Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He nods snorting "and that's one of the nicer words, could say more but wouldn't want to rattle the hosts fucking chain, no doubt go crying home to his boyfriend at my mouth."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "He'll fit in well." She rolls the fork in her fist.

Charles Avanguard: He nods to her "I'm sure he will."
*achem* coughs one of the waiter. "Excuse me but you're disturbing the other guests." he says nervously.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He half sighs "Sorry brother dear, I remember to leave me potty mouth at the fucking door next time." He looks Mary up and down, more than just a weapons check for sure. "Nice tat."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Thank you." She smiles. "Why do you prefer being called Spitfire."

Charles Avanguard: Charles grins at the bruces reply sitting back the cane flicking into his hand as he watches the waiter, who stands for a moment longer then decides that he's not going to have any luck getting Bruce to not be loud and abrasive. "Can I take your orders then?" he asks swallowing and pulling out a small pad.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: Something gleams in his eye "Got it back Detroit way, big fight against a guy named Bomber, big fucker, had me on the ropes long enough till I took his ass to town, after that folks started calling me Spitfire."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She begins to twirl the fork between her fingers easily. "I'll have a water, thank you." She seems interested in the story about the fight. "How did you do it?"

Charles Avanguard: "Red wine, make sure it's a good year." he says looking away from the waiter sitting back looking between the other two.
The waiter looks to bruce, a look of indesishion.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks the waiter over "Am good, unless I can offer you a knuckle sandwich?"

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: "Heavy on the knuckle?"

Charles Avanguard: That frees the guys feet, he shakes his head and is gone before bruce even finishes the scentance.
Chaerles grins and flexses his fingers on his cane but otherwise doesn't react to it.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She waits for Spitfire's response, twirling the fork.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks back to Mary "I stuck a broom through his gut."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Oh, yeah? Fuckin' cool." She sets the fork down and picks up the knife to play with. "Pierced his heart?"

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks to Charles a moment then back "I didn't stick around long enough to see, maybe?" He regards her a moment, could be...

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "I bet the guy in charge of that city was upset. A change of scene was a wise choice. New York is a great place. Don't fuck with Brooklyn."

Charles Avanguard: He raises an eyebrow to bruce in return. "They don't get up again it's imaterial where you stab them, or what with."

Charles Avanguard: (DLP)

Charles Avanguard: He raises an eyebrow to bruce in return to the look and then turns to mary again his hand tightening ever so slightly on the cane. "Quite so."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: "Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust an all that." He gives a knowing smile, she might not be, and if she ain't and is somebody else with the info, another green lighter in his book. "And thats why were meetin' am gonna be up front, I ain't 'eard of you, so tell then don't tell me wat I can and can't fucking do, gets me all crazy like."

Charles Avanguard: Dispite the tension in his hand his voice is still fluid charming and calm.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: ((tell-till))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She smiles pleasently. "You're new."

Charles Avanguard: "That depends on your deffinition my dear."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He rolls his eyes, like he hasn't heard that before. "Maybe, still, seems you have heard of me, but I ain't heard of you, means yer a boss or a bitch of one, or sumone with far too much information on some stuff."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She turns toward Charles, looking at him through new eyes. "It's not so relative."

Charles Avanguard: he shakes his head slightly, running his free hand through his hair, tact had never been bruce's strong point. a small sigh.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Too much info? Dear me, what shall be done? Stop hinting and get to your fucking point."

Charles Avanguard: "Both of you, this is neither the time nor place for such disscussions." he says forcefully though calmly.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He laughs, he like her, spicy. Wonder how she tastes but he still had a point "Somewhere more private then?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "This location is fine, and it's private enough. This is a place where business men come to talk, and they're the ones who think they have something to hide. This is a private booth for a reason."

Ricky Prince: He ducks into the restaraunt, scowling on the way in and looking over his shoulder. The man's tense, a little frustrated, a lot angry. Maybe even carrying a touch of nerves to him. He looks around the place...business eatery. Great. Yeah, HE fits in.

Caged fury rails behind the blue-green irises in this young man’s face. Maybe 23, 24 years old, with unruly golden-brown hair that ends midway down his neck and covering his ears, he walks with the moves of a predator, stalking his prey...whatever that may be. He has a habit for wearing solid-color or band T-shirts, in this case a Revolting Cocks shirt with a green windbreaker over it, and a pair of torn. dirty jeans. A pair of fingerless gloves cover his hands. Animals tend to shy away from him, sensing his status at the top of the food chain combined with a sharper instinct then even they possess.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He waits on Charles, no point starting something over nothing, he could prove it easly, ram that folk through her arm and see if it puts her down for a bit.

Charles Avanguard: "If you think these booths are as private as that you are not nearly cautious enough my dear." he pushes back his chair standing his cane in his hand. "If such matters are to be disscussed I suggest we move this elsewhere."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: ((folk=fork))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: alert + per: 9,4,7,8,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Her eyes settle on the man that just entered the location. "Where do you suggest?"

Ricky Prince: He snorts a little bit...kinda dumb to just hang out in the lobby area. He scans around the place, looking for a good place to hang for the moment.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: d10: Per & Alert: 3,9,1,3,

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He misses that look to the newcomer, more like stare, most likely because he is watching for Charles' reaction.

Charles Avanguard: "We can disscus it in my residence if you have no objection to leaving your borough unattended for an hour or so, or within a car, yours or ours I shant object either way, alternatly if you have a better idea I'm open to suggestions."

Ricky Prince: d10: Per+Alert: 9,4,8,10,5,

Ricky Prince: His eyes fall upon Mary, Bruce, and Charles...Mary, specifically. He cocks his head to the side, brow raising. No reason not to make his way over...so he does that indeed, crossing thr restaurant toward the booth.

Charles Avanguard: d10: Perception: 4,8,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Yeah, that'll do. Let's wait a moment. Maybe this person will join us." She watches Ricky walk toward them with a friendly smile. She's still fiddling with the table knife in her hands.

Charles Avanguard: He notices the new arival heading towards them. "A friend of yours?" he asks letting his grip on his cane loosen slightly.

Ricky Prince: He moves up to the table, smirking a little Mary's way. "Hola, chica." Bruce & Charles get once-overs as he comes up, looking them over appraisingly, definite size-ups.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: This person? Bruces turns looking at Ricky, he looks him up and down, certainly looks like muscle.

Charles Avanguard -> Ricky Prince: ((you want a DD?))

Ricky Prince -> Charles Avanguard: ((Sure. *Nods*))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Heya. I'm glad you survived the fire." A very odd statement, to be sure. "Let me introduce Charles, and Spitfire." She indicates them each individually.

Charles Avanguard -> Ricky Prince: ((Charles stands about 5’6 in height and is of a medium build, he looks a lot like any other 40 odd year old in a suit. His hair is neatly cropped and short and has grey hairs scattered throughout it. His suit is a black one and he wears the jacket done up, a dark red tie with a choreographed C is done up in a white shirt. Despite his age he looks to be fairly full of life, and there’s just something about him that makes people give him a second glance. When he speaks he has a very upper class tone but even so it is a pleasant voice and in obtrusive body language, he makes you feel like you matter even when he’s talking down at you strangely enough. He carries a well made fibreglass cane that has a silver sphere at the top by which he holds it.))

Charles Avanguard: He nods to the new arrival "And you might be?"

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: Bruce flashes that manic grin, giving a small nod at his name.

Ricky Prince: "Yeah, damn that fire. Horrible thing." He tilts his chin upward in a greeting to each of them. "Hola. I'm Ricky."

Charles Avanguard: "A pleasure." he offers his free hand to the man the other still resting on his cane.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: How pleasent. Yes. Now onward. "And, as every one knows, I'm Mary Margaret. There, we've all met. Now let's all go somewhere else. Ricky, please join us."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He stands flipping the chair round as he does, something seems off here. He sticks the chair back under the table, giving the waiter a nasty look cracking his knuckles "Damn looks like the fucker didn't want his sandwich."

Ricky Prince: He looks at the hand a moment, before the smirk returns and he shakes it. Good, strong grip, not quite painful. A glance goes to Mary...he nods. "A'ight. Where we goin'?"

Charles Avanguard: "Never came back with our drinks either, terrible service." he says with a grin to bruce.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Somewhere private, it's been decided. Any suggestions?"

Charles Avanguard -> Ricky Prince: His hand shake is not nearly as strong, a laxed gentlemans handshake, there is so very little put into it. or maybe that's all he can muster, hard to tell.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He shakes his head at Charles looking disappointed "When I write the review it so isn't going to be flattering, poor service, fuck all to drink, what kind of place is like that...I ask you!"

Charles Avanguard: He smirks to bruce, even with their vastly different characters there were moments. "My residence is available if you are content to be out of brooklyn for a short while, otherwise there are no doubt ways to find a suitable location." he says raising his free hand to look at his watch.

Ricky Prince: "I'm cool wherever." He shrugs.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Your location will do." She seems tense. "I'll follow you in my ride. Ricky, will you join me?"

Charles Avanguard: "Very well" he nods looking to bruce.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: "Lets get going then" He stomps for the door, giving the doorman a leer as he does

Ricky Prince: "Cool." He nods to Mary and moves to head out, peering around the restaurant with a bit of a scowl. High-class stuffy fucks.

Charles Avanguard: "We'll pull around so you shouldn't have any difficulty finding us." He says before following bruce out.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He walks out to Charles car, moving round to the passenger side, waiting for Charley boy to unlock the fucking thing.

Charles Avanguard: Once outside he heads straight to get into his car, unlocking it and getting in. once bruce is also in he drives back the short way to the resteraunt.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She stands and leaves last. She starts to walk down the street, and her vehicle pulls up beside her. The driver gets out and opens the door for her, and she gestures for Ricky to get in.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He sits in there, hands tapping away at the dashboard, some kind of punk beat.

Ricky Prince: He looks in the car, then to Mary a moment...appraising, before he shrugs and slips inside.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She slips into the backseat after him, and the door is closed. The driver walks around the vehicle, gets in, and begins to drive.

