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  #16  
Old Nov 10th, 2023, 02:05 AM
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Cole Schneider, the Veteran
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"It's perfect!"

Cole gave Andre an incredulous look as the wrestler tried on the costume. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say 'perfect'," Cole hedged as he judged the fit and tried to envision how it would look once the beast was unleashed, so to speak. "It's not finished, you understand." It wasn't even halfway to what the tailor had originally envisioned. At this point it was little more than the base underlayer, gray spandex with the merest suggestion of wolfliness (lupinity?) about it. The stretchy fabric would take care of most of Andre's needs, but Cole was a little proud of some of the hidden expanding panels he'd incorporated into the suit. It would all look pretty good once he finished it. If he got a chance to finish it.

He waved off the wrestler's satisfaction with the unfinished product. "No. I'm sorry, I can't let you go out there looking like this. Sure, it's better than a ripped old tanktop and some sweatpants. But it's both of our reputations on the line here, right? Sure, this match is just a stepping stone on your way up, but it's important to make a first impression, right? We want everyone to remember you."

He waved vaguely in Andre's direction, his mind already a whirl trying to make calculations of his available time and supplies. What changes could he make in short order? What would have the most striking impact?

"Take it off. I'll... I'll just have to see what I can get done in time."

He wiped at his brow. Had it always been so hot in here? It was a struggle just to think.

 

 
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  #17  
Old Nov 10th, 2023, 02:34 PM
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Victor YoungVictor stands stunned by the rapid turn of events, but only for a moment. Suddenly the homeless man who had been berated as well, grabs him. He is spun to face the man and the other's words seem to allude to a familiarity, but Victor cannot place the man.

Stuttering to find words as the evening seems to be unraveling before him, Victor hears another - more familiar – voice. Spinning away from the rancid words and even more rancid breath, Victor is relieved to find a familiar face
"Heya sugar, You sure know how to get on peoples' good side."
Victor smiles, relief washing over his features at the sight of Brassavola. "Yeah, don't even have to try neither" He turns a glance back at the homeless man and the relief dissipates. Then he glances about the busy establishment and doubt creeps in, manifested as a furrowed brow.

One more glance at the three engagements before him before Victor finally shrugs, smiles at Brassa with a "Come on" and a toss of his head toward the festivities before turning back to the man. He scowls but likewise extends a – much less congenial – invite, "Private ain't happening, but you can say your piece lost in the noise of this place. Come along if you must."

With that Victor sets off jostling his way through the crowd. There had been a dice game that had caught his attention earlier. Pressing through the crowd takes longer than expected, but at last Victor arrives in the next I guess I am picturing the doorways between several areas as more old-style open concept, wide pass-throughs rather than man-size doorwaysregion of the building. Gambling – most of which Victor does not recognize the rules for – seems to be the overarching theme, and there is one group huddled near the wall that Victor had noted earlier.

Several patrons are crouched around an area of the floor with a half dozen or so others watching the action over their heads. He turns to Brassa, not caring if the homeless man is either there or overhearing, "Have a little fun to start the night while we catch up?"

OOCThis is what I've got. At least nothing bad can happen by jumping in on a gambling ring ... right?

 
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Old Nov 11th, 2023, 07:04 PM
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Round Two. Fight. Is that what they’re teaching their young up and coming agents these days? That they’re the inheritors of Rome? Try telling that to the ‘man’ in the big white hat.

Farhad smiled a wide, almost fanged smile.

That was when he made note of the mountain moving towards him.

Tonight, you say?

Cold rage ran through Farhad, though his demeanor didn’t change, but for a moment.

Do not concern yourself with me, you focus on the fight. I will make sure we receive what we are owed.

…Buzzard, did you say? Perhaps this is fortuitous after all. The homa is a symbol of luck and happiness. Falling beneath the shadow of a Homa predicts one will rise to sovereignty. Have faith in yourself, and you shall rise.


Farhad finished his drink, Now, Daniel, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have a piece of business to attend. I will return momentarily.

Farhad rose from the table, and walked towards where he had seen Farley, his cane clicking with each step.

Had there always been claw marks in the table?

Mr. Farley.

It hadn’t taken long for Farhad to track the man down.

Mr. Farley. Was I unclear last time we spoke?

Farhad rested both of his hands on his cane, the sides of his suit draped at his sides, easily large enough to conceal a tommy gun, claws, or an electrified sword.

