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

---

The unpleasantries were already done for the evening. Faith didn’t have a chance to take in the sights of the museum and scarcely had a chance to appreciate the beauty of it under the glow of the moon in the clear skies above. There was a matter of business to be done with the Prince, formal introductions to be made to ensure that she aligned with the expectations of residing here. At this point she had done quite a few of these and she was used to the ritual of it. Being well practiced didn’t remove the tension that built up leading to the moment. Tension she hadn’t explained nor cared to. Sometimes the weight of the past felt heavier at certain moments.

That weight was lifted once she was done, once she was able to leave the private chamber and rejoin the cacophony of strangers gathered about. Sure there were the whispers and the looks, Faith had her own game of playing blissfully ignorant while being perfectly aware of their whispers. If she focused just enough she could pick up on a couple little morsels of conversation. The disappointment was that there was hardly anything worth listening to.

Her attire of choice blended in, a long statuesque black velvet gown that nearly puddled around her silver shoes. The dark shape was broken up by the strategically placed slits revealing her pale skin. A slit up along the side of her leg stopping nearly at her hip, another plunging downwards nearly to her naval and the back had a similar V cut that stopped at the small of her back. Strategically placed tape was the only thing keeping it from shifting into almost taboo territory. It was a look, but it was merely that. A first impression, an artistic expression of the creator of the dress. The ability to move freely if necessary was a must. Mostly it was to keep others guessing, to make a striking impression that was also a distraction.

Once business was done, it was like everything else around her came into a much sharper focus. There were plenty of things to look at. Not all of them were pretty but she knew that they held a great deal of value. She had found herself lost in some of the more ancient findings. A depiction of Athena that had caught her attention. A figure of myth and history she hadn’t even known about until recently. Where she had been for most of her early life and unlife didn’t really have this kind of exposure to arts and culture.

It didn’t take long for her to spot the Toreador out of the corner of her eye. She watched him for a few moments, half amused by the indulgence he was allowing himself to get up and close to one of the pieces of ‘art’. Maybe if she stared at it long enough some kind of meaning of it would float to her. It just didn’t stir the passions the same way it did to someone that could truly appreciate the deeper meanings.

“Careful, Mister. Get too close and it might touch you back.”

The smirk on her lips might have teased at the idea that the statue would spring to life. What she had really meant was a little more deeper, she knew objects had a little bit of resonance left behind from their owners and creators. While a handy little trick she had honed for many years, it wasn’t always pleasant.

“Any clue what it means?”

Want a spreadsheet template to track XP? Here you go!

All active players get 9XP for the PLAYER for the week.
All sub-setting STs receive 5XP per sub-setting that was ACTIVE this week.

Note that if a vote is given to an NPC handle, the player can add it to their player XP instead.

# Voting for the Anywhere Cafe as of 2025-03-24

## Infinimata
* John LeTour: 6 (XP Vote), 11 (Popcorn) / (XP: 5.75)

## Chance
* Cassidy Quinn: 3 (XP Vote), 8 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.5)
* Chance, XP Bot: 1 (Popcorn) / (XP: 0.25)
* Chance, the Storyteller: 1 (Popcorn) / (XP: 0.25)
* Jirou Hiyama: 3 (XP Vote), 3 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.25)
* Morgan Kenneally: 3 (XP Vote), 1 (Popcorn) / (XP: 1.75)

## BIGDoor82
* Seth Vaughn: 3 (XP Vote), 3 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.25)

## Mother Hydra
* Rika Valkyr: 4 (XP Vote), 2 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.5)
* Sergine "Serge" Carlock: 3 (XP Vote), 7 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.25)

## VAP0R$PAC3
* Eric Shiyan : 1 (Popcorn) / (XP: 0.25)
* M'Kayleigh Bancroft : 3 (XP Vote), 7 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.25)

## Calliamity
* DDG: 1 (Popcorn) / (XP: 0.25)
* Victory Nash: 1 (XP Vote), 3 (Popcorn) / (XP: 1.25)

## Suzy
* Faith Everett: 3 (XP Vote), 6 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.0)

## Mat
* Percival ap Beaumayn: 1 (XP Vote), 4 (Popcorn) /(XP: 1.5)
* Rudolph Longstaff: 3 (XP Vote), 10 (Popcorn) / (XP: 4.0)
* Yorick Tsipras: 3 (XP Vote), 7 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.25)

## Jenn B.
* Adriana Pallottino: 2 (XP Vote), 4 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.0)
* Corine Ashgrave: 1 (XP Vote), 3 (Popcorn) / (XP: 1.25)
* Geoffrey Wodeward: 2 (XP Vote), 9 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.25)
* Laura Aurel: 4 (XP Vote), 2 (Popcorn) / (XP: 2.50)
* Megan Benoit: 2 (Popcorn) /  (XP: 0.5)
* Tamara Kudrina: 3 (XP Vote), 6 (Popcorn) / (XP: 3.0)

## cthulhuboss
* Skybreaker: 1 (XP Vote), 3 (Popcorn) / (XP: 1.25)

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

---

Yorick reached under his shirt to grasp the metal amulet he always kept around his neck. It had once belonged to a dear friend now long passed. The disc bearing the symbology and name of St. Christopher was meant to be a protection charm. It hadn't worked for Colin. Maybe it would work for him.