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "So, Ricky, is it?" She laughs playfully.

Charles Avanguard: He moves out when he spots Mary's car and starts driving towards an upperclass area of queens.

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: He grins. "Yep...Ricky'd be me."

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "Ricky, question, do we trust each other?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary's vehicle follows them right behind.

Charles Avanguard: ((To queens res, when ready))

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: "At's a good quetion." He leans back, pulling his Zippo out and twirling it in his fingers. "Ya seem straight, chica. I'm willin' to start the trust process. We'll see where it goes."

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "Thanks. I seem to trust you too." She starts to undo her skirt. "Turn away. I need to change."

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: He raises a brow, then shrugs and turns away, watching out the window.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Choose a letter, C or A." She removes her shirts and skirt and begins changing into her street wear.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (Shoos into PMs)

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "Choose a letter, C or A." She removes her shirts and skirt and begins changing into her street wear.

Ricky Prince: "Err...A."

Ricky Prince: ((Me, too. :P))

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Err...A."

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "I'm C, but I couldn't give a fuck either way. Call 'em skewed priorities. Spitfire's an A, and Charles is unknown. Spitfire is famous for killing some Prince guy's lackey, and Charles is planning something that requires manpower. I can provide the manpower, but I don't know how far I can trust them. That is, I don't know if this will turn into a brawl. Following? Still with me?"

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Beyond what A and C mean, yeah, I'm followin'." He raises a brow, still looking out the window.

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "What C and A mean?" She seems confused as she rolls on her thick leather jacket.

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: He shrugs. "Never mind. Can I look now?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "Yeah." She checks to make sure her knife is still in her jacket, and then pulls out some weapons from below the passenger side seat. Two 9mms, and a black case. She sticks the 9mms in her jacket as well. "Ready?"

Ricky Prince -> Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Yeah, I'm good." Now weapons...he does flex his fingers, though, as if getting them ready.

Mary Margaret St. Michael -> Ricky Prince: "Then we're good." ((To queens res.))

CHARLES'S PLACE

Charles Avanguard: Charles pulls up at a rather large set of gates leading to an equally over sized house, the gates open automatically and he drives up parking on the drive way and getting out.

Ricky Prince: He waits in the car, ready to get out when it stops. A little on edge, perhaps...but when isn't the man?

Mary Margaret St. Michael: The car parks behind Charles', and the driver lets its passengers out of the left side. Mary gets out first, dressed in her usual leather jacket.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: Bruce swings in the seat feet stomping out on the gravel as he steps out, stretching head cracking to left and right. He looks to Mary's car as it pulls up.

Ricky Prince: He climbs out after Mary, looking around the place with a raised brow. "Nice digs."

Charles Avanguard: He nods as everyone elights and heads for the door. reaching into his pocket drawing out a set of keys he opens the door stepping inside holding it open for everyone. ((Blood to dex, over each turn till maxed, just encase.))

Charles Avanguard: "Thankyou" he says as he nods in the above post. ((slip it in sneaky like))

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He steps in "Cheers bro" (Blood to Dex)

Ricky Prince: He moves into the place, at Mary's side. "De nada." His fingers flex impulsively, as he walks. ((Guess what? Blood to...DEX!))

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: ((A bunch of paraniod vamps by any chance lol))

Charles Avanguard: ((Arn't we all jittery night walkers now))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((Blood to Sta. She upped her dex already.)) She walks up to the others, and then walks inside. "Thank you. Everyone is just so gosh darn polite these days." The irony in her voice is growing stronger by the second, it seems.

Ricky Prince: ((Pretty much. Damn Sabbat thinkin' he's a traitor for...y'know. Betraying 'em. *G*))

Charles Avanguard: "Mannors never hurt anyone." he says with a dip of his head "Dinning room or living room, a preferance?"

Charles Avanguard: He closes the door quietly once all of them are inside.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: Bruce stomps on in and straight for the living room though he so doen't fit the decore of the place he seems to know it well. The irony in Mary's voice is not missed, but not his roost, not his rules. He spins taking a seat, louging back without a care in the world

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: But then again...rules, who listens to them.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Seems it's been decided." She stretches her neck, letting the blood work its way around, following them all to the living room. ((Blood to Sta))

Charles Avanguard: "It seems a choice has been made." he says with a chuckle and walks through to the living room, sinking into one of the large chairs around a rather bland looking coffee table.

Ricky Prince: Depends on which has more windows to get out through. He shrugs a little. "Ain't make no difference to me, hommes."

Ricky Prince: He heads to the living room with a shrug, peering around as he does so. ((Blood: Dex))

Charles Avanguard: The living room is a large ish room with thick red curtains covering the windows. the carpet is a deep purple and the walls the same warm red as the curtains. There's a fire place though it doesn't lok to have been used in a long time, a number of seats around a coffe table, a large sofa and a collection of small tables. other than that the room is fairly bare.

Charles Avanguard: "Please take a seat both of you, make yourselves at home." he waves a hand indicating seats his other resting on his cane.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He rocks his head, lips pursed dancing to some unseen beat.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: ((Dancing=moshing *bah! *s*))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary sits down on a sofa, making herself confortable. Her feet are flat on the floor, and she's watching everyone's movements, painfully aware that this wasn't her usually scenery.

Ricky Prince: He moves to a non-couch seat, perching in it, feet on the cushion and crouched. His forearms rest on his knees, very much resembling a crouched animal as he settles in.

Charles Avanguard: He winces at Ricky perching on the seat and sits himself forward leaning over his cane. "I'm sorry, would you please mind taking your feet off my furniture, it's a terrible drag I know but still." he rubs his brow "Now where were we before our relocation? I believe some point of minor importance was about to be laid bare." (And having maxed Dex lets throw one into stamina for good measure)

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "We were about to discuss something that could throw a wrench into our new partnership. A serious fuckin' wrench." They deceived her, in her mind.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: "Yeah, like who's meat and who ain't!" He snorts, quite at home with the danger in the air, in fact it seem to be soothing him more than anything else. He loves these undercurrents, helps him focus. You could say he lives for this shit.

Ricky Prince: He looks up at Charles, brow raised, and nods a bit. He steps off the chair and moves to a stand. Doesn't look like the man's entirely comfortable lounging. A Zippo comes out, which he starts twirling between his fingers. ((Blood: Dex. Maxed))

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks to Mary, oh he loves wrenches (Blood to Dex also maxed)

Charles Avanguard: d10: Awe WP: 6,10,7,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "So, who is meat, and who ain't?" She states bluntly.

Charles Avanguard: "Please everyone, calm down. and take a deep breath if anyone here needs to."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He raises his hand "I ain't meat!" He grins, eyebrows waggling. "But since you have heard of me that was pretty fucking obvious."

Ricky Prince: "Don't think anyone here needs t' take a deep breath, hommes." He smirks a little bit, withdrawing a cigarette from the windbreaker and placing it between his lips.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Well, fuck." She looks around at each of them. "Well, how 'bout that."

Charles Avanguard: He raises from the chair and stands up fully straight. "Quite so ricky, it would seem that we are all not quite what we seem. our true nature far more, predatory. I see no reason this should be a problem however, Mary would you care to explain to me why it would be?"

Ricky Prince: The Zippo's snapped open and held out a ways, flicked to life. He shakes his hair back over his shoulders and brings the thing to his cigarette to light it.

Ricky Prince: d10: Courage(WP): 3,6,2,4,

Charles Avanguard: d10: Courage: 9,5,8,4,2,

Ricky Prince: ((You guys should be fine, unless you're right next to him. Not like it's a blowtorch. ;) ))

Charles Avanguard: His head snaps to the lighter, and he tightens his grip on his cane keeping an eye on it till it's extinguished.

Charles Avanguard: ((Pfft, my house, I don't want him setting fire to it, but point taken, lol))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Pick a letter. C or A. You see, a while back this guy named Jack Heller was bothering me and my business. So I stabbed him. Alot. The next night he came back. He got stabbed again, alot. He was being a pain in the ass. In my experience, dead people are annoying to work with."

Ricky Prince: The Zippo's snapped shut, snuffing the flame...to his credit, he only slightly flinches as close as it is to his face for a moment. He continues to twirl it in his fingers as he smokes.

Charles Avanguard: "I have plans for jack, infact it was part of what I was hoping to enlist you for, which is far more easily spoken about in light of current revelations." He looks to bruce for a moment.

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks over to the zippo, brave and crazy guy, he was 'warming' to him already. Then looks to Mary "Tell me about it I know the type, you cut the fuckers a break and they come back thinking there all that, half the time should just dust them and leave it at that, but my name ain't Jack." He grins

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks to Charles "Sorry did I speak out of turn?" The sarcasium in his voice is dripping, but he does shut up, Charles had that thing about him at the moment.

Ricky Prince: "One-Eyed Jack's still runnin' around?" He smirks. "Thought he'd-a turned tail and run."

Charles Avanguard: ((oh even more strangeness, ok can work with this, when in doubt imporvise))

"I see then you would no doubt be able to help if he is still around, you see as of present he claims the barony of new york city, please stop me if I'm speaking in terms you don't understand, I'm unfamiliar with your alligences."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She'll go with anything. "Oh."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He looks to Ricky, never one to turn down free advice a small nod he is listening. Organised, and with thinkers, well I never....no I never did. He smirks internally at his joke

Ricky Prince: "Anarchs." He shakes his head...yeah, he seems to know what a Barony is. "Figures. Least when Ravyn and Shiva were 'round, things were competant...ish. One-Eyed Jack's just a fuckin' retard."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "And Ricky would know. He helped with the stabbing second time around. Jack's a real tool. One-Eyed Jack. That's an fucking awesome nickname."

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: He grins "I like it, so how did you do his eye in, am taking it since your throwing it around you did the deed?"

Ricky Prince: A nasty sort of grin goes Mary's way. "Thanks. I liked it."

Charles Avanguard: "I'm agreed with you on that front, the man is a moron and a bully, which is why I'm moving to take the barony off his hands, of course doing so by force or his dissaperance would be foolish, look what trouble it has brought him with ravyn's. But if he tries to resist when people turn against him, which if he is still around he will no doubt do, I would need some muscle to assist with displacing him, which was where you came in my dear mary."

