ɢᴇɪsᴛɴᴇᴛ | ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴠɪᴄᴇ ([personal profile] geistnet) wrote in [community profile] wakingthedead2014-05-20 03:01 pm

testdrive | welcome to the new age.







testdrive meme.

1. First Day At Falner
You have just arrived at Falner Estate, a sprawling, beautiful, 400-hectare co-located space between Britain, Germany, and the Philippines, and the main base of Netsach. The flora and fauna in the area gives both a sense of familiarity as it looks at first glance like things you’ll find on Earth, and a weird sense of otherworldliness. Given the size of the place, the Estate is less of a compound and more like a town unto itself. The older buildings within the estate are gothic in their construction, and clear throwbacks to 19th Century Europe. The newer facilities, however, sport cutting edge contemporary designs that were clearly inspired by Fourth World architecture and technology.

If you want a better idea on what can be found on the estate, you can refer to this link.


2. A Day On The Job
You are pushing papers at Methuselah, doing research at the Arcanum, or going out on patrol -- whatever it is that you're doing, it's just another day for you as a Hunter of the Vigil.


3. Let's Head Down to Haven
Find yourself itching for a night out on the town? Why not head over to Haven, the classy nightclub that looks like a large, monolithic black building with no visible windows from the outside and the name of the club emblazoned in bold, white letters on one side.

Haven is located in Makati City, and is open to the public (especially the local supernatural community), but you might want to prepare yourself to wait in line for a very, very long time – unless you’re a Hunter, of course.

Falner’s Maenad Division holds office on top of Haven, as does Ordo Daywalker. Some of Haven’s staff also live above the night club.


4. The Awakening
Want to tag out your character's origin story? Set the stage and let's see where things go.


5. Choose Your Own Adventure
If none of the suggested premises hit the mark, feel free to set things up and let's do a tag round.



Instructions for the Testdrive:
1. Specify your chosen scenario number on the subject line.
2. Should you wish to tag with a specific character already established within Waking the Dead, indicate who. The current list of available NPCs can be found over here.


anteupdarling: (Default)

Morgan Avechi Option 3 and Open

[personal profile] anteupdarling 2014-07-02 01:37 pm (UTC)(link)
(ooc: I humbly beg the patience of all as this is a brand spankin' new character.)

She sits on his arm like the decoration that she is supposed to be. Hair down following over her shoulder in rich waves that give just the right impression of tousled to be both acceptable and still elegant - chic like the black and blue column dress complete with heels that provide the right arc to a woman's calf and enough height to look her at her companion comfortably without being taller than him.

Morgan smiles as she's supposed to, utters low answers with charming but forgettable answers as expected, and curls into the comfortable position of 'eye candy' while he discusses business.

Of course this is business for her too even though she's far, far away from home. As much as she had no care to leave her home country, the payment - half before and half after - is more than enough to consider playing charming girlfriend for people she doesn't know. Even if that's the easy part. Well until they begin discussing business minutia and then she wishes to be anywhere else but here.

"Excuse me, dear." She says gently, touching his arm and sliding free of the booth. The ladies room may not make for the most interesting of trips but she can wind through the crowd and get a little lost inside of it for at least thirty minutes by her reckoning.

Straight backed, with her head tilted up, and wearing a faint smile as if she finds something around her enjoyable, Morgan makes her way in no particular hurry. Who knows, if she walks slow enough, she can stretch her absence to thirty-five minutes.
icarusalsoflew: (it's just temporary bliss.)

Hey thar sexy thang. ♥

[personal profile] icarusalsoflew 2014-07-02 02:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Haven has changed so much over the decades that it's a little astounding, even for someone like Hikaru Shinta. The club used to be notoriously hard to get into and next to impossible to find unless you had a lifeline on the inside on purpose. Now, that the cat's out of the bag and the Veil's been broken, however, its doors are open to anyone and everyone.

Granted, that just makes the lines for the new ones and the curious even longer. Good thing he doesn't fall into that category.

He lights up a cigarette, takes a drag, and leans back on the couch that he's sitting on some distance away from the dance floor and tucked close to the quiet end of the bar. It's a busy night, busier than usual, but he doesn't mind. The noise and the ambiance are a welcome change from the many shades of dead and dying that he has to do while he's on Duty. It might be difficult not to notice him, given his looks and the ease in which he carries himself. Granted, he's a known face within the Vigil, and to anybody who keeps their ears to the ground and their eyes to the sky in high society, the corporate world, global politics, and the underworld. Blade King of Japan, and the Wolf of Zangyaku. Go figure.

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kinesthesia: (093.)

/slides in here

[personal profile] kinesthesia 2014-07-06 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
It's a good night at Haven when the tables are full and the bar is busy with orders for drinks or meals from the kitchen. There's a line outside, but that's to be expected when Haven continues to be one of the hottest spots in town to hit up even after fifty years -- that's the upside of having supernatural clientele, some of which live very long lives, your regulars like it when their haunts stay open and staying open means that new blood has the option of hunting you up at any time.

