A Glint of Sharp Metal

I Can't Hear You - the Blood's Drowning You Out.

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 08:31:43 GMT

Memories (?) will resurface at the most unexpected of times.

Given that kindred society is more rife with instances of "synchronicity" than most, I should pay attention to this.

Concentration can be rather difficult, at times, given my current distractions. But if any of this nostalgia turns out to be more than that... I could be in some serious trouble.

Or in for the time of my life. I'm not sure.

Dreaming?

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 20:32:50 GMT

I don't dream very often. When I do, it's usually a portent of some kind - either a message through that strange connecton amongst my clan-mates, or some significant supernatural upheaval, such as the destruction of New Haven.

Yesterday was full of dreams. Or they could be long-buried memories, which would be worse than a bunch of potential portents.

There was nothing very coherent, unfortunately, but certain images stuck in my mind:

- A cat-and-mouse dialogue with Gammon (was there ever any other kind?) but, for once, I had something he needed. His usual supercilioius smile had been wiped off his face - a mercy in itself - and he impressed me with his urgency, the importance of...whatever it was, as he followed me across town and harped and harped on the subject.

- Lying on an old, battered bed - paint peeling from the metal frame - in an otherwise empty, dusty, room. Sprawled beside me is some acquaintance - flat, oval face, buzzcut red hair. We were talking about nothing in particular, occasionally spooning up against each other as lovers do - which we most certainly were not. It bothered me (at the time) that I couldn't remember how I knew him, or why I was willing to let him be so close to me. It's not something I usually allow, any more. The conversation became heated - he wanted to talk about something more important, something important to the both of us and I reluctantly agreed, but I've forgotten the details, now.

- Leaving a hospital, looking behind me and being rather surprised to see that it's not a hospital but a large department store in downtown. A bit bothered by this, I decided to lock everyone inside, by flipping a small, inconspicuous latch on each door. The store was very large, encompassing an entire city block, so there are a lot of doors to find and lock. Even now, I remember the shape and patina on the bronze door-handles, although I can't really remember anything else about the place. I came to a door that didn't have a latch, and I wondered how I was going to stop everyone from pouring out that one door. Someone handed me a blank piece of graph paper and told me I could work it out that way. I sat down on the sidewalk and drew complicated geometric designs - all following the gridlines of the paper - but I can't reach the conclusion I need.

- Back in the bedroom again, sitting on the floor this time, leaning against the peeling bedstead. There were several other vampires there, apparently a Sabbat pack. Their pack leader is dressed like a clown in blue and yellow and might as well have Attention Seeking Malkavian written across his chest. I should have been worried, but I couldn't be initimidated by someone who looked so ridiculous and, besides, I was high as a kite (which, in a distant way, worried me far more than the Sabbat did) and I was hard pressed to focus on the scene, let alone worry about it. The pack leader was giving me some sort of recruitment speech, although it didn't have quite the hard edge of other recruitment schpiels I've heard - in the waking world - from the Sabbat. I wasn't impressed, particularly as his own pack didn't seem too impressed by him, either, and they interrupted and heckled him frequently. I had a vague idea that I'd survive the encounter - probably - but couldn't resist needling the 'leader' about the respect (and lack thereof) of his peers. So much for the vaunted pack loyalty of that sect... I wondered if perhaps they weren't Sabbat, after all, but were trying to convince me that they were, and why they would do that.

I haven't thought of Gammon in years. Last I heard, he'd joined the Serpents of Light, or been eaten by a werewolf, or pissed off back to Egypt - depending on who you asked. In fact, I haven't seen him since that damned strange evening in San Francisco and, even then, I can't be sure if that actually happened.

The hospital... well, there's been some ups and downs at the clinic, lately. Perhaps I should pay closer attention to them.

The "sabbat" pack might well have just been my brain reinterpreting my time at New Haven - with me as the clown. It's the sort of nasty jibe we like to pull on ourselves, isn't it?

Indeed, the only fragment that really worries me is the red-headed man. If I could just remember what we talked about!

I'll speak to my childer. Maybe they've been dreaming, too.

***

OOC: Sometimes, characters come out of hibernation at the most unexpected times. I grossly overslept this morning, and all those bits fell out of my head during several different REM bouts. I've jotted them down as, who knows, I might make some character fodder out of them, eventually...

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 04:32:33 GMT

I can still taste him.

