A girl goes for a walk

[becky-spence.livejournal.com]

( Read more... )

Parrot Hilton - a background

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

( A beleaguered Keeper speaks )

A Blue piece (Requiem)

[kittensandsteam.livejournal.com]

She's absolutely certain that it must be confusing for others to see a young girl, particulary average looking with long blonde blue streaked hair and pirate garb, lugging around a huge metal montrosity of a toolbox and to commence building bionic terminator type prosthetic constructions in the middle of a gathering. She doesn't particulary care though, if people insist on ripping limbs of one another in the style of some kind of mideval barbaric punishment and then forbidding to grow them back for a month then they loose all rights to complaining to her tinkering.

Sure enough Richard seems to share her opinion as he's quickly next to her, drawing out plans with her and helping her build the leg they're working on.
There's coming and going on their table, and more often than not she's left to her own devices with her work and thoughts.

She wonders if Kitia is ok, and when bloody Grange is going to give up being intrigued by her. She knows of the young Gangrel's reputation, and the fact that he tends to fool around with her sire's woman and she has no intention what so ever to become another notch on anyone's bedpost. She quite contents herself with the knowledge that if anyone did something even vaguely dishonerable in her opinion, Jack would have their guts for garters, quite literally so.

The former Prince-Regent storming in is a brief distraction, but he swiftly gets beheaded by the Sheik, who has claimed praxis only about an hour earlier. The other affiliate of the House de Sénancourt starts babbling about having ears in the room, only to be shut up by an unexpected warning shot right next to his ear. The Elder turns to see her stand, her flintlock aimed at him.
"This is a double barreled gun sir, and next time I shall not miss. I suggest that you take heed of what his Lordship the Prince tells you."

The rest of the crew is cheering them on, the Prince, Regents and others merely stare. She keeps the gun pointed unwavering, occassionally calling out to others to get out of her range. Even that idiot Moens frenzying doesn't stop her, putting down the gun down when de Sénancourt's lackey has left. Only to be called to assist in a matter of frenzy. Sighing she calls for her doctors bag to be brought to her while she wanders to the backroom where some Gangrel are dealing with their frenzying clan mate.
"Why do you have a doctors bag with blood in it?"
"Dear lord he's as dumb as he looks". She just smiles, keeping her thoughts to herself and says "Why because I AM a doctor and I live with pirates, accidents happen you know."
"So you're into building steampunk, dieselpunk and futurepunk contraptions, books, building bionical limbs and you're a doctor and a pirate? Is there more to you"
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mr Grange".
His hand on her back when he ushers them all out again so he can get to his meeting in that backroom, a little too familiar and keeping it there just a little too long. Removing it again when he gets no response.
"I think he fancies you."
Looking her crewmate in the eye she speaks, her voice cold "I have no intention of being another notch on anyone's bedpost Ricard. Besides, I am not about to trade in a man for a boy."

of all things Random (or what happens when you put two Hunterhearts together)

[kittensandsteam.livejournal.com]

"You want to do WHAT?!"
The girl is sitting there quite flabberghasted, looking at her friend in disbelief, holding onto her cup of coffee for dear life lest she drops it out of sheer amazement at what she's just been told.
I want to go talk to that vampire. The one with one eye like a wolf.
You know Random, it's all fine and great for YOU to go talk to vampires, you can at least pass yourself off as one if you really wanted to but _I_ look like a great giant purple and pink creature that escaped some Japanese fashion designers idea of Disney's Cheshire Cat!
Could we dye your fur black and say you're a panther?

She gives him a cold look.
Oh very well, but we'll do it at one of the clubs, where we can at least disappear into the crowds when needs be. And no dropping our masks either! Honestly Random, you'll get me in so much trouble I'll be out of a job soon!
Mischief, you're one of the best DJ's in Belgium, I doubt you'll ever be out of a job.
That's just flattery! Well, at least it'll make a good radio show more than anything else I suppose..."

[as was asked for...its rubbish, but werewolf!]

[riksowden.livejournal.com]

The overloaded moped really didn't make good time, Harry mused, perhaps he didn't need all that survival gear - it wasn't likely he'd need to ditch a vespa in the sea and want an inflatable raft and 10 days dried food, nor so much drinking water... But he just couldn't bring himself to part with any part of the remains of his chopper - his territory echoed inside, curiously flat and hollow - no matter he could make a faster pace without sitting on the small vehicle.

Again he thought to himself that it was time to get something bigger. It would be faster. More comfortable. He might be able to have a bed again!

Instinctively he knew he wouldn't - the loss of his Ship was still painful and fresh, the loss of his chopper - a death in battle - was too much.

Turning to one of his companions he chatted companionably "I'm glad you're about still Chris, otherwise i'm sure people are right and i'd go mad. Its what happens to werewolves who don't have People around you know" he nods "and a run through snow, past a huge spider to talk to a giant moon minotaur doesn't count!"


Unseen, carefully watching the offspring of Father Wolf a Beshilu, rat-thing of the Plague King idly wondered who this Chris was - it could see but one figure, bright coloured and wrapped well against the chill and riding a moped overloaded Thai style. At last confident that the werewolf that chatted loudly in tongues to itself was leaving along the minor road it settled back to its instinct-driven task, gnawing at the foul, twisted thing that kept it from the safety of the Spirit Wilds.

