Out from the ash she rose, with her red hair (Rosalyn, Wed. 4/4/07)

[Detritus]

Before we get into the thread proper, what do you want to do about Rosalyn's spear? I'm assuming you'll want it near to hand once you're on the streets, but it doesn't have the returning property she's accustomed to. It might look weird to carry it with her on the street, so if you wanted to forgo that, it's matter of where you want to set it while you're stationed near the docks.

Also, I guess there's a question of what you'll be wearing. Jocelin's wardrobe might not quite be Rosalyn's style. You can specify what you want to wear, if it's at all important to you, within reason (i.e. something that could be fetched during the day by some nameless ghoul or another).

[Kalzazz]

((This being New Orleans, can the spear be disguised as a parasol?

As for clothes, hmm, how about a dress maybe like this? http://farm1.static.flickr.com/127/342452755_95234f5de0.jpg

Seems properly Toreador princess like, especially if like fey, and goes with a parasol))

[Detritus]

Hmm, a lone spear disguised as a parasol would be a bit weird -- it's nighttime, the lengths are bit off, etc. However, a group of umbrellas for shading outdoors diners, one of which is the spear in disguise, and an outfit that looks like it might belong on an employee of a restaurant or hotel would probably work. I think the last element needed would be a name tag. Then Rosalyn could wear as frilly a dress as she wants and she looks like a hostess or something waiting for a ride. Would that be OK?

[Kalzazz]

Alright, that can work then

[Detritus]

A'ight. Do you care what the name tag reads?

[Kalzazz]

I think Rosalyn is fine, one way or another she wont be around in a short while so not like her name is a huge secret

[Detritus]

OK, the dress we'll say was purchased during the day.

All the other stuff, the Councilor will linger after dropping off Crusher and conjure what's needed. When you get to the part where you explain about the name tag, Brooke suddenly moves up next to the Councilor and stands on her tiptoes. Meerlinda arches an eyebrow but leans so that Brooke can speak into her ear. She gestures at both you and Mag, and there's a mischievous light in her eyes.

The Councilor looks between the two of you, and then conjures two name tags. One reads:

MAGGIE
MANAGER

The other reads:

ROSALYN
TRAINEE

"That way, you can stick together," Brooke says, grinning. "We probably shouldn't have anyone get separated off by themselves, if we can help it."

[Kalzazz]

"I shall do my best to be a good student"

[Detritus]

"I shall do my best to be a good student"
"Once upon a time, these roles were reversed," Mag says. The Councilor silently takes her leave of the room, sparing a wary glance for Crusher as she leaves.

"For nearly everyone left in this room," Dru says quietly. She gives you a curious look, then shakes her head. "We should gather David and Edward, and head towards the docks."

This is a process of about 20 minutes. Crusher seems to take the biggest liking to Dru. David and Rat Tail go with them to patrol the area. You, Mag, and Brooke take up station several blocks from the docks where the arms delivery will occur. You can set up your umbrellas however you wish.

A few minutes pass after you've gotten set up, and then you hear what sounds a lot like automatic weapons fire.

"That definitely came from the docks," Brooke says. "Maybe we should check it out." She leaves in the direction of where the firing came from. Mag lingers for a moment.

What would Rosalyn like to do?

[Kalzazz]

"March toward the sound of the guns of course"

Rosalyn fetches her spear, activates Celerity, and dashes off

[Detritus]

How much Celerity would you like to activate, and how will you be paying for it?

[Kalzazz]

((Hmmm, what are my options here, and does it seem likely will be wine blood for refills later?))

[Detritus]

((Hmmm, what are my options here, and does it seem likely will be wine blood for refills later?))
http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showpost.php?p=319085&postcount=3

Rosalyn has 25 BP available to her right now. No blood wine in the immediate, foreseeable future.

[Detritus]

BTW, you're still on for picking out how much Celerity activation you want for Rosalyn. The sooner we get that past, the sooner we get to this:

http://i159.photobucket.com/albums/t126/tkrenbarger/Doppelgangland.jpg

[Detritus]

((You need to pick how much Celerity you want Rosalyn to turn on. I'll say you do that just before the flashback posted below.))