OOC Post.

Fri, 11 May 2007 22:21:47 GMT

I've been giving some thought to resurrecting Bob and Bootsie. I am, however, hesistant because they're not my characters - they were PCs waaaay back when in the first Vampire LARP in which I played - and I've long since lost touch with the players, and so I can't ask them if I can take their (long-retired) darlings out to play. It's kind of rude to play with other peoples' babies without asking, first, y'know?

But reeeeeeally tempting. Bootsie, in particular, could throw Trish for a bad curve after all this time. As for Bob... the first thing I'd have to work out is how he's avoided death at the hands of the Tremere and/or his infernalist leanings after all this time. And if he's even still, y'know, coherent. Still, if Trish could keep it together for all this time, why not Bob?

Then I have to settle if Bob & Bootsie would still be acquainted. Oh sure, they were a unit, fifteen-some-odd years ago but things change, even amongst the undead set.

*wanders off with her thinking cap*

...And Off To London I Go.

Mon, 20 Nov 2006 22:36:58 GMT

He thinks I'm giving him what he wants, but that's only because that's how he chooses to interpret it. He wants a competition, something he can win, and so he sees it that way.

I'm not out to win, I'm out to change. We'll both be changed by the end of it all, or we'll die trying.

(OOC) Thoughts On Various Flavors of Insanity

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 22:01:00 GMT

I'm posting this here, rather than on britgeekgrrl as I know that a few of my non-gaming readers are desperately bored by this stuff whereas, if you're here, you must have some interest in my little darling.

It's always ground on me that I created Trish waaaay before I'd done any reliable reading on psychosis, psychotic behavior, sociopathic behavior or really anything that translates to "Head full of scarybad wiring". I've generally classified her "derangements" (in the White Wolf sense of the term) as sociopathic sadism with occasional psychotic breaks - those breaks often being the GMs messing with Trish, not something I've imposed on her.

Thing is, the more I've read about socipathic behavior, and about violent sadism, the unhappier I've gotten, 'cos I clearly didn't have a clue what the hell I was talking about. I really don't want to change Trish to fit those labels. Therefore, it was time to find a better label.

As is my wont at work, I was article hopping through Wikipedia and I came across their entry on anti social personality disorder.

This particularly caught my eye:

Central to understanding individuals diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder is that they appear to experience a limited range of human emotions. This can explain the lack of empathy for the suffering of others, since they cannot experience emotion associated with either empathy or suffering. Risk-seeking behavior and substance abuse may be attempts to escape feeling empty or emotionally void. The rage exhibited by psychopaths and the anxiety associated with certain types of antisocial personality disorder may represent the limit of emotion experienced, or there may be physiological responses without analogy to emotion experienced by others. (emphasis mine)

Whereas, in the more general writeup of psychopathic behavior, substance abuse isn't mentioned. Furthermore (still from the same wiki) diagnostic criteria include:

- failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest
- deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure
- impulsivity or failure to plan ahead
- irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults
- reckless disregard for safety of self or others
- consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain steady work or honor financial obligations
- lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another

With the exception of reckless disregard for safety of self, it's just Trish all over, ain't it?

Granted, there are differences which are inevitable, primarily because of WW's rule set. Patricia is still on the path of Humanity, which means she must have a Conscience score (rather than Callousness) which, imho, means that conscience is still presence in her life, if in a rather battered and ignored way. Besides, occasional fits of "Oh dear god, what am I doing?" are simply fun to play. Consistency is boring.

Like any pragmatic psychopath, Patricia has her "Mask of Sanity" (tangent: there's an interesting note in the wiki on psychopathic behavior about how treatment is often counterproductive as it often only teaches they patient how to better hide their behavior), but she's not quite as full-blown in her pathology as to merit a diagnosis of psychopathic disorder (although there are days when she's not far off the mark).

So, methinks that should I ever need to write Trish's stats again, I'll be tweaking her derangements - I think one thing that gets my goat is that WW wants the players to fit the how-and-why of a character's insanity into one of very few, very rigid, very small pigeonholes. I'd summarize her as suffering antisocial personality disorder, with the sadistic behavior as the most significant manifestation of same.

The occasional psychotic breaks will remain, although I'd hesitate to put it on a character sheet as a full-blown second derangement - that would obligate me to pay more attention to it/make it a larger factor in her night-to-night life - than I think is warranted or necessary. It's an occasional curve-ball in her existence that might or might not have an external source, and I like keeping it ambiguous.