Quote:
Originally Posted by wodine View Post
Then it is done. Next time you want to schedule Andre, you can go through me.
Imagine my surprise when I come to your establishment this evening and I find out, not only is my contender scheduled to fight, but that he only just found out about it as well. Now this could certainly have been a minor oversight, perhaps a secretary who let a phone call slip her mind or a note with my phone number fallen onto a sticky floor, but surely someone as well versed as you wouldn’t have simply ignored such a request. That would be a considerable insult, wouldn’t it, Mr. Farley?
OoC No move yet, but depending on how this goes, there may be a Let It Out soon.

Holding 1 @ Kensington.
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  #19  
Old Nov 12th, 2023, 04:44 AM
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The Spectre
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Victor was younger than the flesh Anne was wearing, his reactions swifter. His legs and back didn't ache and his stomach didn't feel like a bottomless hole. Anne’s unfamiliar fingers, thick and fumbling, slipped and he easily escaped her grasp. She glared at him. Even now he didn't recognize her. Her disguise was too good, she knew, the unbearable presence of suffering flesh masking her nature.

Anger slowly gave way to a deeper realization. For everyone inside this building, she was another. She could make use of that, make use of old enemies. Or even make new ones.

The dark-skinned woman appeared, commanding Anne’s attention like an uncontrollable fire, elegant flames dancing with supernatural grace, asking to be admired, trusted, loved. She promised light and heat and excitement. Was it too big a price to be left charred and smoking after she had their way with someone?

The Fae.

She was an ally, Anne admitted, like the wind filling a ship’s sails. But the wind was fickle and so were those of her kind. Anne still remembered the stories about them. Y Tylwyth Teg, her grandpapa used to call them. The fair folk. He had known they were real, but never would he have guessed that they had left their hidden palaces inside the holes of old trees and beneath large, mossy stones to walk in the world of man.

The Fae were not hindered by smoke or mist or darkness. Would Brassavola’s eyes pierce the cheap fabric of the tattered suit and the aging flesh beneath it to see what really was?

Anne grunted noncommittally and followed Victor. The man ignored her, his hungry eyes feasting upon the vice so prominently displayed all around them. Dirty pieces of paper with the faces of presidents, staining the hands and souls of those that exchanged them, and strong alcoholic beverages in a variety of colors imbibed with the intent of numbing the ever-present needs of humanity. This at least she could comprehend. She too would have liked to silence Vasili and his constant wailing demands - drink, food, rest, sleep.

Victor halted, unsure how to proceed next. The lost soul lacked funds. This was her chance. Taking out all the money bills that remained inside Vasili’s wallet, Anne gave them to him.

"I am familiar with that look. I have often seen it in the eyes of my father-in-law. Take the banknotes. Indulge in your passions. But I would have you bring me in contact with Andre the boxer as soon as possible. He expects me, Vasili, the Missionary."



 


 
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Old Nov 12th, 2023, 04:00 PM
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The Dressing roomCole and Andre swing by a table where Farhad is chatting with a square-jawed fellow. Cole is perhaps surprised to hear Farhad called Andre's "manager". But Farhad waves them on, and Andre escorts Cole into the dressing room area, leaving Farhad's name at the door, in case his flamboyant manager follows later.

On a bench polished and worn smooth from use, Cole sits down and shows what he's got. It's not much, but it's more than Andre expected. Andre does a quick try-on, and Cole sees room for adjustments. He takes back the outfit and begins the alternations, when...

RRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP

Oh no. This stretchy stuff is not Cole's usual medium, and he's out of practice with the directions of its give. He looks at the error. It is large. A repair will be very prominent. The torn part could be cut off entirely, but all that would remain is enough fabric to cover... whatever happens between Andre's legs when he transforms.

This is a tight spot. A run back to the workshop will be all the harder now, with bigger fixes to make. But what else could he do? Wracking his brain, Cole can't help looking around the room. Wait, aren't almost ALL of these wrestlers 'special'? Wouldn't their gear be similarly special, and styled to impress? There is so much available material, designed exactly for Cole's purpose, right here in this locker room...
The Dice Game, in a service hallwayVasili-née-Anne and Brassa follow Victor. By all rights, he's the one who least belongs in this place. But that gives him all the more a sense of purpose. Anne considers the opportunities of her current form, and wonders about the ability of the Fae to pierce her disguise.

Suddenly, Victor turns a corner. It is apparently a wide hallway designed for the service workers: concessions and clean-up. But in that liminal space, there is a dice game. Anne's musings become all the more real. At least half the players are Fae. Brassa, from behind, would immediately recognize that they are almost entirely of the Dusk Court. They do not tend to be friendly to the remnants of Brassa's ex-Court, but the Coliseum IS a neutral ground...

