---

Travis examines the bottle for a long moment, shrugging off the pat on the back from Dio with a slight nod of acknowledgment. He takes the bottle by the neck and swirls it around a couple of times and glances back to Abel, but he don't speak French, so whatever he was chatting with Faith about was lost on him. He tucks his hat up under one arm and opens the bottle, quickly sniffing the air before tossing one back. - He uses the bottle to block his face, careful not to let anyone, or any cameras, get a clear view of his feline canines.

He chuckles a little when Geoffrey mentions one of his exploits in Austin, TX. It was top of his list for sharing at Clan Gathers, and when it came to boasting and bragging Rites, he was a big talker that used that particular story to bait other Gangrel into calling his bluff. He wasn't altogether surprised about that one getting tossed around. "Sure sounds like something I would do... but you sir cain't be Geoffrey... Wodeward, the very same Geoffrey that shot his way out of the Long Branch Saloon? Boy howdy I heard you was outnumbered and outgunned" He laughs "Sure good to see you're above snakes." He was used to the competitive back and forth at Gathers, but it was interesting how they were spinnin it 'roundways and bringing up each other's stories now.

Travis didn't get long to enjoy the moment, and he knew it was coming... well, not this exactly, but he knew something was coming. Faith wasn't just going to let him slip by with a simple 'evening' like they didn't go back a ways. It wasn't anything personal, and they didn't really know each other back then, but it was enough to leave an impression, and possibly some bad blood. "Ms. Everette, my apal-o-gies. You're more beautiful than I remember, and I plum didn't recognize you. I guess I ain't reckon just how small these circles can get. I hope thar's no hard feelings atween us after all this time" He says, sincerely.

He shoots a quick look around the room, scanning for reactions. It didn't seem like she was still sore at him, but iffin she was he was going to try and figure who's side who was on. Giving his best guess he figured Clan Brujah were in long supply. Faith also had friends outside her Clan... the pretty boy didn't say much, but even a raised eyebrow says something to a poker player like Black Cat. - It wouldn't be his first time outgunned and outnumbered, but he was going to play it cool and see it through.

Yorick Tsipras
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I do not die

Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium

---

Geoffrey threw a lot of proper nouns at him that he wasn’t familiar with: Tremere, Gargoyles, Cainites.

“I...am familiar with the word chantry,” he said with a self-effacing laugh. “It’s a word the Order of Hermes uses to describe a...I dunno. Part clubhouse, part sacred site, I guess; a place where consensus can be suspended and the laws of nature can be bent or broken. We call them ‘marabouts’, but I haven’t been to one in a while. Not since the last one blew up. I’m kind of a bad luck charm to have around.”

He squinted. “I’m intuiting that Cainites is another word for vampire, the Tremere are like, a faction or flavor of Cainite, and they…what, used magic to turn themselves into vampires, and then more magic to build those monsters out of other vampires? Uhhh, yikes. That’s some **** up Weird Science, Temple of Doom ****. When I was younger I used to be sent to hunt mages who were deep into dark magics like that.”

Yorick shook his head. “Come to think of it, I remember hearing about some war the Hermetics were waging against vampires back around 2000. Maybe they were your Tremere. I don’t know how it turned out, but the Order’s still around being anal-retentive twats so it can’t have gone too badly for them.”

He didn’t seem to be picking up on the emotional subtext. He could feel some resentment bleeding off Geoffrey into the emotional currents of the dream, but didn’t understand the reason. Honestly the psychic resonance of this memory-dream was kind of heady and distracting.

“Why are they called Cainites? You, I mean. If the word applies, I mean.”

Faith Everett
Run Like Hell
This is the night of the hunter
Deliriously pull the trigger, fire
You are my escape artist
Brujah | Bright Aura

---

How curious it was that most of them seemed to be new to the area. Maybe it was mere coincidence, either way it was probably in their favor. A unique collection of skills, abilities and pools of knowledge. She noted the statement from Sergine with a curt nod before her eyes cast over to Abel. She regarded his not so subtle action with a squint.

“Mister Beaumarchais, partager des échantillons avec de nouveaux amis?” the squint faded as she looked around the gathering to match the names to faces.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” a similar curt nod was offered to Geoffrey.

For the most part Faith was well practiced in being fairly friendly and sociable when she put the effort forth. It didn’t mean that the beast wasn’t just lurking nearby ready to crush some skulls. For the most part she was glad to be introduced to some new company. Wasn’t it reassuring to know that in the shadow of potential threat that there was going to be plenty of folks in on the fight. Unless they turned tail and left.

…speaking of which. Her gaze settled on The Black Cat. The right corner of her lip almost raised in a sneer. All she had to hear was his name to confirm who it was. It was a good thing she didn’t seem to hold a grudge for too long. There was also a matter of having well practiced control. There was the chance he could just casually dig up her own past. She wasn’t really afraid of that. Everyone had a past, past lives, past names. She just hadn’t gotten around to bringing it up among present company, particularly Abel.

“Nice to know that Calloway is still as slick as his title. Out West may be real big but kindred move in small circles.”