Of course, Trisha beautifully fits the "Smooth (Fictional) Psychopath" type so it's not like I'm staying up nights about the verisimilitude of my characterization, or anything.

I want to have this firmly settled in my head as I write up the Trish/Paul escapade that I've outlined, because the characters are, superficially, very similar. So it's important that I dig deep and figure out what their fundamental differences are. With luck, once those fundamental differences are identified, I will be able to adjust their superficial characterization to suit and, lo and behold, make the two of 'em distinctive enough to make for interesting reading.

Paul? I've no idea what he is, other than a Rat Bastard (7pt Merit in my White Wolf universe, btw, 'cos Rat Bastards are generally handsome, charismatic, smooth talking devils with outrageous luck - hm, maybe I should change the merit to "Smooth Psychopath (Deceptively Charming Type)"). Paul has always been two dimensional. This is good and bad, of course. An initial surf through Wiki has me thinking he's an egomaniac with a sadistic streak which usually manifest in acts of emotional cruelty (rather than physical), with a dollop of Malignant Narcissism thrown in for good measure. The fall-over-laughing ironic bit of all that is, of course, the fact that narcissism has its roots in deep-seated feelings of inferiority.

I love this stuff. I'm such a geek.

For the 3 People Who Are (Maybe) Still Reading This Thing

Sun, 13 Aug 2006 04:40:31 GMT

A Trish-relevant post has been made at jugglingmercury. And if you're feeling masochistic: Paul's POV of the same incident.

Patricia's side of it will wait until I've roughed out the next vignette. Assuming I can get two Certain Visages to quit making naughty (and, honestly unproductive) suggestions in my head.

OOC

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 22:18:40 GMT

Well, la-di-fuckin'-dah as dr_logsdon is occasionally wont to say. I'm trying to write a nice little power-play scene between Trish and Viersan (come on, you knew it was inevitable as soon as I sent her to Berlin) and I had intended for it to be a pretty even exchange, with them both successfully scoring points off the other.

Damned if Trish ain't ahead 3 - 1 as I've reached the point of thinking I've found a spot to wrap it up.

Trish is apparently better at finding Paul's buttons than I gave her credit for. Paul is more vulnerable than I had anticipated and, oh boy, Paul does not appreciate being caught flat-footed by someone who is 130 years his junior.

Rather to my surprise, I'm having a tough time thinking about how he can needle her back, without resorting to some fairly implausible bits of knowledge - they've only been acquainted a few days, and he's had less time than that to look into her background. Ironically enough, this suggests to me that I need to better articulate Trish's vulnerabilities. Hm. Hmm...

-- She hates being controlled - although not as much as she thinks, which is why Michael can still get into her head.
-- She dislikes being used in any way without her consent and even with.
-- She is, of course, a complete control freak (see above). She dislikes feeling left out of her chosen milieu.
-- She has a superiority complex and, as a result, can be overconfident and arrogant - although time and experience has tempered that a bit.
-- She still has a sentimental soft spot for children/child-like people.
-- She is more concerned about her "image" than she likes to admit. Dignity is also important to her - she's seen to many people without it.

Good to have down, but not very useful at the moment. Hm. Hmm...

Berlin - Initial Thoughts and Recollections

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 19:46:22 GMT

Initial communication and most of it at the court was via one of the Primogen - Eberhart's golden childe, I'm told. Paul Viersan occupies a strange position in the territory, one that the harpies politely sneer about - although not too loudly. Primus Inter Pares is the best description of it. He comes and goes as he pleases, and retains his Primogency and even his status, regardless - as long as his Sire remains Prince, of course. Naturally, he's fiercely loyal, and enjoying a crest of popularity at the moment, being credited with foiling the recent attempt at Praxis.

His are the usual polished looks of the Ventrue, combined with satorial taste so exquisite as to make the Toreador occasionally lose track of their thoughts in his vicinity. A clever approach, if one can pull it off, and he does. And yet... Viersan learned his manners at his father's knee, but the show is only skin deep. Eberhart's aura is as calm as his visage, but his childe on the other hand... fascinating. He's so correct in court procedure, so very charming to equal and inferior alike - not for him the high-handed brusqueness that alienates so many Ventrue from their cohorts - but it's a lie. Beneath the surface, he is seething. Something is on the verge of tearing him apart and I want to know what it is. Given that he's my assigned guide/minder for the trip to the Brandenburg Gate, I might have a chance to find out...

