Geoffrey Wodeward


To celebrate the fact

That we've seen the back

Of another black day
 

---

It was just part of the nature of dealing with Kindred is knowing that they were all liars. Even Geoffrey, who in all his years had never quite developed the skill of it, and who came from a Clan that valued forthrightness over manipulation, didn't always stay truthful about everything.  Concealment was a matter of survival in this world.

"Don't worry. I've seen worse." Than boudoir photos. That was the other advantage of doing what he did. You learned things even if you didn't pry into it.

He caught it, though. Fine cracks in the mask; the simmering rage and fear underneath. He was a little more alert then, on guard for any sign this might boil over into a mess. No matter how slick, how polished, how refined, every one of them was a monster at the core. The Beast didn't care about convenience or timing or things like a crowded club of witnesses and potential victims.

"Nay. Actually, he paid in advance, and well." He admitted, saying without saying much about the circumstances or payment.. "I don't like dealing with his sort, if I can help it. Even when it looks good, there's often something smeared on the underside."

His gaze darted to the stairs, the crowd, around the balcony for any kind of service exit. Considering options if this went to ****.

"What is this?" He asked, then, holding up the beer to indicate it and not the offending videotape. Tapped his last three fingers against the glass. As if trying to draw Abel's focus back to something else. Something distracting. Even if that happened to be him here in a moment.

Wouldn't be the first time some frenzied Kindred had come at him over a table.

Geoffrey Wodeward


To celebrate the fact

That we've seen the back

Of another black day
 

---

Geoffrey took the offered seat, easily. The letter remained, face down on the table if Abel wasn't keen to touch it. It didn't matter to him either way. The wax seal had an archaic crest stamped into it - an eight-spoked wheel surrounded by motifs of sun and moon. At the charge, a unicorn rampant bearing a sword.

"Some Charlatan I met in a bar in Budapest.Tamas" He said the name out loud, pronouncing that soft end syllable like a Hungarian would. He kept his attention on Abel as he identified the sender as if trying to gauge a reaction. Suspicion wouldn't have been out of place; he was more interested in gauging if it was going to be received with weal or woe.

If he was going to suddenly have a problem about it.

Sometimes, it was like this. Sometimes, he'd make a delivery and be out in the night air five minutes later. Mostly, Kindred wanted to talk a little. Someone who traveled to them could travel for them, naturally. He was almost always open for negotiations.

And, of course, as true today as it had been centuries ago, travelers were interesting by the things they had seen.

A rotating strobe light turned on him, catching the hint of silver jewelry under the collar and also a flash off his gaze. The tapetum lucidum of some animal - or just like he'd been caught in a camera flash. He turned his head slightly as if to mitigate it. Not quite quickly enough.

"Well, I should hope it's not a bomb." He went on, dryly. "Want me to open it?" He'd do it. He wasn't an expert on the munitions of this area, but he'd wager he could survive something of that size.

Whether or not he or either of them would survive Mister Thornhill's displeasure would be another matter.

"None taken. We haven't been introduced." Obviously. "I work as a courier; I've been through before, but I doubt we move in the same circles. Until recently, I'd been loosely based near Washington, but I'd been considering a more, ah, centralized location."  It'd make the haul out to somewhere like Seattle a little less harrowing.

"Thank you." He accepted the offered glass with one hand, holding it a moment. Then, he tilted it to look down at. Held it to his lips as if getting a sense of it.
Finally, he did take a cursory drink.

Geoffrey Wodeward


To celebrate the fact

That we've seen the back

Of another black day
 

---

Getting up to the balcony level was a matter of giving the bouncer at the stairs a couple of words. He was a drifter, not a regular, not even a permanent fixture in the city. Not getting any invitations to anyone's exclusive soirees and absolutely fine with that.

Upstairs, it was far quieter; somewhere you could actually have conversations while you watched the dance floor below. He lingered off to the side with his arms folded, watching until the woman had departed before closing in. Waited until he had the right person before saying anything else.

"Geoffrey." He introduced himself with a name, reaching into the interior of his jacket for something. Presumably, not a weapon. His voice had a muted accent, a touch of West Country to Abel's English ears, maybe.

"This is for you."

It was a nice envelope. High quality paper, archaic wax seal. Nothing written on the front of it as if in some kind of caution, but thick with paper folded on the inside. Something else, too, tucked inside the delivery. Settled heavy in the middle of it, concealed by the paper.