That more or less may have answered any questions of where she came from, the drawl in her speech had risen a little in recalling his past. He was fortunate it wasn’t an outright roar of his lying, cheating, and thieving ways. It was a long time ago.

She was going to leave that ball in his court on where things were going to go from here on out. She wasn’t interested in seeking out any kind of revenge for something that was also her own failure. He baited a trap and she fell for it. It was fun and delicious until she had to deal with the painful consequences later.

She gave Dio a small wave in return, it was nice to release the tension from her fingers and settle into a more peaceful and calm flow.

Geoffrey Wodeward


To all things housed in her silence

Nature offers a violence

---

It took Geoffrey a moment of thought before it came to him. Part of the reality of his existence was that he now visited a lot of places and met a few people. And Gangrel, despite their reputation among other Clans as being taciturn loners, had some intricate social rituals. Swapping stories of their deeds and trading important information at monthly gatherings.

"Not the Calloway that left that entire Sabbat pack tied up on that Bishop's front lawn outside of Austin." A life on the road meant he could hear little fragments of many things. He spoke up once it occurred to him where he'd heard it.

Since they were talking about that shite going down in St. Petersburg, it seemed topical.

With that, he uncapped the bottle he'd been holding now that he wasn't the only one holding it. Lifted it as if in toast. Took a little drink.

"Is that why you're here, then?" He asked next, plainly,  of Dio. "Running out of reinforcements?"

He had the courtesy, such as it was, to look her square in the face when he asked it. Was he baiting her? Absolutely. Was he agitated about it? Not even. It could be one of any perfectly sensible reasons for her to be making a show of showing her face.

"Good to met you, Faith." Whether it was good, or not, he said the pleasantry like it was exactly that: pleasant. And with that, he was about ready to settle back and let someone else do a little talking. Like Abel, who was smoother and far apt at it. That was, until Sergine asked him their question.

"The city's surrounded by wilderness to the west." He answered with a glance over his shoulder. "And the weather's nice."

Rudolph Longstaff aka Abel Beaumarchais
those boon times went bust
my feet of clay, they dried to dust
the red isn't the red we painted
its just rust

Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health | Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura

---

The Toreador’s bright green eyes flicked toward Geoffrey at the mention of khemia - the dark and curious art. Khemet: the black land, so far removed from the red land. Just as his concoction was far removed from its deep red base, the life-blood, the vitae. The others couldn’t begin to guess how much time, effort, and magic had gone into crafting the drink he now shared so freely. All the better.

“Brewing. A timeless craft,” he said, making a subtle redirection masked as agreement.

Now and then, Geoffrey would say something that gave him away. Something that made him seem older than old, beyond even the label of anachronist. Like he understood too much. They were both performing, perhaps, each playing a role. But to what end, he couldn’t say.

A secret worth unraveling.

“Yes,” he said, responding to Dio with a small smile. “Nothing personal. But in that order, hopefully.” The Anarchs might well serve as a speed bump for the Sabbat...a grim early warning. Canaries in the coal mine. That was the value of the Tower, after all, and the Anarchs had walked away from it for freedom. And freedom usually came with a price tag, sometimes in the shape of a toe tag.

The Baron’s refusal surprised him a little, though. He’d taken her for someone more daring, given her swagger. A devil-may-care attitude lost its lustre if the devil showed they actually cared. Maybe their collective friendliness had thrown her off. Maybe it masked something uncertain. Or maybe it was just paranoia. That was baked into Kindred existence.

He let out a soft peal of laughter at the comment about scotch, a sound as smooth as velvet. “I’m sure there’s some at the club. A Macallan. A Lagavulin. Talisker. Glenfiddich. Sometimes it hurts to see them go down the gullets of podcast alphas and crypto bros. Such a waste. Unless, of course, they become the drink.” Abel left an invitation to Dio threaded between the lines. Just obvious enough to be noticed, just subtle enough to be denied. He couldn’t risk being seen as conspiring with the rabble. But. His domain existed because he’d convinced (read: bribed) the Prince of its value: a neutral zone. A buffer. A DMZ. Sans the fences and landmines.

He tossed the wax-sealed bottle to Travis with a practiced grace, the kind that came from years behind a bar. “Cheers, Cat,” he said, lifting a newly opened bottle in a salute to the cowboy and taking a sip. A light buzz helped the evening slide by. Socializing with the city’s other residents was a necessary evil. But still evil. Every one of them had a monster inside that needed silencing.

“Faith...Everett, I believe?” he said to the newest arrival, punctuating that with the briefest of winks and flicking his tongue over his teeth. He gestured idly at the gathered individuals in turn to bring Faith up to speed. “Sergine, fellow Brujah; Geoffrey and Black Cat, of clan Gangrel; myself, Abel, of prestigious Toreador blood; and agent provocateur Dio, of...well. La ​famille Mystérieuse.”

He wasn’t sure whose blood ran in the Baron’s veins, but he would have guessed Brujah or Malkav. The former, because it was obvious. The latter, because some kind of mental illness was required, after all, to not only openly join the anarchy but try to lead it. He could only imagine it was like trying to lead a pile of raccoons.