***

Ahren Eberhart is a hard-faced man with the mouth of an aesthete - an interesting combination. I couldn't help thinking of Ozymandias at first sight. Then again, that poem comes to mind a lot in our society: whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command ... Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things. Indeed.

The conversation followed predictable lines.

"We don't expect you to 'deal with it', madam. My court is not as strapped for resources as those you're used to. Merely observe it and share your observations based on your experience, and I will be grateful."

And that settled that. There's nothing like doing a favor for one of the more powerful Princes in Europe to make one feel important, even if he couldn't resist a snide remark about my former court.

It's possible he might even honor the favor, and even a trivial boon from one like Eberhart is worth quite a lot.

***

The Primogen of Berlin have suffered a recent attrition. A failed coup has left the city with only three Primogen when there used to be five, and the court officers are, apparently, still scrambling to demonstrate their loyalty and find out how the failed conspiracy had gone so far without being detected. The Assamites and the mercenaries have, I hear, been making a fortune. If I knew how to contact Bishop, I'd tell him there's easy money to be made here, but I don't know how to reach him and, besides, I still don't know if he'd be all that pleased to hear from me. Why invite a hungry wolf into the parlour?

***

The visit to the gate. It was interesting - even enlightening. For a start, Viersan told me - in a roundabout way - about what was on his mind. No guile was required, I simply asked him why he was so upset.

He didn't provide any context, just a sigh and "I wish I didn't care about it." He tried to shrug the admission off, but I didn't believe him. "A few years ago, I wouldn't have. And I don't know why I'm telling you." He glared at me, his expression so like his Sire I almost smiled. Will my childer copy my little gestures?

"People tell me things."

"Willingly?"

"Sometimes. More often than you think. I'm a hard one to keep secrets from."

"So I've heard." That reputation is intact, thank god.

The facade dropped further. He looked tired and angry - mostly angry. "I would have said that we're alike - that we can discern secrets in our chosen ways, but we're not infallible." The words seemed to taste bad in his mouth.

"Someone fooled you?"

He nodded. "I thought I knew her. I did know her. I made her and yet she fooled me, completely." Suddenly he seemed to remember that he wasn't alone, and he pulled himself together. But my curiosity can't leave well enough alone.

"A childe?"

"Close enough." In other words, no, not yet. I'd heard rumors about a retainer of Viersan's - some sort of controversy about his breaking his Sire's rules. But, as the harpies assured me, the matter had been overlooked, even forgiven, in light of Viersan's recent triumph.

An idea took me. "I can help you." It must have sounded a hasty, blurted in a moment's enthusiasm.

"Oh?" Contempt, disbelief and suspicion - a perfectly understandable reaction.

"Not with her, whoever she is. But you say that you wish you didn't care..."

"No. No-one goes inside my mind." Such flat refusal. It couldn't have been more emphatic if he had hackles to raise.

"I wouldn't dare." That was true enough - for the moment. "But, I could... change your perspective. Help you rediscover who you once were, so to speak." His reputation, too, is quite significant. More so than mine.

"Harden my heart, hm?" This seemed to amuse him for some reason.

"Exactly. I'm good at it."

"I can guess at your methods. Have you been through hell, doctor?" He parked the car near the Pariser Platz and led the way into an office bulding.

I gave him a little honesty of my own. "Yes. More than once, in fact. After all, I couldn't do it if I didn't understand it." Michael was correct about that, as he was about so many things.

"And why should I embark on such a venture with you? I don't know you - except by reputation."

"True enough. It would be mutually beneficial, as you know. Or do you want a repeat of 1890?" The building was empty, I didn't need to guard my words.

"How do you know about that?" His voice prickled with suspicion.

"People tell me things." Just not very much about them, I didn't add. All I knew was that something happened to him in 1890, some emotional fracas.

"It would be dangerous."

"For both of us. But I'd be a fool to set myself against you, your Sire and this court."

"Whereas I could destroy you with very little risk of reprisal."

"As I said, dangerous for us both, as well as valuable."

"Do you usually pursue avoidable risk?"

I didn't answer that, as I honestly don't know at this point. However, that in itself was enough of an answer for him. But he remained silent too as he unlocked a vacant office.