Cisco's at her usual spot by the corner of the bar, choice drink set on the counter by her arm as she listens to the DJ up in the booth tonight. For the fresh faces, she looks, for all intents and purposes, like a woman in her mid-thirties, perfectly at home in her nightly post-work haunt, here to unwind and chill out.
ktotheatothez: (Default)

Re: Morgan Avechi Option 3 and Open

[personal profile] ktotheatothez 2014-07-25 10:30 am (UTC)(link)
Haven's not exactly his hidey-hole, but he does love it because he gets to see a lot of his favorite people, and hear Rethe spin. Tonight, Kaz Zobel de Ayala's not a War Hound on duty, he's just a young man out on the town.

You're liable to find him at a table near the dance floor, drink on the table, cigarette in his mouth. Most people peg him for one of those stylish club scene kids, and who wouldn't? He's wearing a stylishly fit hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows; dark jeans that hug in all the right places, and sneakers in a deep enough red to match his top. The gloves he's wearing are different though, white with mulitple colored blocks across the knuckles.

Naturally, he's already said hi to several people, and is still smiling because the night is so incredibly young, and so is he.
Edited 2014-07-30 08:24 (UTC)
bloodsinger: (Default)

Sophie Morgenstern; 4 but secretly 1 and Open

[personal profile] bloodsinger 2014-07-04 08:43 am (UTC)(link)
4. Get in here Shinta, and bring your ex if you have to.

For the better part of the next 24 hours, Sophie had been going in and out of consciousness, flashes of white robes, gathering people and the hum of a plane's engine lulling her back to sleep. No strength to panic, no strength to make questions, they would need to wait. So wait she does, the memories of blood and death creeping into her mind, not even the fog of rest capable of fending them off completely.

When she finally managed to woke up properly, Sophie found out they were a long way from the United States, but she couldn't get much more from the crew on board. She recognized Netsash, because the uniforms are hard to forget, but otherwise she didn't have the faintest idea of what was going on. They were uncooperative, to put it in a polite way; downright frustrating is another, and Sophie would've loved to argue with them if she hadn't felt that pang, that crawl inside of her, like fingertips caressing the inside of her skull. Something was different, and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed help, help which maybe they were capable of providing.

They landed somewhere she didn't recognize, Sun past its zenith, but still up and strong. A car was waiting for them. It wasn't until Sophie walked out of the plane that she noticed her clothes were not her own; her bloodied sweatpants and top had been changed for nondescript gray, yet clean ones. She didn't even have time to ask who the hell had put their hands on her; the uniformed ones were already gone. Swallowing down her anger, Sophie got in the car. It was an hour long ride, no music.

The only reason she recognized the Falner State was because the place was so ridiculously massive you just didn't forget about it. Her uneasiness was replaced by intrigue as they drove in and down the long path that ultimately took them to what looked like a really old, really opulent mansion. The car stopped, the door opened on its own. Silence. Sophie go out and the car basically drew away as the door closed itself, not a word of advice, not a single indication. Frowning, Sophie turned towards the doors.

A man stood there. Asian, by the looks of it, barely older than her...or was he? The moment their eyes crossed something resonated within Sophie, much like in the plane, but this time it was softer, almost subdued. One moment he was just a man, the next he seemed to irradiate a cold, piercing aura. And then he was just a man again. Or was he? The moment Sophie realized he was about to walk down the stairs, she decided she would find out soon enough.

OPEN

Sophie sat on a mat at the gym, sweating. Three hours of violently hitting dummies with training swords would do that to you, Bladian or not. Now that she was ridiculously tired (but not for long) it would probably be safe to approach and chat the girl up.
Edited 2014-07-04 08:47 (UTC)
larue: (walk the line / on higher ground)

hallo darling :3

[personal profile] larue 2014-07-06 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
He had noticed her when he'd come in about two hours earlier, right before he move doff to run the parkour course. By the time he'd finished his hour-and-a-half long run, Josh had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and he's been watching her form ever since.

New faces in Falner were always a given. New ones frequenting the gym were of interest to him.

Snagging the spare towel from inside his duffel, he comes on over to offer it to the new girl.

"Nice work." He's glancing over at the dummies at that, an appraising smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

haaaai

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icarusalsoflew: (maybe i'm a different breed.)

sob finally getting around to tagging this

[personal profile] icarusalsoflew 2014-07-06 11:39 am (UTC)(link)
He had decided against participating in the recovery operation because he had wanted to read up. The Methuselah had kept tabs on the Morgensterns and the people who had backed them, and Netsach had picked up the slack after the Methuselah had changed. Their research had been... interesting. Not something completely fascinating, new, or particularly dangerous. Just interesting.

So here he is, walking down the stairs, smiling at the girl who has just been deposited at Falner's doorstep. Nothing in his movements nor in the look on his face or eyes indicates at how he's measuring this one, checking her physical condition, her state of mind, her Pattern, the thing within her. No need to be so obviously the "near-god" that he is (Aidan's words, not his). Introductions are in order.