Ricky Prince: "I got my ways." He grins. "You'd be surprised what you can make a Lick lose, with a little ingenuity." He takes a drag off his cigarette, exhaling it through his nose.

Charles Avanguard: ((Ok that post was a little lagging on it's place but never mind))

Bruce 'Spitfire' Freemason: ((And guys I hate to cut out on you, but am going to have to go. Carry on, if someone can log it Bruce will be unsually quiet, pause if a fight starts *g*))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She folds her legs, loosing up. This guy was a good talker. Maybe he had a good plan as well.

Ricky Prince: He looks from Mary to Charles, shifting his weight from foot to foot as they talk.

Ricky Prince: ((Blood to Strength))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She waits for him to keep talking. Explanations are nice. She seems like a very patient woman, strangely enough.

Charles Avanguard: Noting that he seems to have everyones attention he continues, "The seeds of disscontent are already sown in the anarchs, and I mean more than disscontent with the cammarilla. Jack is seen by many as the reason for Ravyn's dissaperance, and regardless of that is not widley trusted or respected among the community. This distrust can be used against him, to take him out of a seat of power that he obviously does not deserve to begin with." he pauses for a moment looking to each member of his audience. "But the majority will not moved unless given insentive or leadership to do so someone still needs to step up and once it is done that same person needs to bring some control, because even within the anarchs a strong leader is neccisery. I intend to step up, but a leader is only so strong as those who support him." he leaves that open to them.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She looks over at Ricky. "What do you think?" For some reason, she wasn't immediately rejecting his idea. She normally wouldn't dare touch Vamp politics.

Ricky Prince: A raised brow. Power plays. He looks to Mary, and then back to Charles. "Well...an' forgive the question here, ese..." He smirks. "...what makes you better then One-Eye? I mean, don't get me wrong, a fuckin' ghouled rat'd be better then that cabron, but I personally don't know yer ass yet."

Charles Avanguard: "Fair point, I don't claim to be better than the man, but I have more tact and intelligence, such things are not difficult in this particualr case. Secondly I don't want a barony, it defeats the whole point of the anarchs, slightly Ironic don't you think that vampires pushing for more freedoms still instill a monarchal figure?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Explain." She crosses her arms, but she's curious. She's more open to these ideas than she's letting on.

Ricky Prince: He's quiet, head tilting a little bit to the side, watching Charles.

Charles Avanguard: "The anarchs are founded on the ideals of democracy, A state by which every indavidual has a say in matters. Now meeting for every miniscule purpose would be meaningless, but electing a number of representatives to govern and that they meet regularaly, is that such an obsurd proposition? After overthrowing the current barony I will take one seat at a table of 5 indaviduals, the other 4 to be chosen by the masses, and to remain for a year from the first of the year, once that time has passed the new council, all 5 including myself shall be put up and may be opposed by any anarch who wishes to try to wrest the place from one, when all contenders have annonced themselves there will be something akin to voting and the five representatives with the most votes will be the next years representatives, and so on." he watches them for reactions.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Five?" She questions with narrowed eyes.

Charles Avanguard: "I'm unaware of the current number of anrachs in the area, the number may need re-evaluation upon institunolisation." he says with a slight shrug. "But it must be an odd number always, thus avoiding stalemates, or such is the theory. The Cammarilla idea of primogen would be effective if there were no prince and a clan all had the same ideals and if the clans were equal, but they aren't, thus electing a member per clan is inpractical and not representative."

Ricky Prince: He snorts a little bit. "Sounds a bit too much like the Cam ta me. I hearda cities where there was a Cam structure just like that...no Prince. Hell, New York didn't have a Prince for, like, seven months. So it sounds almost like more o' the same."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "This is more of the same. Someone to boss me around." She's not rejecting him completely, just prompting him for more information, really.

Charles Avanguard: "No ricky, they are run by primogen, as I've stated already, an unrepresentative, such a sample is not worth the effort it takes to sample it."

Charles Avanguard: "I'm afriad my dear there will always have to be someone at the top, this method just prevents someone from being at the top by putting a group their, thus limiting any indaviduals power."

Ricky Prince: A smirk goes to Mary, then he looks back to Charles. "So, what they call primogen, you call representative." He nods a little, going along with it for now...not totally adverse yet. "The only diff I see, ese, is that yours ain't clan specific. Am I wrong?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She agrees with Ricky, so far.

Charles Avanguard: "Mine would be ellected by everyone from whomever they thought best fitting yes. Can you see a better way my friend? perhaps have no power institution? Then without rule there is nothing but chaos, Of course an additional thing to keep in mind is that anyone could step up and ask to be considered, no matter their age clan or lack their of."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: That last point was interesting, for sure. She uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them the other way.

Charles Avanguard: "It is not a perfect solution I admit, but it is the best that I can come up with within this enviroment. Or would you prefer they stick with baronys?"

Ricky Prince: He considers the question. "Personally, I ain't really got no affiliation at the moment...supposedly, I'm Cam, but hey, ain't we all?" He smirks, but it's brief. "I gotta admit, 'specially if yer takin' over, ese, it goes a long way t' say yer not wanting one guy on top." He peers over to Mary, brow raised, curious as to her take.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She notices they're all looking at her. "Ugh, same." She is surprised that he was Camerilla, but it figured, considering his actions at the bar. "I'm here for the business, for the record."

Charles Avanguard: "Well I'm glad to hear you do not dissaprove even if you do not fully approve." he waves a hand, "And of course I don't want one person on top." he clapsps his hands behind his back, cane still grasped "Any anarch who presumes to rule over others has forgotten the meaning of our sect. A hand to guide and stabalises is neccisery, to rule is a fools errand, as such I shall leave that to the ventrue." a slight crack of a smile, was that a joke?

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "What are you?" My, she's rude!

Charles Avanguard: "Now that would be telling wouldn't it my dear?" he says pacing over to the curtains and turning to walk back. "Take a guess, don't worry I shan't be offended."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Ventrue."

Ricky Prince: "Personally, I was thinkin' Ventrue, too. Or maybe Brujah." He's known some very non-standard Brujah in his time, it seems.

Charles Avanguard: he chuckles "A sense of humour I see, no my dear." A look glance to ricky's suggestions "I think perhaps discushions of my origions, or anyone elses for such a matter should be postponed for another time wouldn't you agree? Unless the two of you care to share also."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She points at Ricky, "Gangrel, right?"

Ricky Prince: He shrugs and pulls his fingerless gloves off, revealing a light fur, obviously more then hair, on the backs of his hands...and his head shakes to brush the hair back from his face, letting the pointed, wolf-like ears to surface. "Guess."

Charles Avanguard: He chuckles, "Quite so sir, yours is fairly distinct," he turns to mary "yours isn't so easily defined." a slight flick of his cane in his hand.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She grins like that was a compliment. "Heh. Guess? Ventrue? Brujah? Gangrel? Um, the... wizard guys? The Noz. What?"

Ricky Prince: The gloves are tossed on the chair, and he starts shifting his weight again, looking between them.

Ricky Prince: "Ya ain't no Gangrel...ya don't smell like a Nos." He sniffs, as if to make the point. "An' if yer a Tremere, I might jus' have ta kick yer ass, no offense." He grins, a little viciously.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Tremere, that was the name!" She exclaims. "I couldn't remember it for some fucking reason. No, ain't that."

Charles Avanguard: "I wouldn't see you as a ventrue, though you have a face for all occashions as you demonstrated earlier" a slight smile. "A brujah, very possibly, I wouldn't have thought you gangrel or tremere and if you're a noss they you clean up exceptionally nicley, perhaps a toreador, maybe even a ravnos." he seems to chew it over for a moment "Brjuha might well be the most fitting from the descriptions of your earlier triumphs, though if so you have a very good teprament for one."

Ricky Prince: "Too light for an Assamite...or a Setite, really. You don't scream Giovanni, either."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Fuck, guys. I'd be blushing now if I was mortal, I swear. You're so sweet. Hardly anyone left though."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She's really enjoying herself, smiling wide and everything.

Ricky Prince: "Brujah, Torrie, Ravnos, or Malk. 'cause ya ain't no Tzimmie or Lasombra. Seen yer reflection in the car window." He smirks.

Charles Avanguard: "not a fair tempered brjuha then? hmmm." he ponders for a moment "A very sane malkavien or a member of the clanless."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She clues in that it's about time to tell them. She looks out the window, wide-eyed. "Malk."

Ricky Prince: "Ahh." He reaches over to scratch at the fur on his other hand. "Guess 'at makes sense." He doesn't say it like it's a horrible thing.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "What?!" She turns and stares at Ricky. "How the fuck you figure that?"

Charles Avanguard: He cocks his head slightly "Hmmm, interesting." he says it more curious than shocked or horrified. "I suppose that leaves it as my turn as you've already had your chances to guess, I'm a toreador." he bows slightly letting the cane stretch out before straightening again and clasping his hands behind his back once more.

Ricky Prince: A Toreador, a Malkavian, and a Gangrel. He imagines a joke about them walking into a bar, and shrugs. "A'ight. So we 'fficially know, now. So, what's next on th' agenda?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Ricky, man, what the hell?!" She's completely put off, now.

Ricky Prince: He looks over at Mary, brow furrowing. "What'd I do?"

Charles Avanguard: He retakes his seat watching the two of them for the moment in silence.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "It makes sense? It makes sense? How in fucking hell does it make sense?" She uncrosses her legs and sets them flat on the ground, and her hands ball into fists.

Ricky Prince: He snorts, facing Mary a little more fully. "'cause ya don't exactly behave normal for a Lick, chica. I ain't never seen a Lick who asked me ta turn around when they were changin'. Or ask C or A without explainin', and when I ask what it means, ya act like yer the one confused about what it means...sure, I got it later, but still." He narrows his eyes. "I ain't sayin' it's bad. Just that it explains a little o' the shit that confused me, s'all."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "C or A. Cam, or Anarch. It totally makes sense! We just met and found out we're kinda alike. I just expected you'd figure it out. When you didn't get such an obvious thing, I was hella confused, you're right. It was style, right out of... Ever watch those Bond movies? Sonofabitch. It's motherfucking style." She slumps down in her chair. "I'm totally sane. Screw you."