Finally: "We can talk about it later." He gestured towards the window and across the square. "There it is. Take as long as you like." I appreciated the chance to observe it relative privacy - I soon realized why Viersan had been so considerate.

The Brandenburg Gate is one of the most famous landmarks in the world. Its appearance is always touched up in photographs and nor do those photographs convey the stinking air that is Berlin in the summer, the crowds of tourists or the general lack of grace that clings to the area. Old age brings dignity to some monuments, but nearly three centuries has done nothing for this one but make it look careworn. Outwardly, it's somewhat impressive , if only because of the history that has occurred in its environs.

But when examined with a magical eye, it's terrible. Something has polluted the (spiritual) Brandenburg Gate and most of the plaza around it. The structure itself was barely visible because of spirits surrounding whirling about, apparently anchored to the area and hating it. A constant roar of pain, fear and anger emanated from the spirits, like a waterfall made of razors.

I fell to my knees trying to shut out the sound and felt like a weakling fool for doing so, but Viersan appeared sympathetic, pulling me up with a murmur that he had much the same reaction when he first saw it.

"This could be a blight," I suggested, once I could tear my eyes away from it. Viersan's aura was almost as distracting. "One of those spots that draws werewolves to it. Is there any chance you could let them deal with it?"

"We don't allow werewolves in Berlin." which just meant they were too well hidden for detection by vampires, I suppose. "And besides, that would set a bad precedent. The kindred must solve this."

I nodded. It was a valid point. "I'm... not sure what it is. But it's not San Rafeal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. There's a superficial resemblance, but I don't get the same sense of sentience, of an overall intelligence driving the process that I felt in California. Something - or someone - has done something horrible, but the culprit not actually there at the moment. The Beast was always there. It was a physical part of the landscape."

Viersan nodded. "That's something, at least." he turned as if to leave.

"There's someone I'd like to call in. He might be able to identify whatever that is."

He stopped in his tracks. "Who?"

I had to go for broke. "Zach Marguiles, currently of Amsterdam. I've known him for a while and he's the most knowledgeable scholar of occult matters - especially unconventional ones - that I've met. He could probably offer a fair amount of insight."

"But?"

"Excuse me?"

"There must be a but, otherwise you would have brought him with you tonight."

I didn't see any advantage in lying too much. "He's also insane - not one of my gang, though. A Toreador, as a matter of fact, but crazy nonetheless. However, it's a steady sort of madness," I hope. "He knows a hawk from a handsaw. But I'm worried as to how he might react to something like what's outside." I couldn't divulge that "Zach" had encountered the Beast himself, of course, but that unspecified psychosis (or psychoses) in his aura have me a little anxious. I like to know a man's madness before exposing him to something maddening.

"We can deal with that, if we have to. We need to know what's going on." Apparently Viersan didn't consider the notion of an insane, scholarly Toreador all that unusual. "I appreciate the warning." That satisifed me. I'd done my part. "And I appreciate your offer, of earlier."

The admission surprised me. "What? Oh, yes. Well, it was just a thought." Never let a kindred know what's important to you, I say, although I'm sure Viersan had a pretty good idea, already.

"Indeed. An interesting one for more reasons that you probably realize."

"I don't suppose that you care to explain?"

"Not at the moment, no." He smiled at that and I had to admire his restraint. I held my tongue. I've learned the value of letting people speak in their own time. "Stay in the city for a while, until your acquaintance arrives. In the meantime, I want to continue our conversation of earlier - if you don't mind?"

As if I had a choice. "No, of course not. Now?"

"No. I have other appointments." He thought for a moment. "Meet me here tomorrow night, one o'clock."

He piqued my curiosity, as I'm sure he intended to do. This might be some sort of trap, so I'll go with that in mind, but I will go.

***

OOC: I couldn't resist. I posted another picture of PMG.

Packing My Bags

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 05:29:16 GMT

In light of recent information, I have told the Prince of Berlin that of course I'd be delighted to respond to his summons.

There is a faint yet perceptible chance that what I find there is connected with Zoe's recent fears. I hope that she talks to Zach and keeps in touch over the next few nights...

Early Morning Thoughts.

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 16:43:21 GMT

I'm in what must be one of the world capitals of self-justified hedonism and noncomformity, and yet I'm still bound by habits. Even my childer felt the need to comment on it, although I believe that their notion of what passes as acceptable behavior is a little unconventional - even by my standards.