Victor, with his nose for trouble, either does not realize their affiliation, or does not care. He approaches, looking for action. The pale Missionary, shockingly, presses cash into Victor's hands and makes a request for how Victor can repay the favor. The squatting gamblers look at Victor with some skepticism. But with the gambler's enternal optimism, they see the wad of cash in his hands, and wave him into the circle.
Under the risersFarhad has a quick conference with Andre, then excuses himself from Kensington for a moment. The Agent gives an ostentatious sigh, but nods in aquiescence. He looks irritated at being abaondoned, but at the same time, the people-watching here is top-tier, so he is quickly occupied. He takes out a large phone and begins typing - texting? taking notes on the scene?

Farley is not hard to find. He is small enough that he could blend in, if he wanted to. But he insists on flitting from patron to employee to vendor, always creating a wave of action and reaction wherever he goes. He appears to be making last-minute checks of the area around the wrestling ring as Farhad bears down on him. He takes a few wary steps back as Farhad approaches, and they meet under the metalic risers that provide the general-admissions seating for the matches. Farley ducks and steps back one last time to put an X-shape of tension rods between himself and Farhad.

"My newest agent! How are...." he manages to smarmily get out, before Farhad lays into him. Say what you will of Nelson Farley; he is a considerable businessman, and in his own way, he is quite open about his goals and intentions. He winces and grins uncomfortably and shrugs evasively as Farhad presses his case.

When he gets a chance, Farley puts his hands out, palms up, in a shrugging appeal "Waddaya mean? This match IS 'through' you! You'll get your managers cut. Oh wait, you meant you wanted to DO the scheduling? Well, that's harder. But I get it, I get it. No insult at all! Nothing but respect, nothing. Just a failure of communication." He pauses to gauge just how angry Farhad is about this. But when the man is running at the mouth, he is hard to stop. He continues before Farhad has much of a chance to respond. "And look, just like you said about the Missionaries, I did just what you wanted. One of them came back today, and I read him the riot act. I got two folks breathing down his neck." He points out the pale Missionary, who is now, improbably, walking along with Victor and Brassa. He then points out two figures, a large man in one place and a lanky woman in another. Both, indeed, seem to be watching the Missionary. "Honoring our agreement, 100%. Won't do any recuitment, or he's gone. Man of my word. Just a misunderstanding, you see. Now if you'll excuse me, it's a match night. So I'm busy. Very busy. Lots of business." He does his best to scuttle off to the side, keeping a network of support beams and cross-bars between himself and Farhad.
OODM@Frog: So a failure there means you only have bad options. Firstly, the rip Andre's current costume is as mininal as possible. Secondly, delivering upgrades tonight will be difficult or risky. I'll put two options in front of you, but I'm willing to hear counterproposals. Option 1: the baseline "run back to the workshop as quick as possible." That will require a roll, and that roll is now harder, made at a -1. Option 2: try to "borrow" the materials of other costumes nearby. That's a straight roll, but the risks inherent in taking stuff from Violence Entertainment Professionals should be pretty obvious.

@Vis and Elanir (and maybe Roe): I was about to Lore dump about Dusk Court, but that would take away opportunties for faction moves! So, as always, with new folk and new factions, take a look at the faction moves available to gather info, and make a roll if you like.
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  #21  
Old Nov 18th, 2023, 01:01 AM
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Ding. Yes, well, very good then. You must understand, I do not like surprises, surprises, Mr. Farley, are bad for business – a courtesy call next time, yes?

Farhad was disarmed, and frankly, a little disappointed.

Farhad silently chastised himself for thinking this little toad of a man would put up any sort of fight whatsoever.

Farhad cleared his throat as he readjusted his expectations.

Stopping by the bar, Farhad rejoined Agent Kensington setting down two high ball glasses full of a brown liquid with a few ice cubes haphazardly floating in the liquid. Farhad pushed one towards the young man as a peace offering for his absence.

Another one of your Tik. Toks?

Farhard gestured to the device in the agent’s hand, then took a sip of his… bourbon.

It did not taste French.

Well what do you think so far Daniel, is the Coliseum all you thought it would be?
OoC Farhad will refrain from pummeling Farley. For now.

Holding 1 @ Kensington.
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  #22  
Old Nov 18th, 2023, 02:27 AM
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Cole Schneider, the Veteran
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"Dammit." Cole hunched over the torn costume, utterly at a loss for how to fix this in time. Last night had been a roller coaster, and he already wasn't at his best. Between Justice and the potential fallout from the smash and grab at Nazanin's shop... he just had too much eating at his mind, dividing his attention. Now he'd taken this on his plate when he really shouldn't have. But he'd let his pride get the best of him... again.