Ricky Prince: He looks to Mary, then Charles, shrugging a bit. She'll get over it, or she won't. Ain't nothin' he can say to make it better.

Charles Avanguard: "Perhaps you are spared you clan curse, though escaping it I beleive would deem you a catiff, either way you shouldn't be bothered by the opinion of anyone, for only you will ever know your own mind and thus the truth." he says bridging his hands over his knees. "Now unless there is anything else, you both seem to be uniterested in my venture so I shall bid you goodnight my friends, if you will allow me to call you such." he rises to his feet once more

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Hey, now. Uninterested?" She looks up from her place on the couch.

Ricky Prince: He head tilts. "No one here said we ain't interested. Fact, last thing I said was 'least a little supportive." He smirks slightly.

Charles Avanguard: "Yes, I thank you for allowing me to bounce ideas of you both, it has been truly enlightening, and if you ever decide to join the anarchs don't hesitate to look me up, or rather to drop by as you are both aware now of where I live." he waves a hand slightly "But you've both expressed an inclination to, it's been done tried, tested and failed. if I've interprited this wrong do correct me, but I'm afraid fence sitters are no use, if the core players are not in 100% how can you expect to convince people to follow?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "It's simple. I'm here for business. I always have been. If you're expecting me to jump on some philosophimical Brujah or something, you're..." Won't say crazy. "Stu..." Not stupid, that's insulting. "-not right. Same as before, when you didn't know what we are."

Charles Avanguard: "Indeed, but I wouldn't want to drag in a member of the cammarilla to help displace the current baron should the anarach agree he needs displacing, you must understand my position my dear."

Ricky Prince: "Look, I'm willin' to sign on. But I gotta get more then words, first. Heard too many promises than didn't pan out, from Licks on all sides, to buy into 'em, 'specially on a first meeting. You give me somethin' ta back up yer words, ese, and I might just be good to go."

Charles Avanguard: "Well I don't see what I can offer you aside from words Ricky, especially not at this point in time. You see what you're asking would require that I have some way to show you what will happen, I can't I can tell you what I will do, and if you assist you can make sure I don't just turn out to be a lying snake, and if I am you have my permishion to stake me and leave me for the morning rays of sun. But there is no other assurance I can give you see."

Charles Avanguard: "However when it's over and in place I shall be sure to contact you again so that you can be a part of it if you're still interested then."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She frowns. "Son-of-a... Dude, I've been to, like, two Elsylum'isms, like, ever. Don't want the Sheriff coming to fucking kill me, hey? I mean, killing him would have all sorts of people after my head. I'd rather avoid the issue. Call that Cammie? Whatever."

Charles Avanguard: "You placed yourself in the catagory not me." he says bluntly to her, running his thumb over the top of his cane

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "So did he." She thumbs Ricky. "What's your point."

Charles Avanguard: "My point is he expressed a willingness to 'sign on'" he takes his seat again hands resting atop his cane.

Ricky Prince: "Pfft." He smirks. "I'm Cam only 'cause they think I am, like anyone else who ain't Sabbat. I ain't got nothin' I wanna do with them. Fuckin' dicks."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Exactly the same as me. Like I said, I'm never going to believe in your bullshit cries of freedom, or the Cammies' crazy conspiry theories. I don't give a fuck. If you want to work, I'll work. But all this name calling and labelling is fucking retarded. I'll go, if that's all you are." She stands up and starts to walk out.

Charles Avanguard: "A name means nothing, but a concept given a name means everything. The belief gives it meaning, if you can't believe in a path then why walk it? If you do the work without the beliefe then have you really achieved anything? Think about it." He says not moving from his seat, not moving to stop her. if she's going to go then let her.

Ricky Prince: ((Sorry, guys, Phone Call))

Charles Avanguard: ((no probs))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Then I've got power and made friends. Those are the best illusions. Take that from a Malk. Asshole." She walks out toward the entrance.

Charles Avanguard: "But an illushion is worthless." he says calmly a slight smile, a glance to bruce before looking back to ricky.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "So's everything but God." She murmurs to himself as she slams the door open and walks out to her vehicle.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: herself*

Ricky Prince: He watches Mary walk out, and looks back to Charles. "Tell ya what, ese. You gave me a lotta shit to think on. I'll get back to ya, a'ight? Ain't out, just gotta ponder, y'know?"

Charles Avanguard: "By all means, it would be unfair to give you an on the spot invitation and no chance to weigh your options." he reaches into his jacket pocket producing a card with a caligrophied C on and a cell phone number and his name "give me a call or drop by when you've made a decishion, thank you for your time Ricky."

Ricky Prince: He takes the card, slipping it into a pocket, and does an upward tilt of his chin to the man with a grunt. "See ya." He turns around and heads out.

Charles Avanguard: He walks to the door watching the two guests leave before closing it and returning to the chair, looking to bruce.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She's remarkably composed. Blue opens the back door for her, and she gets in. She waits for Ricky, watching him exit as well.

Ricky Prince: He stalks his way to the car, nodding to Mary. "Catch a ride?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Sure, get in." She slides over to give him space.

Ricky Prince: He slips into the car after a brief glance to Blue, dropping back into the seat.

Charles Avanguard: ((well thanks for the very interesting time guys, it's now way into my morning so I need to get some kip, I'll seeya both soon, night.))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Blue closes the door behind them and moves up to the driver's seat. He starts to drive away and out the gates. Mary is staring out her window, "What an asshole."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((Cya! It was fun!))

Ricky Prince: ((Bye! Thanks for the scene. :) ))

Ricky Prince: "He's a fuckin' Toreador. Whaddya expect?" He shrugs and leans back in the seat.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "He's a fucking idealist, that's what. Can't stand them."

Ricky Prince: "Idealists are dangerous," he agrees. "But they can be played, if he's got somethin' we want."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Yeah, I shoulda lied. Hindsight's 20/20, I guess. Next time." She takes the guns out of her jacket and slides them under the front passenger seat.

Ricky Prince: "S'okay." He smirks a little. "S'what I'm there for."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She looks up at Ricky, softening a little from the hard rock that was her soul. "That's sweet, darlin'."

Ricky Prince: He chuckles a little bit. "Yeah, that's me. Sweet."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "You got a home I should drop you off at, or are you up for some fun yet, tonight?"

Ricky Prince: "That depends on what kinda fun yer lookin' at, chica."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "I've been boxing lately at a gym up in Brooklyn. It's a good place. It's one of those general work-out everything places. Nice people. Wanna come?"

Ricky Prince: He considers, and then shrugs. "Sure, why not? Could do to let off some steam."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Blue. Take us to Taiso." She turns toward Ricky, smiling like a friend. "So, how far are you going to go with this guy? Are you planning anything big of your own?"

Ricky Prince: "Honestly? I'm just tryin' ta keep my skin on my body. Cam don't give a shit...Sabbat's tryin' ta take it. Leaves the Anarchs."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "From what I've seen of the Anarches, they're all either idiots or idealists. I'm not optimistic." Her voice is flat and controlled. "If Jack Heller was their boss, they're not that strong either."

Ricky Prince: "Yeah, no shit." He shakes his head. "I'm pretty well fucked, myself."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "How's that?" She grins at him.

Ricky Prince: "Sabbat's after my ass, hard. Like, they catch me, I'm screwed. You know what a Wild Hunt is?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Nope. Is it bad?"

Ricky Prince: "Take that Cammie Blood Hunt, and organize it. Get packs on your ass, not just the Sheriff and any kinda Licks who're feelin' froggy. And give it the Sabbat mentality."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Damn... You're screwed buddy." ((Phone! Damn it! BRB))

Ricky Prince: "Yeah, tell me about it. S'why I need all the protection I can get."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "I don't know about protection, but I'll fight them along beside you. A good experience. I need that." She crosses her legs in the roomy back seat. "How long have you been an almost Cammie?"

Ricky Prince: "'bout a month." In opposition to Mary's proper sit, he's more sprawled in his corner of the seat.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary's sitting position is more of a mockery of proper etiquette, but it's close. "Poor guy. Hey, if we find out that Jack Heller is still alive, want to go beat him up some more?" Now that's the Saint that her gang loves and follows.

Ricky Prince: "Fuck yeah..." He grins at that. "I could go for that..."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Great." The car pulls up in front of the run-down gym. "We're here." Blue gets out of the vehicle with a grunt and walks around the car to let them out onto the sidewalk. ((To Brooklyn?))

Ricky Prince: ((To Brooklyn!))

BOXING GYM

Mary Margaret St. Michael: The gym seems run-down on the outside, but when you walk inside its obvious that it's simply well used. It's a 24-hour gym, and even at this hour there are a few night owls around pumping weights, punching sandbags, and jumping skiprope. There are three small sparring rings in the far corner, close to the ground. Dim lighting comes from the dirty overhead ceiling fans, and the air is pumped through the room quickly. There are a few jackets around, and tattoos as well, which support a skewed variation of the glyph on Mary's back.

Ricky Prince: He waits until the car stops, and then hops out, looking the gym over. A glace around, sniffing subtlely at the air, giving Mary a chance to get out, before he goes to follow her in.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She steps into the gym and walks over to some benches along the walls of the place. There she takes off her jacket and sets it down carefully on the bench. "You ever box before, boyo?" She looks up at him with her wonderfully blue eyes sincerely.

Ricky Prince: "Box, as in the real thing?" He smirks. "Once or twice, yeah. Been a while, though. Mostly, I do an entirely different kinda fighting."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "What style? Thai? UFC?" She digs around under the bench and roots out some gloves from the pile of old equipment under there.