My childer are, I think, looking for opportunities to push boundaries - mostly mine. I'm a target of convenience, I suppose, as well as the obligatory parent figure against which all children must rebel. Although why they should want to rebel now, given recent events. They're playing a game of keep-away-closer, like any insecure teenager. I'm at arm's length, but not much further than that. What a strange relationship we have. I'll wait, I can be very patient.

But the Prince of Berlin is not patient, and I must decide if I'm going to reply to his missive or risk offending one of the most powerful vampires in Europe. It's not much of a choice. However, I must continue to exercise patience, as any meeting will be on his schedule, not mine. I mustn't try to anticipate too much. I mustn't become addicted to risk.

Opportunities for change abound. I need to broaden my horizons or, at the very least, acquire a new hobby. Why is it so difficult to decide? Of course, I can almost hear Michael's voice offering to make the changes for me. A shame I can't carve it out of my head. Those memories are, however, a vital part of me and I've had too much done to my mind already. I will consider this another opportunity to be patient, to remain still.

Is it remain still and survive, or stay frozen and die? I suppose that depends on the predator. Am I someone's prey? Who's?

***

OOC: Whilst rummaging through Google for entirely other (obvious) reasons, I've finally cast the Prince of Berlin (yes, he's Paul's Sire - they're all in the same 'verse as far as I'm concerned). Fangrrlishness can be strangely productive at times. I blame the actor's skin-crawling performance in The Natural History of Fear and certain moments of Scherzo - it was the voice that sold me first, and then I found the pic and had an a-ha! moment. Whee! Hell, if I hadn't already cast Trish's sire years ago, he'd be in the running...

Now I need to sweettalk Alex into making me a Frankenstein pic of him and Paul together. Or him and Michael. ;)

Amsterdam - 4th Night

Wed, 19 Jul 2006 18:42:07 GMT

The lady protested too much, oh yes.

The thug wants to be an artist? That, I can understand.

That she really believes that she's found her true love in a kindred who is probably some sort of Tremere-controlled time bomb? Well, not everyone can be rational in their insanity.

If she has any sense, she would be scared. But the Brujah - even ones playing at being Toreador - often lack sufficient imagination to be scared when the threat isn't something they can immediately deal with via percussive force.

There is no such thing as a "good deal" from the Tremere, and if Green believes that, then I'm disappointed by his naivete. It is more likely, I think, that he has convinced her that he successfully made an advantageous deal and, whatever price was paid, he kept to himself. Assuming that he's aware of it, that is. So much has been done to his mind that I'm surprised that there's anything left. I suppose his apparent insanity is quite unsurprising, given what I know of his history.

I would love to know what the Tremere gained from letting him live. So much easier to Destroy one who had become so high maintenance and knew so many things that should remain within their ranks. I'm still not entirely satisifed that he's not Tremere. If a Brujah can successfully play-act as a Toreador, then why not a Tremere?

The question is, as ever, qui bono? I will have to think about that.

***

Maybe I should put a camera in my haven when I go home. It's a damned dangerous thing to do, but I'm not sure what else I can do.

I thought that I was on top of things. The holes in my memory had been resolved, and as for those incidents in New Haven... I don't care what Atticus said he discovered in his so-called investigations, I'm sure he was behind the incidents, one way or another. His command of Obfuscate could plausibly exceed my ability to pierce a disguise, or he could have even hired a Ravnos. Atticus had the resources, and the illusions of the Ravnos are especially pernicious. There's a clan I would cheerfully wipe out just for the pleasure of doing so, but I digress.

The first thing that must be done: determine if Michael actually exists. Hence the thought of wiring my haven. That's an idea - I could just wire it for sound. I'd rather there not be a video record of my comings and goings. Yes, I think that's a better approach.

If Michael exists, then I can deal with him by myself. If I'm hallucinating, then I must determine if the visions have an internal or an external source. Given the timing, I can't exclude Green or Annie - pardon me, Zoe and Zach - from suspicion. If it's an internal issue, then I'll have to do something - but what? It's not like Prozac and electroshock are viable options.

I can't talk to anyone about this, no matter how anxious it makes me.