"Hi. Hope the ride wasn't too boring."

it's okaaaaaaaaay

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ktotheatothez: (062)

[personal profile] ktotheatothez 2014-07-25 10:35 am (UTC)(link)
Being taught a certain style of combat by Jessie Vice meant that one needed to practice constantly, so as not to inconvenience said Mr. Vice by underperforming, or using inefficient strikes.

That being said, he does his kata on a wooden training dummy off on one end, only stopping after a pretty even two hours, before he plops down on the mat.

"Hi. Gatorade?"

He's got a second bottle with him, and is sliding it to you even as he drinks his down.

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bostova: (28 ☭)

hello bb bladian uwu

[personal profile] bostova 2014-07-28 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)
It was one of those (very) rare instances that one Yulia Bostova is around Falner, training. She was still part of Netsach, so she had to at least train with the rest of Behemoth whenever she can. Which was practically once every whenever she felt like it. Or when Inquisitor Dierdra Max-Reyes invited her over for a spar.

...To which she was early. Very, very early. She was going to spar against the riskbreaker she inherited her knives from, of course she was going to get herself warmed up a bit. Or a lot. Her sparring partners had asked to take a break, though, which disappointed her a little. But she lingered around the gym, hoping to find another sparring partner or several.

Yulia was already considering calling Brigade for a spar instead, when someone caught her attention. The girl was practicing--or at least, it looked like she was practicing swordplay on practice dummies with training swords. It looked more like she was trying to actively murder the dummies. It had amused her, at first, but then she found herself very interested.

Not everyone fought as violent as that. Not people she knew in Netsach, at least. Zangyaku, on the other hand...

She spoke to the girl when she flopped down on the mat. "Are you from Netsach, or somewhere else?" Yulia asked, genuinely curious.
Edited 2014-07-28 12:02 (UTC)

best first impressions uwu

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of course :>

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bladeweaver: (orly)

hallo hallo!

[personal profile] bladeweaver 2014-08-10 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
A little ways away from where you are, a man will appear to be dancing through a swarm of holo-haptic attackers, slicing his katana through limbs and necks with a calm, almost contemplative expression on his face. Had you deigned to throw him a look once or twice, you would have seen that his gaze often slides over to where you are working up quite the sweat, seemingly taking his attention off a target or three.

... seemingly. A crowd of five rushes him and are promptly halved at the torso in one sweep by his sword, now somehow almost as tall as he is. He leaves his back open, and a mook attempts to blindside him. Said mook is clobbered on the chin by the handle of a naginata that you could have sworn was the sword before, and then, as the oversized spear is flipped over, is skewered at the chest and flung aside. And so on, and so forth.

He is finished with his meditation of violence around about the moment you finish with yours. He'll be walking over to you just then. He offers you an energy drink, by way of greeting.

"Excellent form. Care to try that with real swords? I really think you're ready for it."

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artesana: (8.)

Esperanza 'espie' Cervera | 5 and 1

[personal profile] artesana 2014-07-27 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
V. The Pick Up ( closed )
You had to find all the right places. All the rights nooks and crannies. Anyone could find a nook to lay down in. A bridge to hide under. An overpass to crawl in the cracks of. All the obvious places homeless people went. Those weren't the safe places, though. They were obvious. Either the cops came and cleared you out or the someone far worse would find you in those places. Espie learned that the hard way in her first few months on the streets.

She wasn't a pro by any means. She was barely decent. But she was determined, and sometimes that's all it took. She found the some of the best places to hide. Not all of them, not the ones a pro would find. But good ones, all the same. Her current hideout as a warehouse outside of Barcelona. Warehouses were dangerous and good all at once. The danger was in how isolated they were. It was a pro too, less likely to be found by the cops that way. But the downside was that if anyone else found you, no one was around to know what happened. You were on your own in places like these.

It was far enough outside of the city it was safer than most. Not the best, but close to it. No one had squatted here in months. She could spend a couple of nights here. Get her bearings, find the best place around.

As it was, she enjoyed the silence and the peace. She took out her sketchbook from her pack and she went to work. It was almost full, she'd need another one. She'd leave this one somewhere special, just like all the last. So many books left behind, but you could only carry the necessities. A sketchbook was a necessity, a full one was not.

Espie went back to work on a drawing from earlier. A picture of a homeless man and his dog. A wild looking dog, made wilder by the streets. With the sweetest eyes she could imagine. Esperanza pursed her lips. She could never quite get the eyes right. There was so much depth in the dog's eyes and she wasn't nearly close to good enough to portray that in her art. But practice made perfect, and she worked at it almost tirelessly.

She nearly missed them.

A group of men. Maybe a girl in there? Esperanza packed her things quickly before moving for the door to the large room she hid in. She pressed against the wall, standing by the wide frame and listening. They didn't sound young. Older. Other vagabonds like her? Partiers taking a detour on their way home? She was silent, listening. Waiting. She couldn't chance it. Too many bad encounters told her better than to hope these people might be good. Everyone on the street was a potential. Friends were rare and they were never more than a day.