Ricky Prince: "Naah." He smirks. "Tiger Claw."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Hey, Batman knew that one when he fought his coach up in the mountains. Ever see Batman Begins? Fucking kick-ass show." She finds another pair of gloves. "Probably don't need helmets." She roots around some more. "Can't find any anyway. Fuck." She stands up and stretches her back, "Ahhhhhck. Hey, take off your shoes before you get in the ring, we'll fight in socks. Yeh." She walks casually over towards the rings with a pair of gloves in each hand.

Ricky Prince: "Uh..." He looks to his feet, then around at the other people. "May not be such a good idea, chica." He pats the backs of his gloves, gestures to his ears. "Ain't the only ones."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "I just figured they were just really hairy or something, but if it's worse, we gotta find you some shoes. We're not going to fight in a ring in outdoor shoes. It wrecks them." She turns around to face Ricky, looking up at him, "What size are you, boyo?"

Ricky Prince: "Yeah, it's worse. Size 10."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She turns to looks around the room. "Okay. Maybe Moa's here." She squints at someone off in the distance, "Heya, Moa!" She waits a bit, and shouts louder, "Hey, MOA!" An large, mean, asian looking guy clinks down the bar on rests of the benchpress, and sits up. "I'm borrowing your shoes!" She then starts walking over toward the benches along the side of the wall again. The asain guy frowns, sighs, and then goes back to benching.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She grabs some red shoes from below a bench further away from the door, and starts walking back toward the ring. Wonder how she knows his shoe size.

Ricky Prince: He looks the Asian over, appraising, and then visually dismisses him, following Mary along. Hope Moa didn't need his shoes too badly in the future...

Ricky Prince: Or, rather, he meets her halfway, taking the shoes from her and moving to the nearby bench to take his shoes off. Looks like he has to pullextra hard, before they come off, revealing entirely not-human feet...more wolf-like then human. Long claws, that were probably stuck in the soles of the boots. He moves to quickly slip the shoes on.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She walks casually to the ring, turns around, and tells Ricky, "Put on these shoes. Put on these gloves. I'll tie them for you." She's full of energy, playful, and her eyes are gleeming dangerously.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (dlp)

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She turns around and tells Ricky, "Yeah. Go put on those shoes. Put on these gloves too. I'll tie them for you." She's full of energy, playful, and her eyes are gleeming dangerously.

Ricky Prince: The shoes are slipped on, a slight wince as he does, and claws dig into the soles. Moa will not be a happy camper. The gloves are slipped on, and he walks over, letting her tie them.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "'kay, good. Where did you learn to fight?" She ties the gloves too tight. "Good?"

Ricky Prince: "After my...rebirth. One o' my bosses taught me." His hands flex...he doesn't seem to mind the tightness. "Sure, good."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "It's a skill. Whatever works." She ties her own gloves awkwardly, but then tightens them with her teeth. "I just got beat up a lot. Whatever works." She kicks off her own shoes, and slides off her socks. "Ready?"

Ricky Prince: He nods a little, gloves coming up. "Ready."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She enters the ring with a smile, "Let's do this." She bounces on her feet a few times, like the young girl she appeared to be. Then she stopps and dances from foot to foot in a structured way, eyes focusing in a sharp way that only experience can bring.

Ricky Prince: He falls into the pattern as well, not quite as proper of a boxing style as Mary...he crouches too low, moves too fluidly. There's elements of a boxer in there, but in his own style.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She watches him carefully as he moves, moving from foot to foot herself. She stops and holds out her gloves toward Ricky to start the fight.

Ricky Prince: He bumps his gloves against her, and starts moving. Game on.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She jabs right at his head, going for the temple, but whatever works. ((dex + brawl, diff 8))

Shania Kelten: Really, it's unfair. No one as exotically pretty should move like her. A shock of white ringlets, pulled back from a dark, smooth-skinned face. Exotic, hell yes. A lot of bloodlines meeting and mixing in her, leading to dark eyes, a well-curved and proportioned figure, and a face that could easily be on the catwalk. A plain white tshirt, black sweats and sneakers. And she shouldn't move like that. Like it's no effort. At all. At ALL.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 6,2,9,7,5,2,8,8,9,

Ricky Prince: He throws up a block, and moves to punch himself. ((Splitting 'tween Dodge & Brawl, that order))

Ricky Prince: ((Sorry, Brawl & Brawl; Block's a Brawl))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 1,10,4,4,2,8,4,7,

Shania Kelten: Moving in, vaguely unconcerned. Rucksack over a shoulder, and a small smile tosed to one or two people. Rather self-conscious, for her looks. Rucksack dumped by some equipment, which she goes to town with ... just loosening up, eyes on the fight

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 7,8,4,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 5,6,2,8,7,7,8,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: soak: 8,7,3,3,10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 9,6,4,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 9,3,6,1,7,2,5,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "This could be a brutal fight, ya'know. Long." Her shoulders are square to him in the proper boxer stance.

Ricky Prince: He's still in that low stance, smirking...maybe a little cocky. "Woulda been nice and short, you let me keep the gloves off." A wink, and he moves to strike again, low in the gut.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 5,3,1,5,2,8,2,5,9,3,

Ricky Prince: ((*Thuds*))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She doesn't seem phased by the bodyshot at all. But everyone in the gym knew she was one tough woman. She'd kick your ass if you treated her wrong, or looked at her wrong, or even worse, just get you arrested. She was someone you wanted on your side, and the people here knew that. There was a glyph pasted around the place on tattoos and jackets of rightous fire and wings, skewed and individualized in every instance. Mary, the trained boxer, moves around to the outside of his jab to land a gut shot of her own. ((block, then punch))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,6,8,2,5,4,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 10,9,9,3,3,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 6,1,8,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 2,8,1,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She watches him as she lands the punch, waiting to see if he's hurt by it at all.

Ricky Prince: The punch connects, but he shakes it off effortlessly. "All right...ya ready ta go for real?" He grins and levels a swing, right for her jaw.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(WP): 8,6,4,7,5,2,3,8,6,5,

Shania Kelten: Watching the fight, and keeping her eyes on a couple of the patrons. The ones eyeing her. Frankly, she looks out of place in this sort of backstreet place; but she doesn't feel it. It's more that she's used to it, and just ... acts unconcerned. Confident, even, in being here. Used to it. And so, left alone, for the most part, as she part watches the fight, the two hammering at one another

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Sure, darlin'." She says this with a true New York accent, right from the 70s. She makes to duck under his fist and slam him again in the gut.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dodge + dex: 2,6,3,1,4,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex + brawl: 6,5,4,2,6,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 8,10,5,8,10,9,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: soak: 8,3,2,6,9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 5,3,3,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: A blow to the head is nothing. She contines with her own punch, even as she's being pounded.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: The loud smack of Ricky's punch turns some heads, though. A few people turn around to watch the fight along with Shania.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 3,7,8,8,

Ricky Prince: And the smack to the gut is equally loud...actually drawing a grunt from him. He nods appreciatively, before going for a one-two combo, gut and head. ((Brawl & Brawl, split))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 3,2,8,6,4,4,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(WP): 4,5,3,8,3,1,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She'll take them. She goes for her own combo, jackhammering a bunch of body blows up at the beastal man.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,6,3,3,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 4,6,9,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 4,3,2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 1,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: soak: 4,8,4,10,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: soak: 9,1,9,6,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 2,9,7,5,3,4,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 2,10,3,6,4,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 5,9,3,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 2,10,1,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 5,4,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 6,3,3,

Ricky Prince: A whole lotta hits, a whole lotta nothin'.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She steps back. "This is getting a little silly."

Ricky Prince: He nods his agreement, taking a step away, staying in the low stance...not getting out until he's sure it's over. "Yeah, it is. Guess we're evenly matched, with the gloves on." He glances over briefly, noting Shania.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She followed his glance towards the girl. "What?"

Shania Kelten: Grinning, as she watches, and then a slow shrug "Jes' too padded gloves, Ah reckon" A slow, lazy accent. New Orleans

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "You want to try against him?" She grins.

Ricky Prince: He looks between Shania and Mary, brow raising, a bit of a grin spreading over his face.

Shania Kelten: "Can' see Ah'd last all that long" She shrugs. "Neither've ya're all that bad, though. Better'n me, Ah've no doub'"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Try it. It would be more entertaining then us two just slowly wearing each other down. Come'on. Give it a try. I bet you could do it." She grins down at the girl.

Shania Kelten: She shrugs, moving for there. Kicking sneakers off - figure swaying neatly, and walking just perfectly. Nice and easy, into the ring - it's not even a problem for her - and just a shrug, a small smile "Ah ain' no good't boxin', warnin' now. So this's likely gonna be short"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary undoes her gloves with her teeth, and unties them neatly, somehow. She hands the gloves over to Shania with a friendly smile, "I'll tie them for you."

Ricky Prince: He looks to Mary, smirking a little bit, and turns to face Shania. "S'okay, chica. Boxin' ain't my thing, either. So we're both on a less comfortable ground."

Shania Kelten: "Yeah, yeah" Pulling them on, slightly clumsily. Eyeing up Ricky, then a faint smile to Mary as well "Y'both pretty damn good, y'know?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Not really. Got alot more to learn before I try anyone pro, ya'know." She grabs Shania's hands, a little roughly, so that she could tie the gloves up. She does them up a little too tight.

Shania Kelten: She grits her teeth a little, but shrugs. Not complaining. And a nod across to Ricky, moving back and rolling her shoulders "Ah 'magine this's gonna be short'n painful, th'sound Ah heard y'hittin' 'er with"

Ricky Prince: He waits for her to be ready, and then puts his gloves out to her, to start the fight.

Ricky Prince: "Never know. Ya could be playin' me for sympathy." A wide grin.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She backs into a corner and steps outside of the ropes, feet still up on the ring. "Good luck, girl!"

Shania Kelten: She nods, squaring up. Gloves raised a little, and eyes half-closed. Breathing, nice and slow

Shania Kelten: d10: Initative plus seven: 10,

Ricky Prince: Soon as Shania's ready, he starts moving a little bit, in that odd, fluid motion. He lets her take the first swing.