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 16:26:09 GMT

Slumming in Amsterdam is overrated - at least, it is for those who want to stay off smack. Dropping a thousand dollars on a single purchase was perversely enjoyable, though. It's been quite some time since I went clothes shopping - particularly for those sort of clothes - and I'm sure they'll see further use during my stay. If nothing else, they'll irritate the hell out of my childer and goodness knows, I've let them get a little complacent.

Obvious disappointments of Amsterdam aside, finding - or being found, I should say - by Dr. Green was quite a surprise. Given that he and Ms. Greenbriar have gone to such trouble to disguise themselves, surely introducing themselves was counterproductive. It's a hell of a risk for them, and for what sort of payoff? I will have to find the answer to that question, soon.

Green couldn't articulate any sort of coherent or plausible reason for his actions. I wasn't surprised by that, though, as he is - and I say this as one who knows - mad as a hatter. So is Ms. Greenbriar. An insane Brujah is one thing, an insane Tremere is something else entirely. Once again, I must conclude that Dr. Green has someone - probably several, powerful someones - by the balls in order to continue existing. I wonder who?

I'm extremely curious to hear more of their story and besides, we have something else in common - we're all ex-Princes of the same turbulent-yet-forgettable territory. In fact, if their auras were an accurate gauge, I think we have quite a lot in common. This could get interesting.

And besides, I want to find out who performed fleshcraft upon them and break their fingers. The practioner may have known anatomy, but they didn't know a damn thing about aesthetics.

OOC: Big thanks to shannybug and xkalebre for letting me crash their party. Who knew that absinthe brings out Scary Trish? Fortunately, that's too expensive a trigger to use too often. ;)

PS. I know that Green isn't a part of the Tremere any more. Patricia doesn't.

PPS. Edited for clarity, such as it is.

Realization

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 00:58:09 GMT

I have to go. I have to run.

"An agent of change." he said. I don't want change like that. Or maybe I do. And that's why I have to run.

The boys are going to Europe. I just volunteered to be their "advance guard", so to speak. I'm going to owe that Ventrue travel service a fortune.

If he's not real, then I won't be able to outrun him. I don't know what I'll do in that case. Change? Into what?

(OOC edit: the skinny)

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 16:40:01 GMT

I suppose I owe my continued existence to my boys. Not that they're mine. Or boys. Or of any gender.

The haven's littered with blood bags and hypodermics. I think Eli's going to be "sleeping" it off for at least another day, but Bev surprised me by bouncing back quite quickly. It's easy to underestimate Beverly. I have to keep reminding myself of that. People assume that Eli wears the pants in that relationship, but that's not the case...

My mouth tastes like packing tape and I'm still angry at my childer, no matter how justified their actions were - although that's offset somewhat by my amusement at their lack of foresight - but I'm the celebrity of the hour and I can't let an opportunity pass by and so I must paste on my most diplomatic smile and play raconteuse for an evening or two, despite feeling like shit.

Being high was terrible and lovely and I don't want to think about it too much. Not right now, at least.

One of the "elder" Toreador has taken a shine to me - they fell for the pain-brings-enlightenment line - and I've got to build on that as much as possible. I want to go back to Europe, but none of the cities there will have me on a long-term basis without some gilt-edged letters of introduction. Being the former Prince of a non-existent territory doesn't get one terribly far, no matter how many times I've been recognized by the Camarilla for my services.

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 18:27:03 GMT

Something happened at S's party. I don't remember - haha - but E and B got me home. Bastards. Can't think straight. For my own good. Right. Amazed I didn't kill more than I did in surgery. They've taken away my money and my keys and even my clothes and locked me in the apartment. I heard Bev say he'd stake me if I didn't stay put. Fuck him - like he knows what's going on. My freakish children don't understand. I don't either. So much for the kids keeping me on the wagon, huh? I can barely hold on to the floor the room keeps moving nice dosage control there boys. I'm going to ask Bev to stake me Eli would enjoy it too much because the call's still going and I know it's suicide and hateful as it is I like "living" but god it's getting noisy and I don't want to hurt them again but I will if I don't get stopped and I can't stop. Can't stop.

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 05:20:17 GMT

Something is calling me.

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 06:24:32 GMT

Everything is so much better when doubt has been removed. It's better than smack.

I'd forgotten how bearable it was. Existence like this, I mean.

I'm terrified and elated and probably the greatest fool that ever walked the earth but, damn it, I haven't felt this happy in years. Not since Michael, I suppose.

