Michael's Meeting

[Storyteller]

Your cab pulls up outside Michael's house once again. You can't see inside the windows; the curtains are drawn, but you think you can see lights on.

You climb out, paying the fare, and walk up the drive.

[Treyvon Johnson]

Once I'm outside his door I knock, looking around a bit. So a band of hunters.

[Storyteller]

You hear a whisper coming from behind the door.

"Wait a minute, then go away. Walk casually round the block, then cut across the gardens behind to the back door."

[Treyvon Johnson]

I roll my eyes. I had drama in life and now I have drama in...unlife. Still, I do as he says, waiting then heading for a nice stroll around the block. Finally I cut through the garden as he says, glad I'm wearing sneakers (even if they are a expensive) and end up at the back door. I slowly reach to turn the nob, ready to pump my blood to run. I make sure my gat is cloaked by shadow.

[Storyteller]

The door is wrench open just before you can reach it, and Michael stands there.

"Get inside."

He half-ushers, half-drags you in, and closes the door.

"Sorry about the charade, but the house is being watched. Who by? No idea, but i sure as hell don't want any attention, and i don't want them to know i'm having a meeting tonight. Come on through."

He leads you from the kitchen, through the hall, to the library. Several, four leather armchairs have been produced round one of the tables. Very classy.

A man is already seated in one of the chairs. You've seen him before; he's a member of the lance; you think his name is Jeffery, or something. He has untidy brown hair, and a regular build. He wears a suit, with an overcoat and a fedora draped on the back of the chair. He's holding a glass of what could well be blood and orange juice.

"This is Rann. He's also come for a little information and work tonight."

He waves a hello, and takes a sip of his drink.

"We're just waiting on one more person, but take a seat. You want a drink?"

[Treyvon Johnson]

I nod in greeting to the two other men as I take a seat next to Rann.

"Yes, please. I haven't had anything since I woke up."

I look at the other two again.

"I'm Trey."

I can't wait to find out what's going on. If he's under surveilance, what does that mean for me?

[Storyteller]

Michael heads out of the room, and you're left sitting down with Rann, who has placed his drink on a side table, and now sits with his fingers steepled.

He turns to you.

"I seem to remember seeing you before, but i can't remember catching your name. Being fairly direct, who are you?"

It seems a bit rude, but he smiles, and you're pretty sure he's trying to be genuinely pleasant, even if he comes across a bit funny.

[Treyvon Johnson]

I smile. I like direct.

"I'm just a lay priest, nothing big. I usually work with the First Estate, performing basic ritae and such. I've seen you around too, though."

I hope that came off as humble. But in this game you need to give a little to get a little. I do my best to give him eye contact. Either he'll think I trust him implicitly or I could screw the hell out of him with a word. Either way is fine with me. But I also use my will and blood; I want to see what makes him tick.

Eyes of Chaos

[Storyteller]

Discipline Roll: 2 successes

You see into his eyes. You see into his soul.

Rann's Vice is Pride, and he does possess a number of derangements.

You flinch slightly, as you often do, when you read someone like this, but you think you conceal it.

"Something up?"

Or not. Oh well, shouldn't be hard to cover up.

[Treyvon Johnson]

I shake my head.

"No, I just realize I didn't give an associate of mine the protocols for dealing with hunters. I'm not sure if you heard but a few have been sighted in the area. Of course, and I hope this doesn't sound sarcastic, if Mike knows you, you can handle yourself pretty well."

I smile as sincerely as possible.

"Speaking of which, I'm sure I've seen you at mass a few times. If you don't mind my asking, what is it that you do?"

[Storyteller]

He grins broadly.

"I've done a few odd jobs for the Lance, but mostly, i answer directly to the Prince. I've been...away for a while recently, so i'm slightly out of touch, but things are falling back into place."

"Now Hunters i haven't seen in a while, but i'm half-hoping i run into them. If they're showing up here so blatently, i think they deserve everything that's coming to them. Though it is rather inconvenient. Young kindred particularly have a tendency to go gunning for them, showing little too liberal a regard for the Masquerade as i'd like, and sometimes going and getting themselves terminated anyway. It's not good for the rest of us."

Michael reappears with a drink, another bloody orange, which he hands to you. He moves to sit down, but then there's another knock at the front door.

"I'll get that."

[Treyvon Johnson]

I nod at mike as he drops off the drink and heads off to answer the door.

"Thanks."

I turn back to Rahn.

"Yeah, that's mostly who I'm worried about. Some upstart who's got something to prove is gonna screw it up and expose us. Though, there's always the chance that they do strike gold and manage to take the hunters out. Of course then its a matter of politics from there. If they're of the Lance we look that much better."

[Storyteller]

Rann starts to speak.

"Exactly...

But thats all you hear. Suddenly, you hear a window smash, and your vision becomes misty, so you can't see anything. You hear shouts, and gunfire.

Then you snap back to reality. Rann's looking at you, concerned, still speaking to you.

"You alright? You kinda zoned out there for a sec."

[Treyvon Johnson]

Shit...

"I was just thinking, what if Michael's being watched by the hunters?"

I'm glad I don't have a functioning heart right now because it'd be racing like crazy. I look at Rann and stand up. I doubt the hunters are the ones that'll attack, but it's the most plausible excuse. The truth doesn't seem to work well in these matters...

"I think we should check on him. Something doesn't feel right."

I don't wait for a response taking, my glass with me. I hope he follows.

[Storyteller]

He frowns, and you get up, to check out of the room. His voice follows you.

"Surely we'd've heard something?"

You head out of the room, into the hall, but Michael isn't there. You cautiously peer round the open kitched door, and see Michael, with his back to you, waiting at the back door.