Andre would have been happy with just the barest outlines of the suit Cole had brought with him. He could have left it there for the night. Let the match go off. Sure, it wouldn't have looked good, but it would have at least been a step up from what the wrestler was used to wearing. But no, he'd decided he had to try and finish it, tonight, before the match. Now he had nothing to show for it except a rip big enough for even one of Andre's meaty paws to pass through.

He stared at his failure for a moment, the world closing in around him. He had to try and get back to the shop. Did he have time to do that and get back before the match? Maybe? He was for a moment struck by the sad reality that he had nobody in his life. There was nobody he could call to have them grab the stuff he needed and meet him half way. Nobody he could trust to let them in that close.

He wracked his brain for any other options. The other wrestlers? A lot of them probably used the same stuff, right? He glanced around the room, wondering if the answer to his problems was just on the other side of one of these locker doors... but, no. Despite last night's escapades, Cole wasn't much of a thief. He'd never have even tried if not for the sense of desperation Justice's return had inspired in him. He wasn't about to go rooting around for scraps, there was nothing for it. He'd just have to try and get to the shop and back... and hope he didn't run into any speed traps. "Dammit."

He gathered up his supplies and what remained of the costume, grabbing his phone last... when a thought struck him. He opened the last text he'd gotten from Cassandra. She was around here somewhere, right? She was a wrestler... she probably knew some others too...

Code:
Weird ask. Need spandex, or suitable substitute. Tight schedule.
He typed out the message rapidly, the sent. After a moment's hesitation, he sent a second line. The universal exchange rate in these parts.
Code:
I'd owe you.

 

 
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Last edited by hafrogman; Nov 18th, 2023 at 11:04 AM.
  #23  
Old Nov 18th, 2023, 02:52 PM
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The Spectre
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Anne knew greed well enough and she recognized it immediately in Victor’s eyes. Did the man realize what he was agreeing to do by accepting Vasili’s money? Did he even care?

She watched with disapproval as the gamblers raised their heads from their game to reluctantly welcome the newcomer. She couldn't believe that the world had turned so crude, so vulgar since her lifetime. Men had always been creatures of spit and dirt, she knew that much, but in her days they had at least tried to present themselves as something better than their base nature. There was no pretending inside the Coliseum, however. Those who spent their nights here were more beasts than men and women, creatures led by their unbridled urges and sinful passions.

As was to be expected, first among such swindlers was a group of fae.

Indistinguishable from normal humans, at least in the eyes of most, the fair folk had gravitated towards the City the more it grew in size and importance. The mischievous pixies that played tricks on the farmers and animals residing in and around George Town were replaced by powerful figures that sought to influence events from the shadows. Whole fae courts came to regard Anne’s city as a prize to be had at any cost and turned it into a battlefield instead. Brassavola was a victim of that war, though in what exact manner Anne was not entirely sure. She had been watching events unfold for centuries but had never been particularly interested in the various factions that fought against each other. No one was willing to do her any favors, so she wouldn't do anything for them either.

This particular group of fae was darker than most, she noted. There was something… sinister about them, something far more dangerous than the souring of the milk of cows, the theft of eggs, or the tangling of knitting threads.

Put a Face to a NameWhat were they doing here?, she asked herself.



 


 
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  #24  
Old Nov 19th, 2023, 10:20 AM
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Victor YoungThere is something about the dice group that Victor can't quite place. He doesn't recognize them, but he can't help the feeling that Brassa does. He doesn't have time to dwell on the hunch, however, as the homeless man presses a wad of cash into his palm.

A strange gesture from a strange man. Victor is rattled for a moment. People don't just hand out wads of cash for nothing – and the follow-up request is basically nothing. Victor studies the man for the first time. Andre is a decent sort and throwing a buzz-saw at him is not an option. Victor glances between the characters gathered around the card game and the homeless – no, he had called himself Vasili. There is something about this place. It just feels like the place where meetings between distant acquaintances happen. Victor opens his mouth and then pauses. Words from a distant conversation flicker in his mind. ”...around these type … make no promises ...”

"Alright. I ain't exactly on no guest list, but I'll help if I can." As soon as the words are out, Victor wants them back. Just somewhat entertaining to me to make a promise in front of a Fae (or a half-dozen)So much for no promises. Victor smirks at the Vasili, "Let's see if we can't manufacture thems good will, eh?"