Ricky Prince: d10: Init plus Eight: 3,

Shania Kelten: Good thing, because she probably won't get a second. The fact she's utterly useless as a brawler is immediately brought home; she's naturally smooth and fast, sure, but just punching, no. No good there. On the other hand, you don't get to be THAT precise and exact without training heavily in something else. Left hand held back, the right just a jab out

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MartialArts: 7,10,2,2,2,8,

Ricky Prince: He takes it, not apparently planning to block whatever Shania's throwing at her. Instead, he focuses all of his energy on aiming a clenched glove directly for her jaw.

Shania Kelten: d10: Damage: 8,3,2,3,

Ricky Prince: ((Diff 8 for called shot, +1 Damage if succ))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 1,6,3,1,8,1,7,8,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 5,7,4,4,

Ricky Prince: ((*Loves that that's not a botch in Rev* :P))

Ricky Prince: Shania's shot hits, but Ricky absorbs the impact...it does throw his punch off-balance, and it misses.

Shania Kelten: A neat sidestep, grinning even as her glove leaves his chest "N't'bad" Again, one hand held back, snapping a left at his chin

Shania Kelten: d10: Aimed: 8,8,10,4,1,7,

Shania Kelten: d10: : 2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary starts laughing. "Nice one, girlie! Come'on, Ricky! Fight, hun!"

Ricky Prince: He seems amused, and he lets the hand go for her jaw once more. ((Another called shot))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 3,8,2,2,9,4,7,6,6,

Shania Kelten: d10: Damage: 6,3,4,9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 8,1,5,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 4,2,9,6,3,2,8,

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MA/ Block: 9,3,2,8,6,

Shania Kelten: Her left neatly tucked under Ricky's chin, and her right, pivoting on impact, catching the incoming glove and - again - sending it by her head, the white ringlets fluttering at the wind

Ricky Prince: The impact makes a sound, and he seems actually impressed, smirking to her. "Not bad, kiddo."

Shania Kelten: A damn sight more fluid than most brawlers, that curved and lithe body moving with more grace than any boxer. That lazy drawl again, as she steps back, gloves moving up defensively "Yeah, an y'firs' hit'll be m'last t'take" But still, offering the shot

Ricky Prince: He smirks, and nods a little bit, aiming...for a body shot this time. No more fancy...back to basics.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 3,8,6,1,8,10,2,6,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Specialty: 3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: A small crowd of thugs and sweaty low-lifes has gathered around the shabby fighting ring. Mary is laughing madly, "Haha! Hit him again! Ricky, kick her ass! This is great!" So Moa askes Mary, "Hey, Mary, what's up?" She turns around and tells him, and addressing everyone, "A fight, brought to you by yours truely, the Sainted Mary Margaret. Hey, Moa, wanna take bets?"

Shania Kelten: Left arm, this time, blocking - a smooth one-two motion, every time. Fluid as you like

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MA Block: 5,6,9,9,2,8,

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MA Punch: 1,1,4,7,5,

Ricky Prince: No contact this time, either way, and he presses his attack, bringing his glove inward for a gut shot, throwing his all behind it.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(WP): 4,10,9,2,9,6,6,3,1,

Ricky Prince: d10: Specialty: 10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Specialty Again: 9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She turns around to watch the fight again as the crowd starts getting loud, cheering for their favorite.

Shania Kelten: Predictable, perhaps, moving to brush this one aside as easily as the others, pivoting to attack after

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MA: 5,3,10,9,7,7,

Shania Kelten -> Ricky Prince: Damage will lead to hefty wound mods here, so roll it *grins*

Ricky Prince -> Shania Kelten: ((Wound penalties don't take effect 'till next round.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 7,10,8,7,3,10,

Shania Kelten: d10: Soak: 9,3,1,

Shania Kelten: d10: Dex/MA Aimed: 5,6,2,2,7,

Shania Kelten: Despite the block, the shot was too damn hard. Slamming into her gut, sending her retaliation spinning of. And she folds up around the glove, winded (And stunned. Damage exceeding stamina. Free shot)

Ricky Prince: And a free shot he takes...this one goes for the jaw. Knockout blow attempt. ((Diff 8))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(Fourth WP): 6,8,3,9,7,7,7,1,2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Oh SHIT! Bitch gonna fall... is she? Will she?" She stands up on the ropes, leaning forward.

Ricky Prince: d10: Damage: 8,5,7,7,6,7,3,

Shania Kelten: d10: (Provisionalsoaking): 10,4,3,

Shania Kelten: (Delete last roll) The shot sends her flying. Literally. A hard, HARD punch that smashes her off her feet and back into the ropes

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary gets down off the ropes, and walks along the edge of the ring to where Shania was hanging. "You okay hun?" Her voice is concerned.

Shania Kelten: She doesn't respond, just collapsing to the floor. And, after a punch that hard, some bloody spittle spattering to the floor from her mouth

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She enters the ring and reaches down for the girl. "Hey, girlie. Girlie?"

Ricky Prince: ((Paused for a moment))

Shania Kelten: She doesn't respond. Just slumped down, face down, those white ringlets splayed out

Ricky Prince: ((Okay. Have spoken with DM, and she has stated the following, all of which makes sense:

1: That rule is only in Mage & Hunter; Vampire, Werewolf, & Demon do not mention head shots being Lethal.
2: With the boxing gloves on, per DM's estimation, it's enough padding that it would be Bashing anyway. Therefore, Shania can soak it.))

Shania Kelten: (All good, re 2. 1, you might want to consider that all of those races ain't exactly BOTHERED by bashing/lethal at all. Only Mage and Hunter deal with people with mortal bodies. None the less, look at the rule for the future *grins*)

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Girl?" She looks up at Ricky from the ground by Shania, "She's down, man." She stands up and announces proudly, indicating Ricky with an open hand, "The winner, Ricky!"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Some cheer, some boo, some don't give a fuck, but everyone's talking, and the atmosphere in the place is more like a violent bar than the gym it was moments ago.

Ricky Prince: ((However, there is one other problem...))

Shania Kelten: Not moving. In fact, definitively not moving. Her back, though, up and down slowly, so she's at least breathing.

Ricky Prince: He's staring at the girl on the ground...particularly the blood leaking from her mouth. The man has a very dangerous look in her eyes...something not entirely sentient.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary turns down to look at the body of the girl, taking out her cellphone and talking under the noise. "Blue, get Black and Violet. We have to haul a body."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 3,10,4,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Instinct: 1,9,

Ricky Prince: He snarls, and pounces at the unconscious girl on the ground, fangs bared.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (Init! Init! Init! Init!))

Shania Kelten: She doesn't move. Can't. Slumped there, breathing shallowly. Pretty little thing with damn near a cracked jaw, and blood around her lips.

Ricky Prince: d10: Initiative-Base Nine: 2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Init plus : 10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (18)

Ricky Prince: ((11))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary shouts, "Hell no! You won! HOLD HIM DOWN!" She reaches out to hold him back violently, trying to immobilize him.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((Increase str))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 7,9,3,8,9,6,

Ricky Prince: ((Okay, Snow's in a couple scenes right now. Does anyone have a problem with me running the Gang?))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((No problem here!))

Shania Kelten: (Go for it. If I fade out, I'll BBS - Shania is, anyway, unconscious for the duration)

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Leadership+Manip: 8,5,3,8,9,4,9,

Gang: d10: Init plus : 4,

Gang: ((Gang goes on nine. Will be doing Streamlined Combat, which means Gang declares first...after this round, really, since they spend this round trying to get into the ring.))

Ricky Prince: ((Aborting to Dodge; per p. 228, WP rolls never needed in Frenzy, so Abort WP roll unnecessary))

Ricky Prince: ((And Blood to Celerity for next round))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 9,10,4,2,7,8,6,8,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Mary tries to grab Ricky, but he slips out of the woman's grasp, as five big guys clamber into the ring. ((New Round))

Gang: They move to try and grab Ricky, as commanded by their gang leader.

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 6,1,8,7,2,4,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 3,4,2,7,2,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,3,5,9,3,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,3,8,9,2,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 4,2,10,2,1,

Gang: ((Ack; Rolling 1 extra die for each of last four rolls))

Gang: d10: : 5,

Gang: d10: : 9,

Gang: d10: : 9,

Gang: d10: : 4,

Ricky Prince: He goes Desperate Defense for his first action, trying to avoid everyone. ((Per p. 210, Despearte Defense doesn't follow regular multiple-action rules.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge (MM): 3,3,7,1,8,5,9,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge (Thug One): 4,1,3,3,7,8,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge Thug Two: 6,6,6,9,7,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge Thug Three: 8,8,7,8,10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge Thug Four: 1,5,1,5,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dodge Thug Five: 9,2,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary reaches out, desperately and argrily grasping the air to catch him before he gets to her. ((Raises str again. Trying to grasp him multiple times. Three times to be exact.))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: WP: str+brawl: 6,9,5,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 5,3,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 4,2,

Ricky Prince: RECAP FIRST ACTION: Ricky is just BUM RUSHED. He's a whirlwind of action, dodging all but two of his opponents...however, while one's grabs is shaky, the other one, he pretty well falls into, and is held but GOOD.

Ricky Prince: His second action is an attempt to break the hold. ((Contested Strength+Brawls; Gonna make Ricky split his die pool on this one, as he's held by two people.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,5,3,8,2,1,3,1,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 10,2,1,1,4,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 3,6,7,10,3,6,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((Everyone's inept!))

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 4,2,3,5,9,6,

Ricky Prince: RECAP SECOND ACTION: Ricky and the first thug are both clumsy, neither gaining ground; the other thug is thrown off.

Ricky Prince: Third action: Ricky splits to break the hold and eat the bleeding mortal.

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 5,10,6,7,9,5,8,7,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,9,7,8,3,3,

Ricky Prince: ((Oh, and Blood to Celerity for next round. And DLP about the split...no splitting Celerity Actions))

Ricky Prince: RECAP THIRD ACTION: The thug is thrown off. At the end of the round, it's ended up...a standstill.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Beat him down! Beat him down!"

Gang: The thugs move to comply, aiming punches at the whirlwind of dodging and throwing.