Esperanza slipped out the door and down the opposite way of the voices. She ran down stairs and bolted for the door.

And ran smack into a man, toppling back as she did.

She looked up at the man as he stared down at her, stunned and with a cigarette hanging from her mouth. "Hey girly-"

She didn't question it. She kicked out at his shin and grabbed her bag and ran. She heard cursing, heard the stumble, yelling, then the chase. Not just him. He had a friend join him and they were after her. She was faster than them and she had a head start, she was sure of that. That was the only reason she had kicked out, for the head start. Once she got that she could get far away-

Unless she ran into a fence.

"¡Mierda!" She cursed to herself. She didn't even throw a glance back, there was no going back. She jumped at the fence, climbing as quickly as she could.

Hands grabbed her legs and pulled her back down.

"Come here, bitch," The one she kicked started. "That shit fucking hurt," he growled. She attempted to kick out as the other man grabbed at her arms. He pulled at her back as she tried to jerk away and her back came loose, flying to the ground with her few possessions thrown on the path.

"Yeah? More where that came from," she snapped, even as one got her arms and the other picked up her thrashing legs. She didn't go still for a second. they'd have her then.

"Come on, let's get her back to the others," the one with her arms started.

Then a dog snarled at them. They all paused, staring at the dog standing over her sketchbook. To the men, they saw a wild dog with sharp teeth ready to bite. To Espie she saw the soft eyes that she could never quite get right...

"Get on, mutt," the man with her legs barked at the dog. That was when the dog launched at him and Espie threw her head back at the man holding her arms to get free entirely. She got away from the man and grabbed her things, barely noticing the page her sketchbook was opened on was open to the drawing of the dog from before. She just grabbed her things and dodged past the men to try to run again. One still fought with the dog while the other was back after her down towards the street, yelling after her.

I. The Drop Off ( open )
Okay. She actually did it. She actually left Spain and went to the Philippines and joined some covert group she was only just barely starting to grasp the concept of. It was all a little overwhelming. It had all gone so fast, but she was here all the same. There was no moving back, only forward. Where would she go back to, anyway? Nothing, that's what.

Esperanza stepped out of the car and onto the large Falner estate. So large it had a forest. What had she agreed to again?

It didn't matter. Esperanza made her way forward and pressed into the manor.


( ooc: be gentle! working all kinks out and getting all my knowledge in too still but super ready!! )
Edited 2014-07-27 05:41 (UTC)
ktotheatothez: (060)

Tagging into the Drop Off, naturally.

[personal profile] ktotheatothez 2014-07-27 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
While the Tower was all well and good for Kaz when he had downtime, as an operative of Netsach, he also felt the need to check in with his division in case there was something he could do to help.

Of course, he was sidetracked by Aidan. Which is probably why he's just sitting on the steps of Falner instead of inside with Inquisitor Aria Skye.

'Hm?' he thinks, when he sees the car. While it wasn't odd to see cars dropping off operatives, the girl he saw step out didn't exactly look like a hunter.

'A new arrival, perhaps?'

well hello there!!

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5. Just as planned. ♥

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drop off ofc

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Drop Off!

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anri obel | 4 + 1

[personal profile] fumed 2014-07-28 10:29 am (UTC)(link)
OPTION 4 | origin story (closed)
The first word that Anri mouths into the air between water and gasps is his brother's name. Ishak.

Ishak tells him that the lake is sacred and that what he is giving to him is a gift, not a curse. Death is a gift. You give away what you love the most--your life, your comfort, everything you have ever clawed and scraped at the unforgiving, cold earth for. He used to be one part of a whole and now, he feels it in his bones and in his blood, that the whole of it is shattered and laying at the bottom of the lake. Why he isn't laying there too is something he dazedly wonders as he sits up in the cold.

February is unforgiving.

He was supposed to turn twenty-two today.

But it feels oddly sobering, cold air on his knuckles and his jacket scattered in the struggle, left somewhere by the tree line. The ice is broken as he remembers it, the dark red of his brother's coat laying on the shoreline. He remembers an embrace, a tightening sensation against his neck, as if maybe beseeching some kind of too-late apology that he'd never given to him. Did you even deserve it? he asks himself, slowly drawing his knees up to his chest and debating his jacket, black and solemn on the snow.

She is soft and made of satin and brine and silk and Anri can feel her walking on dainty feet against the snow, noiseless. He clutches his shirt tighter at the arms because he feels her question through his blood, remembers that singular moment like a note in a song, fleeting and soft. Promise to help me, she says while holding his face. Her veil is worn and stained and floats, tattered into pieces. There are sunken dips in her skin where her eyes used to be and a soft protrusion that might have been her nose. Her lips are soft, pink, and she leans in and says it again. Help me and I will help you.

