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bottleneck2015-06-21 03:51 am
gidge) wrote in bottleneck2015-06-21 03:51 am
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| PICK YOUR POISON | ||||
| PIC PROMPTS / TFLN / RANDOM SCENARIO | ||||
HAN SOLO velocities |
BETTY MCRAE bombsheller |
RIVER TAM subsulcus |
RIVER TAM (AU) comprehender |
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SIMON TAM vest |
BRIA THAREN exulted |
NADINE CROSS bridaled |
GU JUN-PYO toddler |
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no subject
Her own haven is considerably less swanky compared to where Ouija has found themself. Mostly by her own design -- it was a 'gift' from Edward, in the way most of his gifts operate, but one she was able to have some part in choosing. The house is small but cozy, a good sized basement and room enough for her to stretch out in. No one else comes in that she doesn't expressly invite, but there's a security system Edward has access to that tells him when she leaves and when she gets back. Always something, usually small and banal, to remind her.
She wanders through it aimlessly, smiling down at her phone and twisting her other hand in the air as the little snake coils around restlessly.
No commitment but to now find earthworms and see you. I can pick you up?
And do you need anything? You only brought one bag. We can get anything you want, with some limitations. I refuse to buy you anything in lime green, for example.
no subject
Yes, I'd like that very much.
I travel quite lightly, but I might be able to use sunglasses. The moonlight hurts my eyes.
I'm not sure there's a way to make lime green look good, so really you're only saving me from myself.
no subject
She wanders her haven, now, with more purpose.
Well, I'm happy to play savior for you if only for the sake of the little one. For other reasons, too.
On my way.
It isn't too terrible a drive from her home to the hotel. The Colorado winter night is cold, but there's no snow or ice on the ground to make it difficult, and she has no idea what kind of car it is she's driving beyond that it does its job capably and will play her music if she pushes the right buttons. Which, honestly, is all she cares to know about it.
When Ouija gets in, they'll see she's not so much for disguise tonight, or at least not the one she'd had last night. Soft slacks, a sweater, her hair down with a few little braids in it as if she cannot help herself from putting them in. Birdie even has on the same jacket she'd worn the first time they'd met, and the snake is curled up comfortably in the same pocket she'd put their number in, as if reserved for Ouija-related business. She looks more at ease, too, just being out of the Broadstreet, away from Edward, with no potential to have any back-room meetings for at least one evening. Time to do with as she pleases, and what she pleases is nearly exactly this.
"Here," she says, handing them a pair of sunglasses. Her own, by the looks of them, because they have daisies all over. "Just to save your eyes until we can find a pair for you."
no subject
Best to capitalize on that, and quickly. The car could be bugged, potentially, but it's much more of a potential than literally seeing Roger hanging around like a bad penny.
"What a lovely little car." Ouija adds, leaning forward to fiddle at once with the glovebox, actually trying to poke around to see if there's an obvious recording or transmitting device. Hey, heated seats. They'd do so much better with this if they had their Nosferatu companion present, but alas, that's too much of a favor and Sunday rarely leaves Los Angeles these nights.
The idea of Edward using Nosferatu allies also seems vanishingly slim. It's possible. Some Toreador (and Nosferatu) could hold their noses long enough to take advantage of the alliance, but not many, and not usually for long.
Ouija notices halfway through reclining their seat that she is more at ease, and that, more than anything else, convinces them of the probable privacy of the vehicle.
"Is there anyone you trust in this city at all? Anyone you care about, that you wouldn't want hurt?" They take the sunglasses, with soft delight, "These are flowery."
no subject
Birdie lets Ouija do... whatever it is they are doing (why is her butt warm?) as she pulls slowly out of the hotel roundabout and back onto the street. There could, possibly, be a bug in this car. It is probably an ant, because Edward hasn't had a strong relationship with a Nosferatu in Colorado, or even just a young Kindred that would have the needed skillset, in years. Birdie had been tasked with making in-roads on that front, once, but she didn't really try that hard to build a bridge.
There are still Nosferatu around. They still report to Edward, if they feel it's needed, if it's in the interest in keeping the peace. But they don't do favors.
"Trust? No." She turns, driving aimlessly right now. The playlist she's got on is the one she'd made of Ouija's music from judging their taste, and she turns the volume down a little lower so she can think around it and the music she has in her head. "Everyone talks, whether they mean to or not. And the list of who I do want to hurt is shorter."
One hand goes to the snake in her pocket, the other stays on the wheel.
"You don't have to do this, you know." Birdie turns, when they hit a stop light, so she can look at Ouija without potentially crashing this car, which might be a metaphor for something. This is not the first time someone has come in like this, for her.