As you prepare yourself to enter a potentially hostile situation, another vision steals over you just before you grab your spear.

The scene is one of carnage and destruction. An entire village worth's of peasants have been brutally slaughtered, the psychic signatures of their hybrid man-wolf murderers thick in the æther. A nearby cathedral and abbey have been destroyed, but the ruins have a sickening familiarity to them. You look around and find a tower standing atop a solitary hill, as you both fear and expect, and grief overcomes you.

A moment of blackness follows, after which you open your eyes. Your sire is at your bedside, seated on the floor to your right, and strokes your hair with one hand. You direct a hard, questioning look at her, and feel as if your eyes should be bulging further and further out of their sockets. Your sire lowers her hand and studies your gaze for a moment before giving a soft answer to your unspoken question.

"The villagers and monks, I have avenged them. I have slain the Garou."

"You've destroyed them all?"

At first a quirked eyebrow in response to your harsh tone is the only reply you receive. The hunger from your yearlong sleep rises within you, a sore trial of self-restraint that takes every ounce of your determination to pass. Betraying no hint of whether she's aware of your struggle, Gwen lowers her eyes, evidently weighing how much to tell you.

"All but one," she finally answers.

"Why did you return when you were so close to complete victory?" A tiny crease appears between Gwen's eyebrows, and her voice acquires a hard edge.

"I came back because I felt your need, Sidana. If you had slept but a few weeks more, I would have been able to finish the hunt. It grieves me to learn that slaying fifteen Garou in less than a year by myself does not meet your lofty standards, but I must say that you would have been nowhere near being equal to the task."

You lunge at your sire in reply, seeming only to be able to see red for a moment, and you hear her say something, but the meaning doesn't register. A pale wrist is thrust before you, and the hunger you'd managed thus far to suppress comes to the fore. You sink already-extended fangs into your sire's flesh and drink deeply. You hear a shuddering exhalation, and then a pressure on your forehead, one that becomes more insistent the more you drink. You retract your fangs once you've drunk your fill, and stumble backwards with the force of your sire's push to your head. You feel full, and with a sudden chill realize that you've likely come close to drinking Gwen dry.

"The next time you bare your fangs at me, you'd best finish the job," Gwen says with a reproachful look, "else you'll be bound to me through the ties of blood." Your sire gives a quick shake of her head as if trying to clear it, and sways on her feet before regaining her equilibrium.

"We should not quarrel over this," she says. "I have need to hunt. I assume you have drunk what you need?" You nod your head. "Very good. While I am away, I urge you to reconsider the importance of your combat training. For the one who got away will undoubtedly tell its friends, and there may be further need of violently engaging the Garou."

You nod your head again, and say, "Thank you," but the words have an odd reinforced quality to them. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize that someone else has spoken the words aloud. You turn your head to find your twin standing a few paces away from you, dressed in what you recognize to be a casual manner, with a little smirk on her face.

"Nice name tag, Rosalyn."

[Kalzazz]

"Why thank you. And how do you like the dress?"

[Detritus]

"Hmm, I don't know. You really aren't an olive," Sidana replies with a smirk. "But I didn't arrange for this little chat just to talk about clothes. How are you doing, Rosalyn?"

[Detritus]

In an effort to move things along...

You exchange pleasantries, after which Sidana says:

"I should think that our illustrious sire is trying to re-integrate us in some fashion, is she not? What would you say if I told you there is a way for both of us to survive?"

[Kalzazz]

"Like this? Remembering, being, nothing? Being only a walking memory of pain to those who know me when I know them not? And I know to that you are not the whole of Sidana, I have heard stories, seen memories. A fraction of her, us, yes, but a strong one"

"Integration is the best way"

[Detritus]

"And what? Return to being her lap dog? I've had a taste of true freedom, to really understand the Beast, to acknowledge the superiority of its power to base mortal weaknesses. I've no intention of going back, and you shouldn't, either.

"Besides, I can give you your memory back."

Without warning, another flashback intrudes on your consciousness.