I think, however, that my boys got more than they bargained for. I'll write about that, soon.

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 09:10:24 GMT

Oh god, why should I even care any more?

No, really. Remind me.

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 23:45:06 GMT

OOC: The tune stinks, but the words made me chuckle, particularly given what I'm untangling in Trish's head right now...

If you can find your pretty way back home
Run run run
A girl like you ought to have known
But you can’t
You’re my sun-starved passenger
On my twisted highway
Always looking backwards
Run run run run run

So so look at me
Go go running to be free
I’m so happy that
You’re so happy for me
Oh it makes you cry
But it’s my philoso-pho-fee

Well something told me to run from you
But I got that curse
Now I can't tell if I am bad
Or I am worse
But if you hold tight
We could rocket from Mars to the stars
If you'd like
We could live in the cars with the stars
If you'd like
We're plenty of things
But we're raised just to make it hurt

Oh you're my sun-starved passenger
On my twisted highway
Always looking backwards
Heaven help, if there is one

So so look at me
Go go running to be free
I’m so happy that
You’re so happy for me
Oh it makes you cry
But it’s my philoso-pho-fee
Oh oh it makes you cry
But it’s my philoso-pho-fee
Well alright now!

If you see me coming
Girls, just start your running
Better run run run run
Now you see me coming, whoo
Just start your running
Better run run run

Run run run run
Run run
Run run run run

So so look at me
Go go running to be free
I’m so happy that
You’re so happy for me
Oh it makes you cry
But it's my philoso-pho-fee
Oh oh, I hate to see you cry
It’s my philoso-pho-fee-fee
Now let me set you free

If you’re confused
And you’re scared and got the blues
Better run run run run
Now you're confused
And if you’ve got the blues
Better run run run run run run run

- Philosophofee, Ima Robot.

Frankly, the band is more than a tad odd at times - they remind me of Prick in that band's saner bits - but Ima Robot has their moments, particularly the above and I'm a Bitch For You

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 16:37:23 GMT

I can stall for only so long. Do I take them up on their offer, or not?

Rejecting them could find me pushed out of that clique forever, and rejection is something I don't cope with well - the past has proven that.

But accepting it has risks worse than a bruised ego. Thrall to both and regnant to neither? There's a perceptible chance that it could happen. What bound Bob and Bootsie - and, yes, me too - doesn't come close to what exists between my childer. I ~~suspect~~ fear that my presence wouldn't impact that dynamic one little bit.

If I say no, I'm going to have to leave. I don't trust them not to take matters into their own hands, not after that incident a few weeks ago. They know that self-denial is not one of my strengths. But they're also smart enough to not back me into a corner and remove all choice - at least, not yet. If they want it to happen, they don't seem to want it that badly at the moment. The choice still seems to be mine.

Oh god, it comes down to that - again. Choices. I hate making choices. Things were so much easier when life just happened to me - although I suppose I hated it for different reasons.

If I left, where would I go? London? Paris? San Francisco? Would I even have a choice in that? I sometimes think that Derek is (still) pulling my strings, although I can't imagine why or to what end. What good am I to him, now? I doubt anyone would believe me, but I suffer a lack of imagination - except in one key area, of course.

Does it all boil down to looking for one drug to replace the others I thought I'd left behind? Addicts never truly recover, do they?

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 05:18:40 GMT

I could feel happy. It's possible.

But happiness never works out the way I want it to. Nor do I think I'm willing to take the associated risks. Yet.

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 14:55:55 GMT

This goes beyond the realm of mere hangovers.

I should kill them, I really should. But I ~~won't~~ can't. It would be like cutting off my own arm. We're too much a part of each other.

At least, that's how I feel. I'm not so sure about them.

Maybe I could kill them.

Mon, 19 Sep 2005 03:06:37 GMT

I feel so good. The drugs never made me feel this good. They just made me numb.

Right now, it's like I can feel everything - everything worth feeling, that is. It's delicous. I can't take bites big enough, or quickly enough. So very, very good.

I hate it.

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 03:38:04 GMT

Jesus Christ, what am I doing?

I can't let this happen again - am I insane? Oh, wait..

I'm not in my right mind - more so than usual. I can't trust myself to make a sensible decisoin right now. I'm not in control and I don't like it.

I think I'm going to hurt someone, and I have a very good idea who.