It is a simple soundless bargain that Anri has no air left to give to agree with. He says it anyways, behind glassy eyes and cold skin drawn tight from the chill of the lake.

He doesn't remember being pulled up from beneath the ice.

He just knows he's on the snow now and the moon feels too bright on his skin and she's close, around, inside, above and below. She's so terribly sad and angry all at once and the sensation of it is overwhelming and the syllables of his brother's name die away against the sound of a low, guttural sob. He grabs a handful of snow under his palms, the bite of the cold feeling good against his skin. The sobbing turns into a scream because he promised and he's gone and broken everything all over again.

I'm alone, Anri thinks viciously. And you promised you'd never leave me alone.

OPTION 1
Anri will always find his way to water, no matter where he might be. Why that is, he couldn't say. Perhaps it was a calling up from the roots of his blood, his father's inheritance in a way, where he'd left him nothing else otherwise. He's been dropped off here, not without care, and once settled, left to wander on his own. Get a feel for it. He already misses home as he wanders and finds himself somewhere in the northern district, meandering towards a lake.

As if that might be the last thing he wants to see. Instead, it's welcoming.

The lake didn't do the drowning, now did it?

He moves slowly, until the soles of his boots meet the water. Crouching in a singular, liquid motion, Anri doesn't waste time rooting around. He finds a smooth, flat stone and passes it between his hands briefly, inspecting it, then proceeds to give it a sharp, smart flick, sending it bouncing over the otherwise placid water of the lake. One, two, three, four, five, six. It sinks. He looks satisfied, a grin spreading over his lips, revealing a bit of tooth. This is... nice. Keep him company?
[ ooc | hi bye i'm excited... also still doing some writing on him and feeling him out ♥ ]
Edited 2014-07-28 10:32 (UTC)
bostova: (61 ☭)

[personal profile] bostova 2014-07-28 11:25 am (UTC)(link)
She had been feeling anti-social that day, really anti-social. Yulia figured that the best way to avoid everyone--meaning the War Hounds and everyone closely associated with her blade--was to go someplace they would least expect her to be.

And that, at the moment, was the lake at Falner's North District. She'd been there only a handful of times, and never on her own terms, so it was one of those rare places that no one would (probably) think to look for her.

The place would usually make her want to gag at the couples walking hand in hand, or kissing when they think no one is watching. There wasn't a lot of people at the lake right now, however, save for that one kid skipping stones on the lake. (Okay, so it was the one stone, but still).

She was quiet enough not to be noticed, so she'll stay by the tree she's standing under with the unlit cigarette between her lips.

(Cutting back on the cigarettes?)
Not really.
(So you are being lazy.)
...Eh.


There is a soft chuckle in her head from her sister. She could manifest right now, if she wanted to, but perhaps Anya also wanted to give the kid a little space. One Bostova in the area is enough, or something.

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open post yo

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/pops in here, 1 obviously

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CISCOOOOOOOOOOOO yodels

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8DDDDDDDD PERFECTION

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hello hello there c:

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Re: hello hello there c:

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Option 1 ofc also HI

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HI THERE ouo

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Option 1

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languishingly: (500% over your bullshit)

Keegan Lang || Option 1 + open

[personal profile] languishingly 2014-07-30 08:52 am (UTC)(link)
((ooc: be gentle...))

[Writing is his passion. Has and always will be– he's known this for a long time now. It's been his luck (and blood, sweat, tears, time) that he's landed in the profession of his choice. He's been hopping from job to job over the past few years before he found this company. They let him freelance or work wherever he wants, just as long as everything is on time (it always is). And over the course of his employment, they've given him more and more work to keep him busy, enough that he's comfortable living on his own.

Enough that he can still help support Emi and Shaun, even with all the miles they have between them.

There's probably a rule in parenting and marriage that one should never fill the gap of affection with money, but they didn't live his life, they weren't in his shoes, and he would never wish anyone to be there, quite frankly. Moreover, it's not as though he doesn't feel attached. Quite the opposite. And that's what makes it harder to deal with. The decision of distance was really best for all of them until he could get his life back in order (being what he was made that very difficult).

At least he still has his work, which is what brings him here, to a very unlikely place. Working abroad had never been out of the picture, necessarily, though he never imagined that writing would end up with him in the Philippines. Except he's here, has been here for little over five hours; counting when the plane touched down to when he's making his way to the place he'll be working in. Glancing down at his phone (thank god for GPS), he steps foot into the entryway of the compound, a bizarre feeling washing over him when he looks around. There's a prickling at the back of his neck that makes him feel like something isn't quite normal here, but he tamps it down fiercely.

Because he's not going to let that dumb wolf lurking in the back of his mind to so much as growl while he's here. Least, not until he absolutely has to.

Determined to appear as absolutely not-werewolf-as-possible, he keeps walking, eventually finding himself a bit confused by the layout of the place. This might be a good time to ask for directions.]


Excuse me, do you know where I can find this address?
profaci: (srsly?)

a Wild Pam!Werewolf appears!