Without another word, Victor turns his attention back to the game at hand. It seems that the concerns of needing to pay to play with either the real hard cash he actually has with the hope to later fence the items he stole for rent, or with stolen items directly has been averted with the Vasili's cold hard cash. And that wad of cash is apparently just the ticket to ride this ride.

Cheating at dice is a difficult proposition, but not impossible and Victor has had years of practice. It isn't a perfect science – there is always a bit of error – so he has found it important to steer away from large bets on a single throw; one bad bounce and it is all over. It's all in the marrying of grip and elbow motion, but the toss itself isn't the difficult part - hiding the mechanics of the toss is.

To the casual observer, Victor is exactly what the group was hoping for. He loses and loses and loses. Every toss of the dice seems to send Victor's money elsewhere. However, to the more trained observer, Victor only bets small on other tosses, but larger sums when the dice are in his hand. Not only that but when Victor tosses the dice, the * leaving the “patron” vague from Victor's POV; I can make something up, but if there is a fun persona that Vis would like to explore from the rival court, this would be the one same patron wins.

It takes a few rounds before Victor catches the patron's gaze fixated on him. The toss comes up in Victor's favor for his first win. And suddenly the stack of cash that he had been slow-playing is replenished. He can't help but note the wrinkled brow of the other patron. It should be an enjoyable evening of padding his own pockets - just slightly, of course, no need making enemies - and sparking some interesting conversation.

OOCThat is a 7 for Mislead, Distract, or Trick, so Victor will Create an opportunity and Confuse them for some time

* (I know tts aren't everyone's favorite, so just restating here): leaving the “patron” vague from Victor's POV; I can make something up, but if there is a fun persona that @Vis (or Wyn for that matter) would like to explore from the rival court, this would be the one


 
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  #25  
Old Nov 20th, 2023, 06:04 AM
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She let herself be pulled along like petals that had fallen into the flow of a river. Whisked into a new space with new and unwelcome sights, alongside the brutal ghastly pale man and Victor, that barely blossomed man, who had the irresistible aura of...what around him? Naivete? No, Brassa knew he was more aware than he let on, perhaps even to himself. But he occupied just that sweet spot somewhere beyond innocence and before revelation that creatures of the shadows such as herself and other kinds found irresistible.

Brassavola hung back from the clicking of the dice, hoping that the game Victor played and was playing was enough to keep them from noticing her, turning their ire and attention upon her. One of the players in particular sent a shiver through her spine and a clench in her jaw. Kinklaw, a fae with a boyish face topped with tight red curls and eyes so green they were nearly candescent. He looked young, but he was terribly old and even more terribly shrewd and cruel. The game seemed to be going his way again and again, but his eyes were on Victor and they were puzzled.

The first question that came to her mind was what were they doing here, but then the second and more important question became what was here? Who owned this place truly and who set the terms by which they engaged? While they played she began to look around, pulling aside those who seemed idle and interested and who might whisper an answer to her questions.

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  #26  
Old Nov 21st, 2023, 06:37 PM
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Andre Adams
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RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP

Andre's calm vanishes. He takes a seat and chews on his bottom lip. Cole's quiet 'dammit' hits Andre's chest like a bullet. The massive man takes in a deep breath and forgets to let it out for some time while he studies Cole's normally cool, calm and collected face while the tailor regathers his tools and thumbs a text.

"Is there... anything I can do to help?" Andre ventures while he sits helplessly, his flesh sagging through the tear he had inflicted on the jumpsuit. "Should I get out of this?"

Unable to establish a read on Cole's inscrutable demeanour, Andre begins tugging off the suit to get dressed back into his dusty daywear. "I think ... I need a drink. I'm feeling a little nervous. Dad used to say there's nothing like a mule's kick to make you forget a snake bite. I'm not entirely sure what he meant by that even today. But he always said it right before he downed several shots of whiskey. So I think I'm going to give it a crack."

Andre wanders out of the changing room sporting a face that resembles a man walking to a firing squad. He doesn't have enough money to pay for his own whiskey, so he seeks out Farhad, feeling certain the antique dealer would ensure some free drinks were part of the appearance fee.

Andre perks up a little when he finds Farhad at the bar. The 7ft tall man plonks himself down right next to Farhad oblivious he is in a conversation with a shady FBI agent and smiles weakly. "Hey boss! Any chance a bottle of whiskey could be part of tonight's fight purse? I need a good mule kick to forget a snake bite. I think ..."