"You can just be here, if you want to just be here."
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The little snake butts her head up against the questing fingers delightedly, seeking the warmth and to twine up between her index finger and thumb. She's having a great time with her new friend, happily oblivious to the ills of Denver.
"I've been weighing it up." They saw no reason not to be honest, even if it made them look potentially like a worse person. "I don't want to be your knight in shining armor, and you won't owe me any boons for doing this. Helping you is only a part of why I want to; there's ma'at here, a suffocating sort, and it needs to be disrupted."
Ouija is at this point confident they can make a case for that to the Setites. Their clanmates won't come help, of course, it's a case, it's not the incarnation of Ra Himself. But they also won't disapprove, and that is vastly more important.
Helping her is only part of why they want to do it. They don't tell her explicitly that it's the tipping point; if they fail, she will feel worse, almost guaranteed, and that isn't fair.
"Is it a bloodbond?" They're more quiet, now, trying to pick apart the wires of this particular bomb.
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There's not much she can do to argue against ma'at, she barely has any understanding of what it means. And if that's the justification then she'll let it stay out of her reach, because as much as she doesn't want to see harm come to them, she also doesn't want to keep going like this. Maybe that's selfish, in light of everything. Selfish, too, for her to want to avoid the discomfort of this conversation and jump back into easy banter, but at least that she can resist.
"No," just as quiet. "No bloodbond."
For a few moments the car just continues forward, Duke Ellington switching to A.F.I. through the speakers. Birdie takes a needless inhale and says, "My sire is in torpor. There was... It was an incident. He's got her in one of his properties around town."
Saying it is like ripping off a band-aid. It hurts, and is a relief, and maybe might allow that wound to heal better in the open air. Or maybe she's just inviting infection. Her fingers go white knuckled on the steering wheel as she remembers -- calling out to Lorelai with a Phantom Voice, the way she'd looked when she'd arrived, all distraction and violence. The way she'd looked the last time Birdie saw her.
Birdie laughs, sudden, incongruous and pained, but it breaks some of the tension inside her.
"Can you look up where I can get earthworms? I have no idea where I'm going."
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They really enjoy the music, at least, and the idea that she's relatively clear headed. Edward's not as awful as --Nope that's pretty awful.
They clear their throat quietly into the not-quite-silence, really letting that steep for a second. "I'll take that under advisement." I won't try to get you to leave her.
Ouija pulls out their phone, identifying Anglers Anonymous 'Open Late For All Your Bait' fishing store. "I can't believe I'm going to have to sit through a blues concert for this." They reflect, "I'm sure that's against the Traditions. Somewhere. In the fine print. Surely."
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She says it, and it feels inadequate in the quiet cocoon of the car. There feels like too much for a simple 'thank you,' from the fact that they're here at all to the simple way they don't push for more details. Even the discovery of Anglers Anonymous, which sounds a little like it doubles as something a little more sordid than bait.
(Birdie does not notice the car following behind at all.)
"Oh, don't say that. It could be much worse." She takes her right hand off the steering wheel to poke Ouija in the shoulder. "It could be a Bob Marley cover band."
Her seriousness, now, is entirely mocking.
no subject
Doable. Still doable.
"Sounds like a terrible innuendo, doesn't it," They remark about the shop's name, and then they look astonished at the poke, with growing delight. It isn't just the playfulness; that's something they're fond of, definitely, but the comfort of casual touch is rare, in Ouija's experience, for their kind.
"I see the depth and breadth of your loyalty, now," Ouija returns, automatically joining in with the banter, and still considering vectors, underneath. "Why doesn't Duke like you, do you know?"
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"Do you think they host a swingers club in the back?" She's well aware of how many bored housewives dot the population of Denver, so it's pretty likely. The touch, too, is a comfort. There are very few in Denver that get it from her, from Birdie and not Bridget, genuine attempts for connection in the dark and not the pecks and hand-shakes of propriety.
Also, she could've gotten another snake.
Regarding Duke, Birdie makes a face, glancing over at Ouija as she makes another turn to get them to the maybe-swingers-club-hopefully-worm-sellers store. (Behind them the other car turns, too. She's still oblivious to it.) "Jason said something once about how he wasn't traditional? I've always gotten the impression he's a jealous band member. You'll see Wednesday, but he's been around long enough to play better and he doesn't even seem to try."
As if Duke's lack of talent is his biggest offense.
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"So he's not as good as you." Ouija guessed, "But none of them are, and that doesn't seem to bother the Prince... perhaps he's not interested in music at all." It was possible, from Ouija's own experiences, to have very little interest in art and to have accidentally given the impression to a Toreador Sire otherwise. And as some of them were - what was a nice way to say it? - impulsive creatures, it perhaps hadn't come up with Duke. It was a workable theory, but it was only one of many.