[personal profile] profaci 2014-07-30 09:00 am (UTC)(link)
Is my little girl climbing another mountain? How is my little girl doing --

[And the guy you were approaching was just about to launch into legitimate baby noises when he hears you coming. His face, which was already fixed into Full On Doting Father Mode, immediately smoothens out as he squares his gaze up to meet yours.]

Oh, uh. Sorry, gimme a bit...

[Covering the receiver now (Margaret Montelibano-Profaci, if you hang up without telling your father, there will be Words), and checking that piece of paper.

Given how this guy is blond, light-eyed and well-dressed in the holy shit fancy suits kind of way, you are welcome to think that he is either a businessman or a gangster.]

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Wai hallo thar.

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/waves shyly

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Re: /waves shyly

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nimble_fingaz: (Almost Menacing)

Mason Turner, Option 4, Open

[personal profile] nimble_fingaz 2014-07-30 01:47 pm (UTC)(link)
(OOC: Complete n00b to this whole journal RP thing but I'm here to learn on the fly. Let me have it, boils and ghouls!)

"The Golden Hand, huh?"

The prince (always with a lowercase "p", the Prince with a capital "P" was that Prince after all) takes a look at the nourishment in his glass, still rippling a bit from being swirled like wine—another mimicry of mortal habits fostered by the covenant that had so far managed to completely run his unlife. The carpets and chandeliers, the blood dolls, the toadies and the lackeys. Everything and everyone in his little nighttime corner of America, ordered and engineered to make it known to all the living and the dead that Mason Fucking Turner owned this city.

Another sip then his eyes fall on the Detroit skyline. His skyline. Listen hard enough and you just might hear the gunfire in the streets below. His streets. A bullet here, a knife there, a few screams and it's back to the usual silence of the night. His night.

Netsach. Delegation. Golden Hand.

Keywords and phrases; his late Sire taught him to tune out the gibberish. Keep the important words in mind, then ask those you trust only after adjourning. 'Trust' of course meant 'those who aren't planning to oust, exile or outright execute you'. Few enough as it may, even among his own covenant.

His moving corpse goes through the motions of a sigh of exasperation, without the breath. A month into the so-called Danse Macabre and here he is, still moderately succeeding at getting his walking corpse to act alive. Subconscious? Unconscious.

He finishes off his drink and steels himself for yet another night, slinking back into his seat. Sit straight. Voice of command. You are regal, and they will obey. Practiced inflection, rehearsed line.

"Seneschal, I will see the next one if you please."

(OOC: Err, only sure tag I got for now'd be...[personal profile] superbarbie?)
Edited 2014-07-30 13:53 (UTC)
superbarbie: (//015)

CLOSING this thread since it's option 4! Bri, make another open post for other options. :0

[personal profile] superbarbie 2014-07-30 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
And the next one happened to be Inquisitor Barbara Gomez, the Golden Hand, herself. The doors open, and she clicks in, arrayed in another one of her killer designer dresses, giving what appears to be a disdainful and critical sweep to the area around her.

(In actuality, she's looking for possible threats and measuring the situation. She couldn't give a lesser fuck about furniture and other shit right now.)

She isn't alone tonight: her husband, Alejandro Raura, walks to her left. The rest of her entourage is just beyond the door, waiting. Enough about them for the moment, though: she's walking towards Mason with a smile.

"Good evening. I'm sure you heard that I was coming."

Just, what Mason probably didn't hear was when or how.

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nimble_fingaz: (Targeted by Perception Check)

Mason Turner, Option 1, Open

[personal profile] nimble_fingaz 2014-07-30 09:33 pm (UTC)(link)
All things considered, the trip to the Falner Estate makes Mason realize how desperately the Kindred cling to their inner mundies. There was, after all, that old saying: "When you receive the Dark Gift, you become more of what you were in life."

He was expecting an elite Netsach hit squad armed to the teeth, blowing through his Invictus guards like wet tissue paper. Instead he had been greeted by a smile and a Spaniard: the famous Golden Hand, her equally-esteemed husband and the former's Ordo Dracul escorts, who had of all things managed to engage his assembled courtiers in some witty repartee. With the violence of the past month he was expecting Detroit's Kindred to put up a fight at the first sign that he was leaving, but what transpired seemed more like he was a tired CEO being dragged off to a much-needed vacation—all smiles, goodbyes and well-wishes. He had come to expect a team of mages ready with a portal to take him straight to the fabled Haven, but the entire group simply took a flight back to Manila with him in tow.

He distinctly remembers wondering if the woman who had strutted into his audience chamber really was the Golden Hand he'd heard so much about. His eyes told him that she was eighteen; the Beast inside told him that she was roughly twice his age in 'vampire years'. The dead told tales of how she could singlehandedly kill an entire Belial's Brood coven with her eyelashes or how one snap of her fingers could force the vitae out of your veins, all at once. Some even believed that simply saying her name would bring Ordo Daywalker down on your haven like the proverbial hammer driving a stake through a heart.