 


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  #27  
Old Nov 22nd, 2023, 12:58 PM
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The Dressing roomAndre takes off the costume so that Cole can work on it freely. jbear, see the 'table near the bar' fieldset below.Andre steps away to calm his nerves. After much cursing, and almost resolving to give up, Cole texts Cassandra. As he fiddles, Cole watches his messaging app. There is no response for a few minutes. Then three dots appear on Cassandra's side of the app. They disappear. The three dots appear again. Disappear. Pause. Three dots. Finally a response: simply 'where are you'. Cole replies, and the blind wrestler shows up a few moments later. She wears her classic cloth across the eyes. But otherwise, she is in athleisure street clothes. She does not apologize for ignoring his earlier text. Perhaps she had an inlkling that he'd reach out again. Cole explains his situation.

"You're working for the new guy? Interesting. He doesn't seem like the type who could afford your fees." She leaves momentarily to go to the women's side of the dressing area, and returns with a few garments over her arm. "Lucky for you, the marks expect women to have a broader range of costume than the men." She shows Cole two options. Both are longer flowing gowns; they are probably not meant to be wrestled in, but rather for entrances or hype, or to be dramatically removed when the action in the ring intensifies. They both provide plenty of pliable material. One is a slinky black gown, narrow shoulder straps and long skirts. It is shot throughout with a slivery thread that gives the whole dress an impression of a sparkling starlit night sky. The other is a looser toga-like garment. It is more earthy, a red-brown fabric the color of drying blood.

As Cole inspects the options, he brushes against Cassandra. She becomes rigid and her chin rises. She would be looking off into space, were her eyes uncovered. Her mouth opens, speechless for a moment. Then in a deep monotone that sounds like a recitation of a ritual, she says "I see the Morgue, and your client. They battle, in the ring. The forces of hell arise around the ring. A chaos. A flash. There is a great sundering." Her muscles relax. She shakes her head slightly, cricking her neck from side to side. She takes a breath. Back in her normal tone of voice, she adds, as if trying to expain what can't be explained, "At that match, something will break, that can never be fixed. What have you gotten yourself involved in?"


The Dice Game, in a service hallwayVictor agrees to Vasili's terms, to find Andre and uses the money to start gambling. Here is one place where Victor feels quite comfortable. His mere mortal powers of cheating are quite ample; even the ancient Fae find it difficult to keep up. He successfully 'launders' his moderate gains through the pile of one of his opponents. That opponent has his concerns, but does not seem to detect any issues. Sometimes luck just turns bad. If Victor ie, without doing anything more suspicious or drastic, your 'confuse for some time' choice means that you won't be discovered in the next few passes around the ring.maintains this method, he may make a tidy but non-suspicious profit here.

As Victor plays, Brassa See OOC. Anne's success follows. We can resolve Brassa's roll later, one way or another.and Anne take in the scene. For many reasons, Anne has little love for the Fae. So she does not have in-depth knowledge of their politics and practices. But it is clear to her who she is watching. These are members of the Night Court. They certainly have a bad reputation, even for the Fae. Their games and promises may be a little darker, more grim, than the other courts, but that may be a matter of reputation as much as reality. Of course, if the Fae hold any principle, it may be that there is little difference between reputation and reality. What else is glamour? The important thing that Anne knows is that Night is on the rise. They were marginal, long ago, a mere nuisance among the other Shadows. But recently, they have become more influential. Louder and more powerful. They are on the ascendancy.

When Brassa turns her attention to the circle of Night gamblers, sees something she has NEVER witnessed before. A Baron of the Day Court, named Reyspite if she remembers correctly, comes around the corner of the hallway. He walks past Vasili and absentmindedly high-fives a few of the Nighters crouched down gambling. Then he leans over and whispers something in Kinklaw's ear. They both laugh. They seem to be on friendly, maybe even intimate terms. A Night, and a Day, from ancient courts eternally at odds, apparently are at ease together in plain sight!


Table near the barFarhad lets Farley slink away, and the man is gone before Farhad can reconsider. Farhad returns to his table. "A manager's duties never end," Kensington quips as Farhad sits. The Agent puts away his phone, and sips the new bottle of Miller beer that's been placed before him. Where quality fails, Daniel has apparently settled for reliability.

"Look, I'm glad to have had a chance to come here. But it seems like this isn't a great time to talk. So let me be blunt, and brief." He takes a sip of beer, sets down the bottle, and looks Farhad dead in the eye. His prep-school smirk is gone. What he's saying now is business. This is the kind of information-swapping that their delicate truce was designed to facilitate. "If we're interpretting the police reports correctly, one of the things taken from Nazanin's shop is of great interest to the Ordo. If your buddy over there has it, and if he tries to fence it through you, it's going to go very badly for both of you. VERY badly. As it stands, it will just go badly for him. Setting aside whatever the witch does in response. I'd suggest that if he approaches you, you turn him down, and tell him to surrender it to us. We can arrange a dead drop, if necessary."