You find yourself dressed in an equestrian’s outfit, studying your reflection in a full-length mirror. Your braid reaches to the small of your back. Turning this way and that, you see Bonnie standing next to the mirror. You look back into an elegantly appointed penthouse. Your sire sits upon a curve-legged loveseat, a tall, handsome man whom you vaguely recognize but cannot identify next to her. Your own childe, Mag, is seated in a matching parlor chair.

“I don’t know if this really suits me, this English style,” you say, idly tapping your left leg with a crop.

“Natural light would flatter the outfit better,” Bonnie replies, “but it looks lovely on you.” You glimpse a fleeting look of uncertainty on her face, and realize that she doesn’t understand why this fitting session is happening at night. It suddenly occurs to you, Rosalyn, that is the evening of Bonnie’s Embrace.

“I’m still not sure,” you say, setting down the crop. You doff the rounded cap you’re wearing and look down at it, holding it in both hands. “I think I like the jersey ensembles better. Or what about something like they’re wearing.” You remove one hand from the cap to gesture towards the other women in the room, both of whom are wearing some variation of a glossy black cardigan jacket and matching slacks. Bonnie gives you an ingratiating smile, one that’s a trifle… indulgent?

“I’m sure we could come up with some lovely jersey suits.” Bonnie’s tone of voice and demeanor subtly but unmistakably communicate that she thinks the other outfits are a bit too grown-up for you.

“I’m older than I look,” you say, voice suddenly cool. “I’ll have you know, I already have one childe. And I may have a second soon.” The reflection looking back at you now is a bit sulky, which just irritates you more. You see Mag rise and come to you. She takes the cap from your hand and replaces it on your head, and you allow her to turn you back towards the mirror. Bonnie, obviously confused by what you've just said, retires a few steps while Mag speaks to your reflected images, childe just entering her middle years to the teenage sire.

“Sidana, darling, I thought we had already discussed this. You’re going to have another sister. It’s best that way.”

“I don’t want another sister. I already have one. Families that get too big can have difficulties getting along. I should have another daughter.” The man’s reflected gaze catches your own. “Or perhaps another cousin. What do you think of that, Charles?”

“That I have no interest in starting my own family. I have my own charges to take care of, and it will occupy my full attention.” Charles gets on his feet and joins you and Mag, then continues speaking in a quiet voice.

“The Germans will be coming, Sidana, it is only a matter of time. Paris will be no fit place for you to raise a family when that happens. England is where you belong, where duty dictates for you to go.”

“I know that, but the childe will be alone regardless of whether she is daughter or sister. And it is still my right.”

“Not alone, Sidana, I shall always be here to render such aid as I can to the scions of our grandsire’s house. She will have another protector, one who will be more powerful if you were to have a new sister instead of another daughter. And I thought it was understood, when you returned to Paris, that you would be given free reign in the city in exchange for not adding to your family.”

“Charles is quite right, Sidana,” Gwynnis says, finally leaving the loveseat to join everyone else by the mirror. “We’ve covered these matters in painstaking detail.” An aspect of long-suffering patience enters your sire’s voice and face, filling you with the desire to lash out.

“I’m not a little girl!” You remove the rounded cap again and hurl it to the floor before stomping it with a massive boot heel.

“Anyone witnessing this little scene would be hard-pressed to agree, childe.” You round on your sire, blood boiling. “I shall remind you once, your mother is still quite capable of turning you over her knee.”

“You’re her mother?” Bonnie asks, alternating a bewildered look between your childe and your sire. Her voice somehow quells your rage.

“I am her sire. I’m also older than I look,” Gwynnis says, smiling. Your sire catches your reflected gaze, and after a moment you drop your eyes in acquiescence, eliciting another smile. She’s still the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen when she smiles.

“Soon I will be your sire as well.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Granted. It can be quite confusing, I know. You’re about to be adopted. Charles, will you bring our other companion here?” Bonnie can only splutter as Charles does as he’s bidden.

“I believe I can supply you with one familiar face. Perhaps hearing it from Arthur, your Arthur, will help.”

“This way, Captain,” Charles says through the door to the other room in the penthouse. A tall, fit man with dark hair just beginning to gray emerges to Bonnie’s astonishment.

“Boy? But you’re dead! Is this your idea of a joke? It’s in very poor taste.”