This, like most Camarilla cities, was a very complex device, lots of moving parts. Lots of places to throw the sabot.
"Stop threatening me with Wednesday." Ouija got out of the car when they stopped, leaning over the top of it to look at her, and added, fondly, "But I promise we will figure this out. I might need your help to help you, but we'll get there."
The car behind also pulls into the parking lot, and Ouija looks over, fully expecting one of Edward's people and mastering patience like snowfall over the top of a just-frozen lake, but it isn't. It's a different vampire, one who the shadows seem to love to cling to, in a black jacket with a small embroidered crown at the lapel that Ouija recognizes as the Lasombra's clan identifier.
"Hope you don't mind if I join you." The Lasombra nods to the tackle shop.
"Are you here for the swingers club?" Ouija answers, immediately, and is rewarded with a wrinkle-nosed squint. "Bir--idget--who is this?"
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No additional snakes is fine, Birdie is quite happy with the one for the moment. Getting out of the car has her shielding the little one's questing head that pokes out the top of her pocket with her hand against the cold night air, and she's about to answer -- Yes, of course, any help at all -- when the new figure walks up and all thoughts of a returning volley of fondness fall away.
Birdie looks, and blinks.
"Hi, um. Ouija, this is Michelle. Don Alonzo's second, for operations in Denver." She gestures a little between them, across the car. Awkward, tense, but not near the same kind that showed itself in her at the Broadstreet. She even smiles, though it seems a little strained. This is mostly confusion, because Birdie had no idea Michelle was following them, or even there until she'd spoken. The gesture again, but in reverse. "Michelle, Ouija."
She looks between them, feeling impossibly lost. Wanting to ask if everything is okay, if Don Alonzo needed her for something, a general what. Don Alonzo does not typically reach out to her at all, let alone through Michelle. For as far as Birdie has understood it, Don Alonzo doesn't care much for anything happening at the Broadstreet and busies himself with what are probably actually far more important things than the posturing that happens there.
Instead, Michelle gives Ouija a very composed nod of acknowledgement and Birdie says, a little high pitched, "Come on, we're getting worms."
Then, she turns to go inside. Then turns around again to lock her car, and back again with a little head nod for Ouija to follow.
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As usual Birdie is Ouija's canary in the coal mine. How uneasy? Ish. But the energy is different, and more palatable. More akin to a predator surprised than threatened, Ouija reasons to themself.
"Worms." Michelle repeats, letting amusement creep through the underbrush of her voice. No voice to rival a Daughter's, but a low and pleasing one in its own right. "All right."
"We know how to live it up in Vegas." Ouija calls back absently, entering the store and giving the cashier a merry little greeting, "Getting worms, going fishing, getting drunk."
"Isn't Vegas in a desert?" Michelle queries... either of them, on the possibility of fishing.
"You fish in the fountains at the front of the Visage hotel." Ouija explains patiently, picking up a small cardboard container of worms and dirt, "Maybe I'll show you sometime."
Michelle is quiet for a moment, assessing this answer, not sure whether to write Ouija off as a complete fool, or an incomplete one. It's probably dangerous to do either. She looks to Birdie, mulling it over, notices the snake in her pocket, and starts to point to it before realizing there's no way Birdie doesn't know it's there and probably the cashier shouldn't have to be about that weird customer life.
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Not that Michelle is a cucumber. She's incredibly capable, and potentially a threat, but she's never had the same animosity and tension with Birdie as the other higher ups that happen to be of Edward's musical brood. Don Alonzo does a lot for Denver, and he and his Childer don't typically concern themselves with her, which is kind of a relief given how meticulously concerned Edward makes himself.
Birdie follows behind Ouija, trying to not feel too much like an idiot for whatever display that was outside as the banter continues around her.
She does notice Michelle notice the snake and, in turn, opt to not call it out. Her smile, now, is absolutely genuine, but she doesn't move to make more of a scene than they... are already definitely making.
"I'm of the understanding that the Visage has a really good selection of catfish," is Birdie's joking addition to this absolute nonsense. If she's the canary, that's the signal the air is relatively clear.
Michelle follows them through the store, amused despite herself. How this is a Keeper and a Primogen, she doesn't know, but from what Don Alonzo has told her it could be much worse. Or weirder. "Unfortunately, I don't eat catfish."
Birdie has positioned herself in an aisle so that the cashier, who is certainly wondering why he agreed to work at this place, can't see her as she does her best to gently nudge the little snake back into her pocket.
"Catch and release. Did you want to come with us?"