He offered it to Abel with the seal side up so the Toreador could see it. See that it hadn't been broken, that the paper around it was crisp. Unntouched and unread. His amber-colored gaze turned down on the other Kindred's face, but only because he was standing and the other man was seated.

Rudolph Longstaff aka Abel Beaumarchais
if the good die young we're gonna live forever
heaven and earth, couldn′t stand in our way
if the good die young we′re gonna live forever
and that's the price we′re gonna pay

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

---

The walls of the men's bathroom were covered in artwork: spray-painted symbols, poetry, and collections of symbols both of the mundane modern times and the occult tags of forgotten nights. A miasma of beer, sweat, cigarette smoke, and different colognes clung to the air, thick and oppressive. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, occasionally casting erratic shadows that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the bass-heavy music pumping through the club.

In one of the stalls, two bodies were intertwined. One man was desperate and the other just a little hungry. It was a fair trade, the vampire told himself. The Kiss was ecstasy and he wrapped it in a nice package; a hot and heavy tryst. Something to make a person feel alive. To feel wanted, to feel good.

He was a creator of good feelings. He was basically doing them a favor. Wink.

Rudolph licked the neck wound clean and adjusted his tan khakis, murmuring some quiet praise into the other man’s ear. Then he stepped out and stopped at the sink, taking a moment to splash some water onto his face. Leaning against the porcelain, he turned the water off and checked his appearance. Just a few years earlier, he’d been hanging by chains in a Tzimisce dungeon, hacked apart and disfigured. The monster had undone the physical damage and repaired his visage…even enhanced it. But the psychic damage was healing much more slowly.

His look was a preppy aesthetic, refined with just enough edge to make it his own. He wore a soft, pastel pink polo shirt that clung perfectly to his lean frame, the collar popped up with what the kine thought passed for casual, carefree defiance. The shirt's short sleeves showed off his toned arms, and the small embroidered logo on the chest, subtle but expensive, hinted at a designer label without screaming for attention. A pair of sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. Sunglasses. As if.

His vibrant green eyes sparkled in the flickering pale light, and he glanced in the mirror’s reflection to the stall door behind him, barely ajar, and the silhouette inside.  Au revoir.

When he opened the door to the main floor, a soundwave hit him and his body vibrated. He carefully threaded through the packed tables and past the bar on the south end of the building. Working his way to the north corner, he flashed a grin at the bouncers standing on either side of the wrought-metal stairwell to the balcony level.

Upstairs, he had his own table; a kind of permanent haunt that overlooked the throngs below and the dancers suspended on the hanging platforms. He was lounging against a faux-leather backed bench chatting with a young woman. Someone’s neonate lackey. Eventually she left to dance.

There was an earthenware jar sitting on the table. He’d **** the red wax seal holding its lid shut and poured some of the contents into a shot glass. He was sipping it slowly when the newcomer approached.

Eying him up and down, Rudy nodded. “Yeah. And you are?”

Geoffrey Wodeward


To celebrate the fact

That we've seen the back

Of another black day
 

---

It was too loud in here.

Maybe he was just too used to otherwise. Still not accustomed to the crowded press of modern cities, especially large ones like Chicago. More people in any one place than seemed possible, all piled on top of each other. People who breathed each others air, but did not care for or look out for each others' well being.

Perfect places for Kindred to move among them, that was.

After paying the customary obesiances to Lodin's court, he'd headed out to the city's infamous Elysium to finish the job that had brought him here. Somehow, he managed to look both in and out of place at the same time. The loud abstract print shirt had just enough light colors running through it to pick up in the black light - the dark jacket he was wearing over it at least covered most of it. Dark jeans and black boots to complete the look.

Car keys visibly clipped to the left side. Just the corner of a maroon-colored bandana peeking out of the back pocket of the same side. It matched some of the colors in the shirt. At least. Top couple of buttons undone to reveal  a silver chair with a saints' medallion on it. And an antique coin in a silver setting.

He kept his gaze averted to avoid picking up the light overhead. Drifted with a purpose, making a few inquiries before he got pointed in the right direction.

The individual looked popular, schmoozing around the club, so Geoffrey followed. Watching him from the peripheral vision, not getting close enough to eavesdrop, but closing in by increments as he waited to catch him alone.

"Sorry to interrupt."  He finally spoke up, loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass, once he was close enough behind to be head.

"Are you - Abel Beaumarchais?"