“Coco, darling, it’s not a joke.” Bonnie starts, obviously recognizing the voice. The man called Boy manages a nervous grin. Despite being in each other’s presence for mere moments, the depth of feeling between them is obvious. You’d been to the shrine, the one that Bonnie had supposedly started, but you weren’t sure. Grudgingly you admit to yourself that your sire had judged well in this matter. In spite of feeding on your sire’s blood each month for two decades, the man called Boy only had eyes for Bonnie.

“But you haven’t aged at all,” Bonnie says faintly.

“It’s true, I haven’t. For 20 years I’ve partaken of my mistress’, that is to say Gwynnis’ blood. I am immortal, as you will soon be, in an even greater capacity than mine.”

Your sire gives Bonnie but a split-second to assimilate this information before extending her arms and her fangs, compelling your new sister to walk into the embrace of the angel of death.

"You had the right of it at first. We ruled Paris then, it was our absolute right to take Bonnie for our own. Our meddlesome sire took it upon herself to take our rightful childe from us. And this is what you'd return to?"

[Kalzazz]

" . . . . I . . I have had, other memories of then . . . trying times, perhaps it was correct. But I shall not set myself against our sire, that was done once already at her command, it shall not be done again"

[Detritus]

A tight-lipped scowl forms on Sidana's face, one that barely softens when she replies.

"I've done it more than once, and it's not that bad. And how many times has she set herself against me, against us? She sees her childer as little more than tools, whatever she may say, to be discarded or ignored as needed. Don't be a tool."

[Kalzazz]

"Oh, really now? Just recently she took herself on a quest to the Deep Umbra to rescue a silly little childe as you recall"

"Unless you possibly think Jocelin Danis, the 13th gen failure as a bodyguard, failure at telling friend from foe and failure at diplomacy Blue Hurricane of New Orleans has any real objective value to her plots"

[Detritus]

"Oh, really now? Just recently she took herself on a quest to the Deep Umbra to rescue a silly little childe as you recall"

"Unless you possibly think Jocelin Danis, the 13th gen failure as a bodyguard, failure at telling friend from foe and failure at diplomacy Blue Hurricane of New Orleans has any real objective value to her plots"
Sidana lets out a bitter laugh.

"You think that's some sort of objection? Where was she when I fell in Detroit? My so-called family abandoned me just when things heated up. She pays more attention to some stray kitten than her eldest childe."

[Kalzazz]

"We were dead as best she knew"

[Detritus]

"The best that she knew?" Sidana says with a roll of her eyes. "All she had to do was close her hand to check."

Sidana reaches out and makes a grasping motion with her right hand, and holds a spear when her hand is finished closing.

[Detritus]

"The best that she knew?" Sidana says with a roll of her eyes. "All she had to do was close her hand to check."

Sidana reaches out and makes a grasping motion with her right hand, and holds a spear when her hand is finished closing.
You see Sidana tense her grip on the spear, and another flashback comes over you.

You find yourself in a dimly lit hallway. You’re just able to make out a plaque that reads, “Portrait of Lisa Gherardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo.” You feel the presence of others standing behind you, and barely spare the woman with the enigmatic smile a glance as you turn to meet them. The golden locks of your sire stand out even in the dim lighting, as do the vivid blue eyes of your childe.

“She’s with Charles, then?”

“She is, Majesty,” replies Mag. “He’s with Charles and the captain. They have much ground to cover in a short period of time.”

“Thank you, loyal subject.” Mag raises her eyebrows for an instant before recovering her composure.

“Sire,” she says, “Sidana,” but gets no further when Gwynnis breaks in.

“Did you love her, my Prince, when you gave her the Embrace?”

“What? Of course I did.”

“And would that love had diminished, had you been the one to give the Embrace tonight?”

“I fail to see what this line of questioning has to do with anything.”

“Do you? Then allow me to recount for you the circumstances of each instance in which I’ve given the Embrace: once for love, once out of dire necessity, and now after cold calculation. You will always be the one whom I Embraced for love, my Prince. I will swear this in any manner you desire.” Your sire calls Caledfwlch to her hand and kneels smoothly before you, proffering you the hilt.