Tree thoughts

[badgersandjam.livejournal.com]

The moment Carin’s gaze slid over Rea with no second of acknowledgment was the moment it happened.  The door turned gold, and Rea knew once again that she didn’t exist.  She walked forward, the weight of the motley pledge sitting almost unacknowledged where her heart should have been. 

She blinked.  She carried Carin to the van, to bed, and stood in the corner, waiting.  She had never counted Carin as one of the fragile ones.   She had been wrong with that as with so many things.  She watched Aria burst in with a kind of detached interest rather than with the stalker’s eye she’d had before.

She stood, charred bark renewing itself rapidly.  She’d asked an artist—she couldn't place the name now, but it tasted of metal—to draw a picture of her, to see if other people could see her as Carin said he’d seen her.  She had been intending to use it either as a proof of her argument or as a study tool, if Carin had been right.  But she didn’t need it now.  Carin himself had proved it.

She knew what she was.

(no subject)

[riksowden.livejournal.com]

This is the text of an open letter to the Invictus made by my PC (Dix Lee) recently - enjoy!

Unconquered,

It’s not easy for me to write this, partially because I can hardly think that I should need to, partially because I’ve not had a lot of education and words on paper don’t come naturally to me. If there are spelling errors, grammar and punctuation I’ll ask you to overlook it – to read the words and what I’m saying rather than looking at the words and seeing the mistakes. Those errors are mine and I’m sorry for them.

I should also point out its taken me a fair amount of time to write and rewrite this, hopefully the point is clear and the language plain, but I’m happy to clarify as I need. If you read it and think this is aimed at you – you’re right, it is. If you read this and think it’s not aimed at you – you’re wrong, it is. I use man a lot, that’s because I am one. Don’t read this to mean its just menfolk I’m talking to and talking about, it’s to all of us.

What I want to talk about is something very simple and yet important – the worth of a person’s word. I’m a nomad, I move around a lot. It’s not uncommon for me to travel hundreds or thousands of miles in a single weekend, in a week I can go from one side of the world to the other and back again. I’ve always been a nomad, though I’ve not always travelled such big distances.

One thing that helped, right from the get go, on joining the First Estate is that people wouldn’t look at me and think they had a shiftless drifter, a vagabond who might be on the run from some trouble. They knew they had one of the Unconquered, someone whose word could be trusted, someone of value and worth. Back not so long ago being of the Invictus opened the door.

That’s no longer the case.

I had someone come to me and say “It used to be that if an Invictus said something you knew that was truth, even if you did not like them, if you did not trust them, you knew that they were Unconquered and that their word was good. Now, now it is not so.”

And that’s a plain, sad truth. Where once we all seemed to know the value of a man’s word –now it seems that its not so. Ladies and gentlemen, the value of a man is exactly what his word is worth. Gold is nice, land and fancy houses are nice. I appreciate a soft bed as much as the next man, and the trappings of power are grand. Without the trust of the word though that’s really not worth much, because to my mind a man’s word isn’t just his bond, it’s his worth.

What’s more than that, the point of this letter, is that it’s not just a man who’s judged by his word – it’s his friends, it’s his family – and for us it’s also the Unconquered. For what was known about us as a group, regardless of who you were, was that our word was good. If one of the First Estate said something, promised something, that it was solid. It was so. There was no doubt even for the most rabid Carthian that what was said was simple truth.

That is no longer the case.

 

It takes one bad brick to collapse a strong wall, one weak link to break a chain, and it takes one sworn Invictus putting their own hunger for power, their own bloody ambition over the value of their word. A fallen wall can be rebuilt and a broken chain can be reforged – but a word is a different thing.

See that one fellow with their ambition burning away, and their lack of care for their word, that person makes people stop and think again. And they’re seen as being Invictus, seen as being the norm – even though they’re not. That one person with their disregard for the way things should be, their lack of respect for their own word, means that the word of the Invictus isn’t valued.

That means your word is not valued, and it means my word isn’t valued.

Ladies and gentlemen, I know this isn’t the most eloquent of letters – but consider this an appeal. Think on what being Unconquered means, not just the same phrases we all learn, not just the traditions, what it really means to you. Think about your word, think of the value of it – of how you value yourself. Look about you, think about the value of each others words.

My word is my bond, if I say a thing then its so. That’s how it should be for all of us, Prince and pauper, Settled and Nomad, Alder and Neonate. We are Unconquered and our word is good.

Let us make it rock solid again.

Thank you for reading and considering, I only hope this makes some difference.

Safe travels

Dix

Mister Dixon Lee,

Pursiuvant & Master of Horse of the Guild of Marathon,

Road Captain of the Kestrels Motorcycle Club,

Patron to the Order of the Silver Dragon,

Member of the Unconquered Senate,

More Lost fic: Magdalena

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

( Spring, season of change )

This NPC tat brought to you by kind permission of pierot, her ST

(no subject)

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

( Requiem tat. As a bit of back story, this is my IC response to the rush to unacknowledgments in London. My rather paranoid 1930s refugee PC is not happy about being made a non-person again )

Addictions.

[miss-electra.livejournal.com]

Requiem fic, reposted from an IC LJ. It's...adultish in nature (duh).

( No one ever said we were stable. )