Gang: d10: Dex+Brawl: 2,2,9,10,9,

Gang: d10: Dex+Brawl: 6,3,1,7,10,

Gang: d10: Dex+Brawl: 1,10,9,3,2,

Gang: d10: Dex+Brawl: 9,2,9,10,7,

Gang: d10: Dex+Brawl: 8,7,2,3,1,

Ricky Prince: He seems willing to take the punches...for his first action, he wants that mortal EATEN!

Ricky Prince: ((DLP))

Ricky Prince: He seems willing to take the punches...for his first action, he's dodging Mary's ass, whatever she has planned.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 7,9,2,5,5,1,5,6,

Gang: d10: Damage: 2,9,2,9,3,

Gang: d10: Damage: 5,7,2,7,

Gang: d10: Damage: 7,1,6,

Gang: d10: Damage: 7,8,10,1,9,9,

Gang: d10: Damage: 6,8,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 3,2,5,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 4,5,7,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 8,10,2,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 5,9,1,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 3,8,4,2,

Shania Kelten: Dribbles bloody saliva

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mark, with her bare hands, punches Ricky right in head four times in a row. "Fucker! Fucker! Fucker! Fucker!"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 3,8,6,1,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 9,2,3,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 10,3,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: WP:dex+brawl: 3,2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: : 8,2,2,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: : 8,8,9,3,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: : 5,6,2,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 10,9,4,9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 9,8,8,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 5,7,3,2,

Ricky Prince: RECAP FIRST ACTION: Ricky is absolutely LITTERED with punches. Most all of them land, but none of them have any realy impact, beyond that of Thug #4, Moa, which has a little, at least.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((I fucking love Moa.))

Shania Kelten: ((*Cheers on the insane vampy*))

Ricky Prince: He's been attacked. He's hurt, but he doesn't feel it. He's spending blood like a muthafucka. And he's like a shark...he smells blood. He leaps.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(Kiss): 2,9,9,7,6,2,3,3,4,3,

Ricky Prince: ((Blood to Strength))

Ricky Prince: RECAP SECOND (AND THIRD) ACTION: Ricky leaps and bites in, starting to drain the unconscious Mortal ((2 BP gone due to 2 Levels Lethal Damage; 3 BP per turn--not action--taken. Shania at 5 BP))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Her anger is getting harder every second, and her voice is becoming like a stone. "Get him off."

Gang: The gang is stunned by the man trying to eat the woman, but they move to try and pull him off. ((There is no system for a "Pull Off"; I'm ad hocing this and saying a Strength+Brawl, resisted by his straight Strength.))

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 9,9,7,1,6,7,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 1,5,7,1,2,2,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 6,9,9,8,2,8,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 4,6,4,2,6,4,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 10,5,8,2,5,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength: 7,7,2,7,4,10,

Ricky Prince: ((Not rolling for second, as no successes))

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength: 2,4,3,9,9,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength: 7,4,7,6,2,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength: 1,10,8,4,8,9,

Ricky Prince: He is just...drinking this round.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Fuck it." She goes down on Ricky's shoulder, covering her mouth with her arms so that no one can see exactly what she's doing, and bites him. Hard! ((Blood to str; a str + brawl to grab Ricky's shoulder, then the bite, which is dex + brawl.))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 3,3,6,2,3,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,9,3,5,7,8,

Ricky Prince: ((Do roll a damage, he has one level of Fortitude, so you gotta piece the skin, even if piting for the kiss. Hey, it's possible!))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 4,7,6,10,9,2,6,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (agg)

Ricky Prince: d10: Fortitude: 6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 9,6,5,7,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Mary Margaret bites down, ripping into the skin ((4 Agg)) Ricky still manages to get his blood drank, before the thugs pull him off. ((MM, roll Self-Control, Vampire blood in your mouth, diff 6))

Shania's corpse: *bleeds*

Gang: The gang pretty well piles on top of Ricky, trying to hold him down.

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 6,10,8,9,4,1,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 6,10,7,2,2,2,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 6,8,10,5,9,5,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 5,3,2,8,6,9,

Gang: d10: Strength+Brawl: 5,2,4,4,5,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary is in the center of the pile, red haze blurring her vision. There is blood on the floor. There is blood everywhere around her. Oh God... Her teeth are sunk into Ricky, and she's finding it hard not to... Oh God!

Ricky Prince: He's trying to duck and weave all the incoming thugs.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (dlp)

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary is in the center of the pile, red haze blurring her vision. There is blood on the floor. There is blood everywhere around her. Oh God... Her teeth were sunk into Ricky, and she's finding it hard not to... Oh God!

Ricky Prince: ((Desperate Defense))

Ricky Prince: ((And Blood to Celerity for next round))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 3,3,9,9,1,2,3,5,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 5,2,8,4,8,5,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 5,4,2,3,1,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 6,3,7,6,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 5,6,7,7,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Thugs #1 and 3 get a good grip on Ricky, as Mary Margaret freaks out, and Shania bleeds her last into the ring.

Ricky Prince: ((Kee-Rap. Delete ALL of that.)) Ricky tries to break Mary Margaret's grip on him, and dodge as much as possible. ((Split into a Strength+Brawl and 5 Dex+Dodges; can split up to maximum Dex, current Dex due to Blood is 6))

Ricky Prince: ((Shit. Okay, it's 3 AM. Gotta do math, see how much he can dodge, with negatives for splitting.))

Ricky Prince: ((1 Strength+Brawl; 3 Dex+Dodges. Mary, roll Strength+Brawl for the hold))

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,4,4,

Ricky Prince: ((Don't hurt yourself on that roll. :P))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 8,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Strength + Brawl: 4,4,5,6,7,3,6,10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 3,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Mary Margaret holds Ricky, and it allows all the other thugs to get a grip, essentially immobilizing the Gangrel.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Self-Control: 2,2,10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Instinct: 2,8,

Ricky Prince: Reason returns to the man's eyes, at least for the moment...his bloodlust sated. He blinks a couple moments, looking around. "Mierda."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Hey, Sainted, I know what you want to do. I bet he's powerful. You could be powerful too. She shudders. No... The temptation, it tugged at her heart, and pulled at her soul. She could feel the blood in her veins, because it was making her strong. Yeah, strong enough to... No. She shudders again. Mary, God wants you to. He gave you that right, Angel. She was so hungry, and she was surrounded by blood.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She hugged his shoulder.

Gang: The thugs maintain their hold, until their boss tells them to back off. Moa, in particular, has a strong grip of Ricky's other shoulder.

Ricky Prince: ~Sp~ "What the fuck happened to my shoulder?" He looks over his shoulder at Mary, eyebrow raised. Whether he notices that Shania's dead, or whether he cares, hard to say.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Self-Control: 9,9,2,

Ricky Prince: There are a lot of thugs in the way, to be fair. May be blocking Ricky's sight to her body.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She becomes calmer, and she looks across at Moa. God bless him, and his size 10 feet. She looks over at the dead body of the white-haired girl. "You killed her Ricky. You ripped her throat out."

Ricky Prince: He peers around one of the thugs, at Shania's body. "Aww, mierda."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "There's blood leaking out from her neck, Ricky." Her voice is mildly panicked. So much blood around her. "You're probably in danger, boyo."

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Self-control: 4,3,6,

Ricky Prince: "I, um..." He looks around at the thugs...oh, here's a Masquerade Breach and a Half...then at Mary. "Don't suppose we can jus'... y'know...not tell the bosses 'bout this?"

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She stands up, letting go of Ricky. "You guys can let go now. Someone, get me a gun."

Gang: The thugs rasther gratefully let go of the man who's shoulder and mouth is covered in blood, backing away from him warily. "Keep the shoes," Moa says. Maybe he noticed the claws coming out of the bottom...Ricky did some heavy footing, there.

Gang: One of the guys outside the ring passes in a gun for Mary.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Get me a gun. Something big. And seal the doors. No one gets in or out." She walks over to the dead body, looking down at it with a frown.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She takes the gun and leans down beside the girl. "Wonder what her name was?"

Ricky Prince: He stalks around to the ropes, looking down at the dead body, head cocked a little. He wipes his mouth with his hand, getting it generally clean of blood, and then wiping the blood on his pants.

Gang: The doors get quickly shut and locked.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Take the body to woman's washroom. Put her in the shower. Someone clean up the blood. Ricky, follow."

Ricky Prince: Ahh, and it appears his nouse has lengthened, becoming longer, more like a wolf's snout. Definitely ain't helping his looks much.

Gang: The gang hastens to obey. Shania's body is picked up and carried to the bathroom, and someone comes with materials to start sopping up the blood.

Ricky Prince: He eyes Mary a moment, warily, before he nods, and starts to follow. His fingers flex a couple of times, instinctively, as he does.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Good. Thank you." She follows them to the washroom. "Now leave us. Ricky stay. You need to apologize." She grips the large revolver tightly, cocking the hammer back with her other hand.

Gang: Out they go, scattering from the place.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: When they were alone, she states to the remaining occupants. He, the body, and the beast. "Ricky, turn on the water. Make sure it's luke warm. Fix her throat."

Ricky Prince: He regards Mary, warily, and nods. "Shit, chica, was gonna do that, anyway." In other times, he might be flipping shit. Right now, he's got a wound in his shoulder that isn't healing, and she's got a gun. He licks the throat shut, and turns on the water.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: You see, she's the beast. A true angel from God. When he's done with her throat, she fires the large revolver right at his head.

Ricky Prince: ((Init time?))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: init: 9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Initiative: 8,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((17))

Ricky Prince: ((17))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: ((Dex 6, but I guess you have that too.))

Ricky Prince: ((Never mind, 15))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: WP: dex+firearms: 10,3,4,9,3,5,4,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: reroll: 6,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: reroll: 6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 6,8,2,10,10,7,2,5,5,10,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 3,9,6,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Conscience: 9,2,

Ricky Prince: He goes down to the ground, his head blasted open.

