”Jameson? Are you here?” the bleach-blond waif called into the dark and obviously vacant building. Gabriel’s automatic sarcastic retort was cut off by his notice of a large set of gashes in the door, almost hidden by the depressed entryway’s darkness.
Pushing the door further ajar, his voice was even and level in tone – ”oh I’m sure James just had another raging party; you should have seen him back in college” – though his eyes were anything but jovial. Sweeping the room with the gifts of sight granted him by his blood, he saw no immediate threat, either to himself or the Masquerade. Turning on a light, he heard his newfound companions gasp. Chairs overturned, small statues broken, curtains pulled down, it certainly appeared that there was quite the scuffle. Righting a fallen decorative stool with effort, he offered the ladies cigarettes and a bottle of wine from Kane’s private stock, kept conveniently close. ”Here, you all enjoy this while I go to check out the upstairs. I’m sure he’ll be back soon” he smiled, crippling their desire to leave the scene or do other than as he asked as he did so.
Darkly he ascended the staircase, noting the banister ruined by claw marks, accented by spots of blood and indentations on the wall. Pausing atop at the landing, he tried to drown out the chittering of those four who had brought him here while listening for anyone moving in the private studio. Hearing nothing, he began dialing someone he knew he could trust to back his claims in case any were called into question. Wholly in the studio, he sighed audibly. It may not have been pretty art, or cleverly crafted, but it was a wealth of effort, and such had been wasted – rent asunder, torn, ripped, toppled, and crippled; each piece destroyed in some fashion in the attack. More claw marks, blood trails, and depressed carpet lead to an even darker corner. What he saw there caused him to shake his head and finish dialing. Finished with the more important of two calls, he made the second, speaking tersely.
Coming downstairs he pleasantly saw that his new wards were still obeying. They were smoking heavily, the bottle of wine finished even in the span of minutes he was gone, and were beginning to look around the room; such activity could hardly be encouraged. Forcing their attention, he smiled broadly, ”it seems as if he’s had quite the party – nothing seems amiss however.”Taking on a more concerned facade, he seemed genuinely worried to the girls, ”you said James was taking care of you. I know it is not like him to take off unexpectedly. How about this, for now – I have invited a good friend of mine, someone I try to take care of. She will look after you until I hear back from James. Should you need anything, Mary can contact me at a moment’s notice.”
Smiling, he ushered them outside, a second bottle of wine in hand, where Mary was pulling up in a sleek Mercedes sedan – quite the accoutrements for a self-described ”poor interior design student.” With a final urge for them to let Mary take care of them, he directed silently that their minds be taken off of the events of the evening, and to make sure he can keep tabs on them for the foreseeable future. Winking, Mary nodded and drove off, Jameson’s herd inside her car.
It wasn’t long before unexpected visitors arrived. Nosferatu and Brujah seemed to storm the building, followed by the individual he had actually called. It didn’t take a genius to re-enact what happened; the fight had lasted perhaps an entire minute, incredibly long considering what Gabriel knew of Jameson’s capacity for speed, rampaging through the downstairs before culminating in the upstairs studio showroom. There was a bedroom and two bathrooms that were as expected untouched, but the rest of the building had been a battleground. Claw marks, impact imprints, even in one curious location teeth marks, all of it leading up to the still-decaying body of his former Primogen, trademark blue scarf resting within the ash.
Kneeling at the ashes, her hand timidly touching the scarf, she looked up at Gabriel, nodding solemnly; her powers gave her the same visions his had – Jameson Kane’s destruction at the hands of a very swift, clawed individual.
His faith in the Scourge and Sheriff to deal with threats from without, Gabriel’s mind turned to whom within the Domain was reported to have friendly dealing with the Gangrel of late, even as the rest of the assemblage set about to sterilize the building of any potential Masquerade breaches. This would be a busy week.
Another snippet I recovered from my old diaries,
this one written in January of 2008.