Suddenly, his demeanor shifts, back to his debonair playboy attitude. He leans back "Hey, there he is, your new champion!" Farhad turns to see Andre approaching. The large man sits, and asks about the purse. Kensington seems to be sizing up Andre, a large man, but not exactly giving the impression of peak physical condition. "Have you been doing this long?" the Agent asks, with a skeptically appraising tone. "I imagine your odds must be pretty long. Hmm... But good on you, on trying something new! Say..." he continues, with more scrutiny "Have we met? I'd swear I remember... You haven't gotten yourself into trouble recently, have you?"


OODM@frog: Cassandra will take that debt, if you claim one of those two outfits, and 'destroy' it in order to make something up for Andre. You can take a little creative license with the garments, but the basic outline of what they are is given in the text. That will allow you to whip up a 'stage 2' outfit for Andre.

@Vis: see the OOC thread. You can roll with Night for the 'invetsigate' check.
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Last edited by Wynamoinen; Dec 3rd, 2023 at 02:15 PM.
  #28  
Old Nov 22nd, 2023, 07:25 PM
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The Spectre
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Vasili
Dice were rolled, again and again, accompanied by shouts, curses, and exclamations of triumph, as filthy banknotes continually changed hands. The tawdry spectacle deeply offended Anne’s sensibilities, but in truth, it was the waiting that drove her crazy. Victor appeared to be enjoying the game a bit too much to remember his promise to ‘Vasili’ and he was obviously in no hurry to quit.

Anne realized that she was clenching her fists so tightly that they had grown numb. This shocked her. It was the Missionary’s body that was doing this to her, this burdensome bulk of flesh that she was wearing. As an ethereal being, Anne could have dispassionately watched this game of dice for hours, days even, never once blinking or twitching as she was now constantly forced to do. The shell she had chosen to inhabit was like a corset, so tight and ill-fitting that she was unable to move, to breathe. She had to be rid of it as soon as possible!

Panic rose inside her like the frantically moving bubbles of water that had been brought to boiling point, her ghostly essence threatening to escape her physical confines like steam bursting through a metal container. And she would have, had she not sensed Andre nearby.

He is here!

All thoughts of Victor, Brassavola, and the Fae Night Court instantly dismissed, Anne frenziedly started looking for her Thomas - her Andre. She paid no attention to the people around her and pushed as hard as Vasili’s worn-out body was able to do when the crowd would not part for her. She should have been conscious of the angry looks and raised fists, even the hands that reached for pocketknives and pistols hidden from the eyes of the Coliseum’s ‘enforcers’ inside secret pockets, but nothing was important right now. All that mattered was finding him and fulfilling her promise.

Half-shoving, half-twisting her cumbersome body to fit in the gaps forming between soft and malleable human walls, Anne finally managed to find the one she had been so desperately looking for. He was in the presence of that wyrm of a man who had deprived her of her wedding band, Farhad, and a younger man in a far too tight suit who appeared to be questioning him. With an inarticulate cry, she overcame the resistance that a small group of heavily tattooed men posed and triumphantly presented herself to Andre.

"I found him and brought him to you!", she announced excitedly, fully unaware that the man she was ‘gifting’ to Andre was in a deplorable condition. Vasili’s eyes were sunken and hazy, his face haggard and full of scratches. Two buttons were missing from his wrinkled shirt, the suit he wore sported a number of tears and dark stains, while his trousers were so muddied that one could only guess their original color.

"I have much to tell you and he can tell you even more. About populi. Vox populi and his underground society…"



 


 
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Last edited by Elanir; Dec 3rd, 2023 at 03:39 PM. Reason: changed Dusk to Night
  #29  
Old Nov 24th, 2023, 03:11 PM
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Tango There was the other shoe.

The game it seems was over, and it was time to place their bets.

Farhad had become accustomed to the coyness with which they played, but it seemed Daniel’s nerves, or perhaps his patience, were not as heightened as he liked to posture. He was in enemy territory after all, even if it had been his choice to meet here.

It seemed Nazanin had held something of interest to the order – which meant it was of interest to Farhad. What had she gotten herself into, that the Ordo was breathing down her neck, and had she not even known? If the Ordo had only learned of it through the police’s paperwork, then she had managed to keep it hidden for some time – a topic that they would certainly have to discuss when next they met at the Creamery of the Cold Stones.