He didn't share his friend's religious beliefs, calling upon Aletheia for help instead. But what he wanted was to convince Geoffrey of his unconcealed nature of being and good intent, and perhaps in doing so, protect himself.

“I c-c-can see that you're sus-sus-suspicious of me. Th-that you have lived a life of violence. That you have a lust for b-b-blood. You have a beast within you. You f-feel that it defines you. I can also see that you're unsure. C-c-c-onfused. You're searching. For answers.”

Yorick glanced behind him. For a second it looked like the thought of running crossed his mind. But he stood fast, whether out of bravery or just foolishness. Resigned practicality, more likely.

Yorick looked very bothered when Geoffrey called him ‘Hector’. There were only two other people on the face of the earth who knew his real name and they were something like ten thousand kilometers away on the other side of the planet. The last time he'd even heard anyone say that name aloud it had been the dying scream of his mother.

“I'm-m-m not doing anything in your dreams. Maybe you're doing something in m-mine. Geoffrey, I didn't g-go-go looking for you. I think you came looking for me. Somehow…” He let out a little, exasperated breath. “Somehow defying all ch-chance, you found me.”

Against his better judgment he holstered the pistol under his jacket. If he was fated to die in this time and place then that's what was meant to be.

“I think that I remind you of someone very important to you. I don't know how I can help you but I'm willing t-t-to t-t-try. To listen.”

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

---

Yorick couldn’t help himself. When Geoffrey pointed a finger at him, he lifted his own hand, jamming a thumb into his chest. “Meee?” he replied with a sarcastic, slightly shaky voice. 

“Th-th-th-that’s c-c-close enough!” he sputtered, raising his palm to try and halt the other man’s advance. His other hand still gripped the pistol, still keeping it out of sight so as not to escalate the situation. Swallowing down a bit of bile, he tried to get his feelings under control. The alleyway had enough vomitus in it already without a donation from him.

“I w-w-wuh. Wasn’t. Watching,” he said, each word a slow labor. “I was j-j-just pass-passing through.”

He closed his eyes really tight for a second. Under his breath, he whispered something mortal ears would not perceive - a prayer to Euryphaessa. Then he opened them again.

“I’m-I’m-I’m watching now.”

In Yorick’s gaze, Geoffrey’s body was suffused with very pale colors. The uncertainty of grey and the suspicion of dark blue swirled together like a tilt-a-whirl, indicating confusion. He was temperamental. His soulstuff was etched with animalistic hunger. A bloodlust, either metaphorical or literal. Or maybe both.

“L-l-l-let’s j-just keep talk-talking. I’ve seen y-your hurt. M-m-maybe I can help y-you.”

The aura he was looking at was very pale. Like, really pale. He suspected ‘Jeff’ was in the throes of an entropic quiet, but he’d seen Jhor before. In himself and others. He’d never seen it this bad. That either meant Jeff was on the verge of being unsavable…or…it wasnt a quiet at all.

Fuckin’ zoinks, man.

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

---

When he saw the man approach, his face twisted a little and his eyes went wide. He didn’t really understand what he was seeing, and at first he didn’t recognize the guy. But then he did. And suddenly there was a violently nauseous feeling in his stomach. Like falling out of an airplane.

It was the man from his dreams. For over two years he’d been haunted by visions of the man. At first, they were vague impressions and passing fragments. An abstract mosaic. A portrait in a museum. A taxi driver. Then they became more defined. Lengthier. Several months ago, the man had spoken to him. He couldn’t remember a lot of what had been said. Only the base sentiments remained:

‘Jeff’ was a man in the throes of Jhor. Entropic quiet. And Jeff was searching for something - someone - a friend, perhaps a love. Long lost. A source of anguish and despair. And more than just being some kind of archetypal representation, or some vague notion of a future state…Jeff was real.

That last part being something new; something Yorick only learned a few moments ago. Unless this was a dream, too. Was it? An inability to determine a dream from reality seemed like an indicator of significant mental illness. Distress, in the least.

He was certainly experiencing distress.

Yorick wasn’t very good at a lot of things, but some things he was very good at. Hiding behind the fence, he stayed perfectly still. As still as a statue. The asphalt was gross; grimy and oil stained. There was a pile of puke nearby, probably from some drunken lout. The whole space stank of garbage and ****. And he pushed all of that down and concentrated on not making noise.

Unfortunately, his body betrayed him a bit. His living body. His heart pounding against his ribcage. The bead of sweat tricking down the side of his face, irritating him like a mosquito. The breaths that came in and out of his lungs. Quiet. Practiced quiet.

Products of controlled fear.

He could hear Jeff pacing around. Shoes scraping against the alley floor. A pace that was rapid, then slowed. Came close, then paused, then moved slightly away. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Something he’d read once.


Only one way to find out, really.

Yorick rose silently from his hiding place. His head and shoulders emerged above the thin barrier of corrugated metal. A bulwark of sorts, for as much as it would be worth (nothing). He recalled a moment in a dream when he was in a similar situation; standing on the other side of a thick pane of glass.

“Why are you following me?” he asked simply. His hands were out of sight, but despite the anxiety gripping his heart, none showed on his face. “I gave away all the donuts. I’ll have more in a couple days, though.”