The Inquisitor who had flown him across the world proved to be none of this; truth be told, she seemed more like that favorite aunt who's always ready with a peck on the forehead and a hug when you scrape your knees.

He takes in the sights of the Estate: The hover trams, the old-school architecture alongside Fourth World innovations, the people. Oh, the people!

A vampire's first impulse upon arrival is always to size up potential prey and other predators upon arrival, but nothing in his 'education' as a prince had prepared Mason for the sight of so many different mundies and supernaturals in one place. Though the Veil had been lifted decades ago and supernaturals were part of a kid's schooling these days, Detroit's prince had seen none of that during his mortal life and only other Kindred in his first month among the dead. His head would be spinning if he was still biologically capable of being dizzy.

After a month of the boot-licking and throne-sitting, here he stands thinking that in the end, he really is just a petty thief who by happenstance picked the biggest pocket of them all.
outstanding: (Default)

[personal profile] outstanding 2014-07-31 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
"Quite the view, right?"

Hello there stranger, have another Kindred walk your way, hands in her pockets and discrete smile on her face. Only a week "old", the power of her blood isn't all that impressive, probably, and judging by her walk and own obvious interest she isn't there to throw her weight around. What weight anyway? She's a petite blonde with fangs, and seriously not one to go and cry to her sire (mostly because her sire is pretty damn scary); no, she's there because she might have heard of a vampire is arriving and hey, he's a vampire.

"Newly arrived I assume?"

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Normal? Ha ha.

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Re: Normal? Ha ha.

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sup brah

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Re: sup brah

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outstanding: (Default)

Ella Ryan, 5 (locked to Riley Falner, Open)

[personal profile] outstanding 2014-08-05 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
Locked to Mr. Falner

It has been a little over two weeks after being Embraced, and Ella feels like she had delayed this for too long already. It had come up in conversation with Barbara a few times, that Riley was not only the big vampire in charge (much as he acted like it wasn't that way) but also her mentor and, Ella guessed, something of a surrogate sire to her. Not that Ella had dared to ask, because even though Barbara had been trying to be open with her, time needed to flow naturally between them.

But Ella is very happy, even when she sees her blurred reflection or when she pops her fangs and bites her tongue...or when she tries to use Celerity and runs into a wall (once!).

So there she is, making her way to where Barbara had told her Riley usually spent the idle time; up in the Malice Kings' floor, where security to enter was so tight she was surprised to be let into. Her sire had most likely let the guards know, and being the childe of the Golden Hand carried a few perks on itself.

Reaching which she was pretty sure was his room, Ella hesitated for an entire minute before finally knocking. "H-hello?"

Open

The thing with only being active at night was that most people were either asleep or away in missions by then. The state always had activity though, but she was pretty sure it was more obvious during the day. Most people awake during the night seemed to be either busy with important business or looking to make their ways to bed.

Still, that doesn't make much of a dent on Ella's mood; it simply means she has more freedom to roam the place and use the facilities, within reason of course. People that come in an out the Falner State might find one Ella Ryan in one of several places:

a) On the gardens, probably plopped on the grass, reading a book while sipping a blood bag.

b) By the entrance, perched on a corner with her cellphone out and making an awful job of pretending she's not checking everyone that enters out.

c) Getting lost in the greenhouse, as you do.

Pick your favorite choice!
scratching: (Default)

A!

[personal profile] scratching 2014-08-05 01:02 am (UTC)(link)
The night air is familiar, cool, something that Ro can certainly get behind as he changes into a more suitable form for skulking about the grounds. On four, rough paws and with sturdy form, he makes his way through the gardens, sniffing about the grass and hearing the soft pitter pattering of tinier feet, minute squeaking noises and soft chirrups from night birds. Hunting at night affords his feral nature privacy that daylight can't cover. Fewer people to get in the way to scare his prey just as well. He moves slowly through the dark, canine shoulders hunched forward as he pursues and catches himself a particularly fat-looking rodent. He's digging into it quite vigorously and by the time he's through with it, there's nothing left but a few scattered bones and some hair he couldn't care for.

It's the odd scent of blood and plastic that has his nose turning upwards, tongue sliding over his teeth and jaw as he looks around and makes his way towards the shape of a young woman sitting in the garden, a book spread open in her lap and bag full of blood being sipped at.

Huh.

He's certainly not after her blood, but rather, the company might be nice. His muzzle is still a bit stained, but he decides he doesn't look too menacing. Just like any other dog. Most people can't tell the different between dingos and regular old house breeds anyways. So here is just peeking out from some bushes and looking at her. Hello.
Edited 2014-08-05 01:03 (UTC)

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dragon o.o

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anteayer: (001 |)

Gray Magallanes Valverde - Option 3 [OPEN]

[personal profile] anteayer 2014-08-18 04:40 am (UTC)(link)
Haven wasn't usually the first place that came to mind whenever he needed a place to unwind. He'd always preferred more quiet establishments that were close to home, like King's Rest and Liquidated.