“Take it, and do what thou wilt.” Your sire’s gesture puts you on your heels once again. A distant memory of a similar offer half a millennium ago in the French countryside intrudes upon your awareness, and you realize the magnitude of your folly earlier in the evening.

“Get up,” you say, exasperated. Gwynnis does not respond.

“Please rise, loyal subject, or I shall grant thee a knighting that will lighten the burden of thy neck.” Your sire looks up, a smile on her face, and dismisses Caledfwlch as abruptly as she summoned it before coming to her feet.

“Now that that’s behind us, Bonnie will need instruction from others besides Charles. Shall we?”

[Kalzazz]

" . . . that last vision, did, . . . did you mean to give me that one?"

[Detritus]

Sidana replies with a scowl that compresses her lips into a thin line, and she begins to whirl the spear's point in your direction. There is a sound of wood striking flesh, and Sidana's maneuver is arrested before you have a chance to react.

"Your thoughts betray you, Sidana," says a beautiful woman a couple of inches taller than you whom you did not see a moment ago. Sidana suffers the woman to move the spear away from you, and the stranger casts her glance around the immediate vicinity, plainly looking for or seeing something.

"Samantha," Sidana says, irritated.

"Give over, Sidana, she won't be coming willingly. Samantha Drake, charmed, I'm sure," she says when she turns her attention fully onto you. "You'll have to forgive my associate, but I suppose you'd know as well as any how childish she can be sometimes. I suggest coming with us of your own accord, it will you a considerable amount of anguish."

[Kalzazz]

"Ah, Miss Drake, Im Rosalyn . . . . where is your pet? For some reason I feel a certain degree of antipathy towards her . . . . "

Rosalyn ducks back to the side, trying to turn so she can quickly look where once was behind her for Drake's friend as well as keep Drake and Sidana before her

[Detritus]

"She's recovering right now. She'll be touched to learn that she's in your thoughts." She smirks as you edge away, then turns back to where you were just before.

"You may as well show yourselves, whoever you are, there's at least one of us with her eyes open and her wits about her." After a moment, Mag and Dru appear facing Sidana and Samantha.

"Mag, Dru," says Sidana, regaining some of her composure, "fancy meeting you here."

"I should say the same of you, Sire," replies Mag.

"A family reunion?" Samantha says.

"For us both. Dru's sire is also Arcadian's grandsire. I guess that would make her your aunt, now."

"Ah, lovely. There's nothing more important than family, wouldn't you all agree?"

[Kalzazz]

"If someone starts campfire songs I will likely be rather sick"

[Detritus]

"We'd need a campfire before we can start singing campfire songs," Samantha says, a malevolent grin creasing her lips. "If only there was some kindling around." Her glance flicks towards the pile of umbrellas by your side, and an open flame appears on her upturned palm.

[Kalzazz]

"Let me fetch the kindling for you, as a trainee hostess its my duty"

Rosalyn goes to bend down and pick up her spear from the pile, then tries to turn and lunge at Samantha

[Detritus]

"Let me fetch the kindling for you, as a trainee hostess its my duty"

Rosalyn goes to bend down and pick up her spear from the pile, then tries to turn and lunge at Samantha
You pick up your weapon and attack Samantha, but Sidana moves smoothly to parry your spear thrust. A wicked smile appears on Samantha's face when she speaks.

"Good. Use your aggressive feelings, girl. Let the hate flow through you. It will be my special pleasure to make you dance the black spiral labyrinth, my young apprentice."

((OOC -- :grin:))

[Detritus]

If you want to make any sort of snappy Star Wars-related retort, that should happen pretty soon now. Wheels are in motion behind the scenes that will soon burst their way to center stage, so to speak.

[Detritus]

With Rosalyn's tendency to freeze in certain situations seeming to have affected her tongue at the moment, there is an explosion in the building next to you. Samantha and your companions all start at the sound, but Sidana is steady enough to maintain contact with your weapon.

"I think that's our cue to leave, Samantha."

"Without the others?"

"I don't think they're the ones who did this, and I get the feeling we shouldn't wait to find out who did."

A pool of something thick and tarry begins to form at your feet when you experience the sensation of abruptly colliding with something that feels like a plate glass window.