With a matching seriousness, a tinge of disappointment that the game had ended so suddenly, Farhad responded, I wouldn’t have moved an item I knew came from Nazanin out of principle, but knowing the provenance of such an item is important – the boy is gifted Daniel, if somewhat blinded by his own ineptitude, but I doubt he understands the gravitas of his procurement.

His Procurement.

It should be MY procurement.


Farhad began to salivate.

His hoard could grow. Should grow. Would grow.

Farhad could feel the item, alone and cold calling to him, calling out wanting to be found.

And found it would be. It was a wondrous item, and it would be his, it would rest within his hoard.

THUMP

Andre had joined the conversation.

Well would you look here, my two favorite… clients. A feel like the belle of the ball.

Farhad smiled. His newest hobby of adding people to his hoard was going well.

Farhad knew that Daniel enjoyed pretending he had anonymity as a faceless automaton of the government, and so he left the door open for him to introduce himself if he so desired.

Andre, my pet, I’m afraid much of what is available here tastes of paint thinner. If you’d like a bottle of decent drink, after the match come by the shop I’ve several bottles you can pick from.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Wynamoinen View Post
"Have we met? I'd swear I remember... You haven't gotten yourself into trouble recently, have you?"
Still on the clock, are we? Come now, I employ only the finest, most upstanding of citizens…

Farhad smelled something… wholly unpleasant. Ectoplasm mixed with grave rot.

Thump.

Well look who it is! Farhard cut the puppet off, his voice firm, but pleasant.

Andre you’ve finally found that friend you were looking for. Perhaps they would like a tour to see the locker rooms, didn’t you mention that the other day?

Farhad was uncertain how much information the Ordo had about Spectres, Anne, or vox but this was becoming an entanglement, and headache, that Farhad did not want.

You’d better take care of that now before the match starts, you may not have time to talk afterwards as I’m certain you will be celebrating a glorious victory.

Farhad smiled, his eyes darting dismissively towards both Anne and Andre.

Farhad couldn’t help but think to himself that he hoped they weren’t as stupid as he assumed they were.
OoC Rolled Ancient appetites, 8.

The item is:
» guarded by forces stronger than you can overcome alone, and
» located somewhere inherently dangerous to you and your allies.

Rolled to mislead Daniel, 8.
» You confuse them for some time
» You avoid further entanglement

Holding 1 @ Kensington.
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  #30  
Old Nov 27th, 2023, 05:07 PM
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Andre AdamsAndre needs something to distract him from his nerves. Instead, he receives a subtle interrogation, a luxurious invitation and a gift, all of which intensify his anxiousness tenfold.

Kensington's disapproving comments roll right off Andre. Insults, jibes and sarcasm had been his daily water when he was younger having been overweight long before he grew big. Nowadays he is a duck's back. Andre smells 5.0 right off the bat when Farhad's friend asks if he knows Andre and tags the question with the insinuation Andre is a troublemaker. It only takes a breath for Andre to decide he dislikes Kensington intensely. "People say I look like Jason Momoa. Maybe you've been watching too many movies?" he replies.

Farhad disfavours Andre's request for liquor, offering instead an invitation to drink high-quality stock after Andre's victory. Farhad is no doubt wise and realises an impaired fighter might not perform to the best of their abilities. Andre fails to pick up on this, thinking Farhad's dismissal of the Colliseum's supply as something born of a refined tongue that he could never relate to. "I wouldn't be able to taste the difference between the good stuff and the usual piss. I'll drink anything just to take my mind off my mind. Could you spot me?"

A fourth body joins that make the hair on the back of Andre's neck stand on end joins the table. A body in deplorable conditions that is looking right at Andre. Smiling. Excited. The words that came out of his mouth make sense after a few moments of shock. The ghost...

Andre had gotten so caught up in the excitement of learning he was fighting tonight he had forgotten about the previous night's events. He had sent the ghost after the Missionaries to learn their whereabouts and their design. And not unlike a loyal hound, the ghost had brought back a chewed-up gift to lay before him. Andre doesn't know how to react.

But Farhad does. As quickly as Anne-in-man's-clothing appears, Andre's manager suggests he should take the situation back to the lockers. Andre is getting stressed. He pops his knuckles. Sweat beads on his forehead and a trickle runs down his cheek. "Yeah... back to the locker room. I mean .... sure."

He stands and jerks his head for the possessed man to follow. "Let me show you around, Jim. You'll love what they've done with ... the locker rooms."

Andre approaches security once again and explains he wants to sho his buddy around.
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