" she asked innocently. Moons above, this was gonna be great!
"Well, I think you should know that when Monique lived here something very strange and frightening happened to her."
"Really, what?"
"They say that her sire, that dirty Caitiff, gave her a sickness that only affects our kind. But it didn't come from his blood, it spread through the air. This sickness takes a long time before it shows itself," I told her.
"W-what happens to you if you get it?"
"I've heard that it does something to how you look."
Justice sneered. "I bet you're making this all up. I've never heard of a vampire disease."
"Oh yeah? You wanna question me? I should know, I've got it." And at that second, I dropped all powers of Obfuscation, letting the Mask fall, and my true face be seen. The girl screamed and passed out cold on the floor. The little fox that was Charletton ran out of the room, and I winked out of sight. Valentine and the usual ambulance chaser others came in and carried her out. Raoul was livid. In fact, I'd almost made good my escape when he clamped his hand down on my shoulder…damn Auspex.
"What did you do to her?!?" the man cried, dramatically, of course.
"I didn't do nothing, I swear! We were just talking and she all the sudden yelled and hit the floor. Scared the undead out of me, I'll tell ya that much!"
The fool Toreador seemed to buy that, but now there was other stuff going on in the kitchen again. I ran in. Eurotrash the Tremere was lying on the floor, and Charletton was howling for his death. Hmm, guess he said something bad about gypsies. William was trying to moderate, but before he could say anything, she whipped out those nifty claws and cut out his tongue. Now, at this point, things start to get a little botched up. I remember he walking past me, holding the tongue in the air, and I walked into the kitchen.
Warren, who'd been standing near the door looking a bit green, suddenly growled, and in the blink of a second, turned into his battle-form, right there in the Prince's kitchen. He roared and smashed through the door, followed by William and Charletton. Unseen, I stood by the cabinets while Eurotrash writhed on the floor, spitting blood all over the place. Raoul, quick as a nubbin, flashed his sword, and nicked the Tremere's head off. That seemed to be that.
From what I hear, the party ended shortly after, but I was down in my haven at that point. Sure, Warren's a right-nice guy and all, but sure as shaving, I'm not going to mess with a lupine when he gets a flea in his ear. 'Sides this'll all probably blow over in a bit, or so I'm hoping. Swarthmore's been through a lot in the past few years, but we're still here, and this warren's been safe since the war of American Revolution; I aim to keep it that way.