Ricky Prince: ((Blood to Heal))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "You see, Ricky, things must be done properly. I cannot do this in front of the others. Nor can I have to you killing the people that are my mission. You had to be dealt with." She kneels down beside the body and sinks her teeth into his neck.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: (dlp)

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Mary shoots Ricky in the head...he goes down. The wound immediately starts to heal, and a snarl is heard from him.

Ricky Prince: ((New Round))

Ricky Prince: He tries to roll, that vicious snarl on his face once more as all pain fades away, and he attempts to dodge whatever attack the woman has planned.

Ricky Prince: ((Blood to Celerity for next round))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "This is the next part, Ricky. You've got to apologize." She shoots him in the head again.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: WP: Dex+Firearms: 2,2,6,3,2,7,6,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 4,3,4,9,2,2,6,6,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: The bullet misses, just narrowly striking the floor next to where his head was, as he rolls.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She's getting pissed. "You've got to apologize to God!" She fires the weapon twice at his head.

Ricky Prince: ((New Round)) He's rolling again, trying to do anything he can to avoid the gunshots, so he can counter-attack with his next actions. ((Blood to Celerity))

Ricky Prince: ((Desperate Defense))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+firearms: 1,2,8,9,6,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+firearms: 6,3,2,3,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 4,1,3,4,7,10,6,3,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 5,10,3,9,5,7,6,

Ricky Prince: ((Delete last dodge))

Ricky Prince: RECAP FIRST ACTION: He's rollin' like a muthafuck, and the bullets fly, missing their mark.

Ricky Prince: He spends his second action getting up; for his third action, he tries to slap the offending gun out of Mary's hand.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl: 6,2,5,7,8,6,6,8,10,6,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Ricky smacks the gun with a roar, and it goes flying out of Mary's hand, skittering away.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Impressive."

Ricky Prince: He's ready to dodge for his first action, crouched in the stall, snarling in a vicious mask of hatred.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Quite impressive. Heh." She punches him in the head with her bare knuckles a few times. You don't mess with a boxer.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 2,4,5,2,2,1,5,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,7,5,3,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 2,7,9,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 7,4,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 6,9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 10,7,3,4,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 9,2,6,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 1,3,5,10,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 6,6,2,8,2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 5,2,5,2,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 8,3,8,4,8,

Ricky Prince: ((Blood to Heal))

Ricky Prince: RECAP: The punches connect, the last one making a sickening sound. The man starts to drop ((Negating his Celerity actions for the round)), but the blood fuels his healing and the wound quickly vanishes.

Ricky Prince: ((New Round)) He's going into Desperate Defense, trying to dodge as much as he can while his body heals up. ((Blood to Heal))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She waits for him to make a move, still as a rock, unbreathing.

Ricky Prince: RECAP: More waiting. The man is has healed as he's going to be. ((And is down to 3 BP, for the record))

Ricky Prince: ((New Round)) Sill no movement; he fuels his diminishing blood, letting his claws grow.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She sees the claws and sighs. "That won't do." She boxes him in the head a few more times.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 7,9,7,1,4,

Ricky Prince: ((Abort to Desperate Defense))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 2,6,1,5,

Ricky Prince: RECAP: Mary swings wildly, throwing herself off-balance, and Ricky aborts from the Claws o' Doom to dodge attacks he doesn't need to.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Ack, that was do good. Do over?"

Ricky Prince: His response is a snarl, and he merely waits, shifting back and forth on his feet, ready to dodge. ((Blood to Stamina; 2 left))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She smiles, "Oh, come on. Movie quote? Jeez." Her fists lash out again.

Ricky Prince: ((Desperate...ah, you know.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 2,8,2,8,9,5,4,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 8,8,7,7,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 3,6,10,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 4,8,6,2,9,8,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 2,3,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 2,9,10,1,2,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 7,7,9,9,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 8,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: reroll from a ten: 5,

Ricky Prince: ((New Round; don't think that needed a recap)) And as soon as the attacks are dodged, he makes his move, trying to grab her. ((Blood to Str, maxing it out; 1 BP Left)

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,4,5,6,6,4,7,5,3,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Mary doesn't give a shit about a grab. She jackhammers her fists into his body as he gets in close to her.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 10,5,5,7,1,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 9,5,1,1,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 8,9,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 7,9,

Ricky Prince: ((Abort to Desp. Def.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 7,10,3,10,8,4,3,2,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 4,5,8,3,8,3,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 4,4,1,6,7,5,

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Dodge: 9,7,9,9,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 5,5,4,9,4,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 7,2,6,10,8,

Ricky Prince: One shot makes impact, but Ricky shrugs it off. He backs away, growling...they're at an impasse, but he can't back down. He's ready to dodge.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She waits patiently, as still as a mannequin.

Ricky Prince: He waits...one more round. Ready to dodge. ((Last Blood to Celerity))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She waits for him to approach, since he backed off. When he does, she's going to pound the shit out of him instead. ((Saving four multiple actions.))

Ricky Prince: And when his Celerity powers, he launches foward, to grab her.

Ricky Prince: ((Which, of course, means it was a new turn. :P))

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 8,7,7,7,8,5,8,3,7,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She punches him four times in the head, like usual.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,8,9,3,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 9,8,7,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 8,8,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+brawl: 5,4,

Ricky Prince: ((Not Aborting. Last stand, here.))

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 3,2,5,9,7,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 6,5,7,9,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 2,5,7,8,4,1,5,

Ricky Prince: d10: Soak: 4,8,7,2,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 6,5,6,1,3,1,9,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: damage: 4,2,6,7,1,2,10,5,

Ricky Prince: FIRST ACTION RECAP: Mary nails Ricky, but he shrugs the blows off and grabs her in a vice grip.

Ricky Prince: Second Action. It's time for the kiss, baby. Ricky needs blood, and he needs it. Now.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Brawl(Kiss): 5,2,4,4,9,7,2,4,3,2,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 8,2,

Ricky Prince: Ricky latches in and takes the woman's remaining blood...but not before she maintains presence of mind.

Ricky Prince: d10: Instinct: 6,1,

Ricky Prince: He can't fight it, much as he tries...he attempts to Diablerize.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She's going to knock him away and grapple him instead!

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 5,2,10,8,3,5,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 4,9,7,7,8,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 7,4,5,1,5,5,4,5,5,9,

Ricky Prince: Ricky's knocked back, and Mary grapples this time.

Ricky Prince: He tries the same thing she did...knock back, then grappple.

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 2,6,6,7,2,3,7,8,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 5,8,6,10,4,7,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She's going to resist his knock back, and then go in for the kiss, or if he breaks free, resist him. Either way, she's fighting in one direction. Towards his neck.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Strength+Brawl: 8,6,4,2,5,3,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: Strength+Brawl: 4,4,1,9,2,6,

Ricky Prince: Take two: Mary is knocked back, then grappled.

Ricky Prince: d10: Instinct: 8,5,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Indignant, Mary is going to knock him back and then grapple him!

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 7,3,5,5,7,5,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: str+brawl: 2,8,6,9,2,3,

Ricky Prince: He has a new plan...fight or flight? He's moving to fly. He attempts to resist a knockback attempt, and then twist, throwing her into the stall.

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Brawl: 10,1,6,9,6,2,10,5,

Ricky Prince: d10: Str+Brawl(Throw): 10,6,6,6,6,9,9,

Ricky Prince: d10: Strength+Six Bash: 7,2,10,3,8,7,2,9,10,4,3,7,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: soak: 9,1,5,8,8,

Ricky Prince: Mary goes flying into the stall. ((2 Bashing))

Ricky Prince: ((5th WP of 6 spent to be able to act under own power)) He's hauling his ass out of the women's bathroom, toward the nearest exit he can find.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Athletics: 8,3,3,5,5,1,6,9,

Ricky Prince: ((BP to Celerity. Yes. He's actually spending Blood.))

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She needs blood. She crawls onto the corpse of Shania and drains her. ((Combat ended?))

Ricky Prince: ((Sounds about right. Last WP spent for non-frenzy Action)) He Celerities through the main room, to the door.

Ricky Prince: d10: Dex+Athletics: 8,1,3,7,7,2,8,6,

Ricky Prince: d10: Second Dex+Ath: 5,9,5,1,10,3,4,7,

Ricky Prince: And for his third action, the door is open, and he's out of it.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: Once done, she licks Shania's neck, pats her check, and wants out the door of the woman's washroom slowly. She's looks around for any of her ghouls that she had called however long ago.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: walks*

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: dex+firearms: 8,8,6,4,1,4,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She leans against the door frame of the woman's washroom, and calls out to Blue, and the two he brought with him. "You three, come in here." This was a hellish night, wasn't it?

Ricky Prince: The gunshot misses the supernaturally fast Ricky, and the Gangrel takes off into the street. Some homeless people are DOOMED.

Ravyn: Blue and his comrades come with, into the bathroom.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She takes them one by one, and drinks a little from each.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 8,1,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 7,2,2,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Sorry" She gives some of his blood back, and then moves on to the next one, and the next.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 8,6,8,3,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: d10: self-control: 7,2,3,6,

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "There." She wipes her mouth, not looking quite so hagard anymore. "Take the body of the woman in the shower, and move her to the vehicle. This will be taken care of."

Ravyn: "Yes, ma'am." They move quickly and obediantly to comply, grabbing Shania's body and moving it to the vehicle.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: She walks out of the woman's washroom to the rest of her people. She scans the crowd to see how they look.

Ravyn: Physically, they're all fine, of course. On the other hand, bewildered and confused doesn't beging to describe it. Some are looking at the door Ricky ran out of, but they quickly look back to Mary.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Fucking weird." She looks toward the door, and then walks toward the rings again, limping a bit. "Very fucking weird, eh?" She asks this question to everyone, in general, around her.

Ravyn: There's a murmur of agreement from a couple of guys, which quickly picks up. Fairly subdued, the crowd is.

Mary Margaret St. Michael: "Here I thought I brought us a new fighter. He was really good. I guess he was too good. He's fucked up. He killed that girl by-" She lifts herself up to sit on the edge of a boxing ring "-ripping out her fucking throat. That's disgusting, eh? What a psycho.""

Ravyn: ((Fade to Black))