This city has a vampire mafia now.
Characters: camarillaprince and vatheon who wants to walk into a newly arrived, wet, v. displeased vampire.
Location: Plaza
Time: Night; some time between sunset and midnight.
Style: Any!
Status: OPEN
[ooc: Pretty much directly continuing from his app-sample! Anybody welcome to tag themselves in, in any style you want! o> I'll continue in your style, then. Just making the intro longer cause well, setting, lol. Hope I'm doing this right!]
"Strauss," LaCroix whispered, barely moving his lips. It was the first thought that came to mind, ridiculous as it was. Strauss could not possibly have foreseen what he was planning, and even the regent had no resources or power to break through the lines of security LaCroix had set up inside and around his tower. Maximillian Strauss, primogen of the Tremere in Los Angeles, had no power to do something like this, but at the same time, who else did?
LaCroix' head was spinning, and he consciously refused to look up. He only glanced around from the corner of his eyes, trying to evaluate the situation, see if anyone approached him, if the scenery changed at all. It didn't, of course. There was still the open plaza, the shops and people of a strange, completely unfamiliar city, not even resembling anything in Los Angeles. There was still the water, all around the city, and somehow, this fact was so absurd that it only added insult to injury, as if it was openly mocking him, rubbing his helplessness and confusion in his face.
He couldn't understand what had just happened. One second, he had been in his office, had talked to the Sheriff, throwing a monologue at his ever silent right-hand-man, waiting for his agent's return or death. Either way, it would have been advantageous, and he had follow-up plans for both situations, although he admittedly had reached a point where - unexpected as the notion had come - he would have missed this particular agent's excellent service. Unfortunately, he had been completely unprepared for what had actually happened. He had been unprepared for whatever it was that had knocked him out, something he had never seen coming, which almost unsettled him more than the position he found himself in now.
Water dripping from his hair and the cuffs of his completely drenched suit, LaCroix was sitting there, somewhere a bit outside of the centre of the plaza, slumped down rather undignified on his hands and knees and in a state of shock - eyes widened, lips tightly pressed together, trying to force himself to think. But no matter what he did, he couldn't muster a clear thought. It had felt like a dream at first, what he remembered of dreams, at least, but it couldn't be. Dreams never had you caught in the same position, painfully aware of the time that passed, for several minutes at a time, not without something new, even more absurd happening. This couldn't be a dream - he had not dreamt in centuries.
Fighting for his calm, against the ever increasing pull of undirected, blind rage that began to eclipse the clarity of his mind, LaCroix shook his head furiously, and finally brought himself to look up, throwing a glare at the scenery around him. It was fortunate that he had neither breath, nor heartbeat, although even the absence of these could only contain his anger minimally.
"Ridiculous!" he hissed, finally able to at least vocalise his outrage. With some effort to keep his mind focused, he pulled himself up on his feet, and as if he was just expecting Strauss or whomever else to step out of the shadows any second to mock him and assume responsibility, he added louder, "This is ridiculous! I demand to know what is going on here!"
Location: Plaza
Time: Night; some time between sunset and midnight.
Style: Any!
Status: OPEN
[ooc: Pretty much directly continuing from his app-sample! Anybody welcome to tag themselves in, in any style you want! o> I'll continue in your style, then. Just making the intro longer cause well, setting, lol. Hope I'm doing this right!]
"Strauss," LaCroix whispered, barely moving his lips. It was the first thought that came to mind, ridiculous as it was. Strauss could not possibly have foreseen what he was planning, and even the regent had no resources or power to break through the lines of security LaCroix had set up inside and around his tower. Maximillian Strauss, primogen of the Tremere in Los Angeles, had no power to do something like this, but at the same time, who else did?
LaCroix' head was spinning, and he consciously refused to look up. He only glanced around from the corner of his eyes, trying to evaluate the situation, see if anyone approached him, if the scenery changed at all. It didn't, of course. There was still the open plaza, the shops and people of a strange, completely unfamiliar city, not even resembling anything in Los Angeles. There was still the water, all around the city, and somehow, this fact was so absurd that it only added insult to injury, as if it was openly mocking him, rubbing his helplessness and confusion in his face.
He couldn't understand what had just happened. One second, he had been in his office, had talked to the Sheriff, throwing a monologue at his ever silent right-hand-man, waiting for his agent's return or death. Either way, it would have been advantageous, and he had follow-up plans for both situations, although he admittedly had reached a point where - unexpected as the notion had come - he would have missed this particular agent's excellent service. Unfortunately, he had been completely unprepared for what had actually happened. He had been unprepared for whatever it was that had knocked him out, something he had never seen coming, which almost unsettled him more than the position he found himself in now.
Water dripping from his hair and the cuffs of his completely drenched suit, LaCroix was sitting there, somewhere a bit outside of the centre of the plaza, slumped down rather undignified on his hands and knees and in a state of shock - eyes widened, lips tightly pressed together, trying to force himself to think. But no matter what he did, he couldn't muster a clear thought. It had felt like a dream at first, what he remembered of dreams, at least, but it couldn't be. Dreams never had you caught in the same position, painfully aware of the time that passed, for several minutes at a time, not without something new, even more absurd happening. This couldn't be a dream - he had not dreamt in centuries.
Fighting for his calm, against the ever increasing pull of undirected, blind rage that began to eclipse the clarity of his mind, LaCroix shook his head furiously, and finally brought himself to look up, throwing a glare at the scenery around him. It was fortunate that he had neither breath, nor heartbeat, although even the absence of these could only contain his anger minimally.
"Ridiculous!" he hissed, finally able to at least vocalise his outrage. With some effort to keep his mind focused, he pulled himself up on his feet, and as if he was just expecting Strauss or whomever else to step out of the shadows any second to mock him and assume responsibility, he added louder, "This is ridiculous! I demand to know what is going on here!"