Tonight, though, Gray is seated by the counter, drink in one hand and meal laid out beside him. He's listening attentively to the music playing throughout the club while his eyes glance around at several other customers. As expected, there were many regulars (a fair number of whom were hunters), but there were also plenty of new faces around tonight.

Overall, it was a rather interesting - albeit uneventful - night, and it doesn't look like he was going to mingle anytime soon unless someone approaches him (and the little green dragon curled up at the next seat, wide awake and watching the rest of the club as well).
interceptive: (//011)

[personal profile] interceptive 2014-08-18 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
The first thought that crosses Segan's mind the moment she enters Haven is Holy shit. This is just like a TV show!

Unfortunately, that thought is also writing itself all over her face, making her look at least half her age and way too wide-eyed for her own good. Thankfully, while Haven might LOOK like a club straight out of a TV show, it isn't. Hence, she isn't getting too many funny looks (or judgmental ones, for that matter) for the fact that she's definitely not dressed like she's out for a night of partying. One might even go so far as to say that she looks like she's about to pick up a shotgun, climb into a truck and head up to the mountains for some hiking.

After a good, solid ten minutes of wandering around and gawking at nearly everything she sees, Segan plopped down on a table close to the young man with a dragon (Wow, I've never see one of those up close...), taking one last look at her surroundings, and then pulling her phone out of her arm.

That's right. Out of her arm.

It's one of the things she likes about being a Technomancer. All the utility, none of the ridiculously big bags and pockets.

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\o/

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flusse: (pic#)

Max Rivers - Open Beautiful Trainwrecks

[personal profile] flusse 2014-08-19 04:37 am (UTC)(link)
A. First day is worst day

So after a whole lot of Crap We Are Not Talking About™ (read, running into Rivers Hunters after carefully hiding for the better part of her 18 years and blowing her cover because being a God Damn Hero apparently runs in the family), Max finds herself unceremoniously kicked out of a car in front of Falner. The fact she tried to punch the driver and steer the car away might have had something to do with his rudeness, of course. She just sits for a moment there, glaring at the world like a little spoiled brat, which she kind of is at the moment. It passes though, and she stands up and pats off the dust out of her dirty, old, nondescript clothes. The only thing of value on her person is the ring on her right middle finger, made of some metal you just don't normally dig out (her father's ring, who he got from his father, and the father of his father, and you know where that legacy crap goes).

The other valuable thing is the giant mystical tattoo thing on her back, but her beaten up leather jacket covers what her top doesn't, so prying eyes will be disappointed. Not that she thinks many people besides her can read it. Stupid legacy crap.

She has no backpack, whatever money she had with her at the moment and a random stolen cellphone she had taken before all the shit hit the fan, and now she was in front of some fancy schmancy mansion. Well, she's there already. Better check if she can make herself with some of the fine silver before they kick her out again.

B. Random shenanigans are love

The dude's name was something something Rivers. He knew her dad (or was it her dad's dad?) and apparently the old man had been something of a big shot, a pain in the ass and one of the odd Rivers to pick up his shit and walk away from The Vigil; all in all it seemed like her almost dried out river was held in both admiration and contempt, and somehow it was her job to put make amends for them.

Screw that, Max had tried to say, but the Rivers dude (they were all Rivers dudes in the end, anyway) had put a heavy stack of papers on her arms and pushed her down a hall, because she obviously had nothing better to do. She was supposed to be a student, not his damn secretary. The pile was already dangerously inclined to the left by the time she realized she had no idea of where she was going, and when she tried to stop someone to ask for directions, the whole thing came crashing down; the woman she had tried to stop was nowhere to be seen. Classic.

"Fuck fuck fuck." The litany of low key cussing carried on as she knelt down, trying to make sense of the files spread all over the floor. She was this close to call it quits and leave it all there. Fuck that Rivers dude.

C. Haven! Booze!

Half an hour after sitting by the bar, Max has finally managed to get a bottle of tequila all for herself. It's been quite a day and she wants to get dead drunk and be done with it. It's a pretty expensive bottle too, courtesy of the drunk mage with the poorly concealed wallet. You would expect more from someone who can mess with the basic laws of nature, but nope.

So Max is simple going to slouch over the bar and make shots in silence, wishing nobody notices her until she's at least halfway through the bottle.

As if, of course.
lyall: (ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ sᴏ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴇᴡ)

B. Have a babbu '^'

[personal profile] lyall 2014-08-19 04:45 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's a little girl about the age of eight dressed in the regulation Balamb Academy uniform coming to a stop some five feet from where those papers have scattered all over. She's staring down blankly at one of the pages that's caught on the tip of her boots and she stiffly bends from the waist to pick it up.

She'll come on over now and hold it wordlessly in your face, Max.

Please take it. It looks important. ]

Oh no cutie *^*

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ALL THE AWK

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dfdfdfdf dying

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aslkjhsdlkjhf

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