A veiled question -- mostly because having a conversation out in the open might be fine, but Roger might pop up from behind a cardboard display of rubber boots and then they're all well and truly fucked.
no subject
At the catfish crack, Ouija snorts quietly, appreciating it, and digging out the money to pay for the worms. "Please recycle the container," Ouija tells the cashier, noticing that there's an entire warm tank behind the counter full of worms and dirt, and this is one of those more Mom & Pop places that probably feels the pinch even of buying extra little things like that. They buy a cup intended for the soda machine and pick some of the worms out of the container instead, and then offer the cup to Birdie. She should have the honor, really.
"Yes, let's look at Michelle's car in better depth." Ouija agrees cheerfully, and when they're away from the shop and back out in the cold night air, "I have always liked Lasombra. Unlike the Tremere, I don't need to pretend I have no dealings with you, so you don't accuse me of stealing your secrets. So is Don Alonzo also tired of the blues? A snake could really get to work with that."
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Birdie trails a little behind them as Michelle heads for her car, murmuring a nearly inaudible nonsense tune at the snake as if that will shield her from the conversation and reassure her that, yes, soon there will be worms.
"You know, I've never worked with a snake before. You might want to worry about stealing my patience more than my secrets." Michelle's humor is as dry as a bone, and she beeps the car open. Her expression, while amused, definitely communicates that Ouija is not making the best impression. Which... Well, it doesn't seem they'll care either way. She slides into the driver's seat and Birdie into the backseat, holding the cup of worms primly as the snake coils around her hand again.
"And what Don Alonzo is and is not tired of, I'm not at liberty to say. Though personally, I'm over the scene entirely." Ah, the Kindred fallback of innuendo and doublespeak, with a quick offer of, "No offense," back at Birdie, who waves the concern away with her snake-hand, one worm halfway down the little darling's gullet.
"He wanted to approach you with a proposition, depending on what your plans are for your stay in Denver."
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Stealing my patience makes Ouija's lips twitch into an almost-disciplined smile, "You're not the first, and you won't be the last, honored Michelle. But I am often worth the sacrifice of a little patience... or so they tell me in the end."
They probably don't say that at first. Ever.
A proposition. That was interesting, for more reasons than one. This could have been done at the Broadstreet, or if that was too short a time to get Ouija's measure, then at their own lodging. And if that was unsafe, it was likely because Don Alonzo wanted a near-to-zero percent chance that Prince Edward would somehow learn of this. Which made it extremely valuable, potentially, for Ouija's own ends.
Silly politicking, or win/win situations? Either. Both.
"I am here for a fortnight at the outside. I intend to leave, if they will it, with more company than I brought with me. If you repeat that, I'll deny it, of course." This was daring, but trust needed to be won with trust given. Otherwise, circles upon circles of feinting and false assumptions. "If your Sire would like to enlist my help with some matter that would further my goal - or even if it is some extracurricular! - I'd be only too happy to hear him out for nothing."
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So she sits in the backseat of the car, feeding her worms one by one, and listening intently to the conversation, and her eyes go a bit wide at more company than I brought with me. Otherwise, she is still as Michelle backs out of the parking lot and moves to meander around the neighborhood a bit.
"Yeah, I expected as much. And nothing said inside this vehicle will need to be repeated, will it?" Michelle glances at Birdie in the rear-view mirror but doesn't wait for a response from either of them. "My Sire has no issue with any... Additional parties you take with you back to Vegas. He would just like the both of you to do a few things for him before you go."
They're making nothing but right turns, ambling, a little conspiracy rolling down the road. No other cars are following.
"He has already taken the liberty of providing some distractions for you this evening as a show of goodwill. All he asks is that you," she gestures at Ouija, "provide a suitable distraction later on, the nature of which you can discuss with him directly tomorrow night during Birdie's show."
From the backseat, quiet: "And what does he need from me?"
At that, Michelle actually laughs. Amused, kind of. Dark and ironic, mostly. "For tomorrow, at least, don't do what you usually do. Don Alonzo prefers to have discussions with a clear head."
no subject
People are people, pointy toothed or otherwise.
"Oh no, I can keep a secret." Ouija assures her, declining to look in the rear view mirror - unlike Birdie's, this one is tilted at an angle favorable and they have no wish to see themself. Ever, ideally. But definitely in front of strangers. Looking at other things in a mirror is fine.
"--I'll have to miss Birdie's show." Ouija repeats 'Birdie' with some mild approval, "But that sounds like a worthy cause."
Ouija glance back at Birdie proper, giving her a tsking sort of appraisal, "Is that how this fool has kept his domain so long? Add to the many reasons he has for running this place as he does."
They look back at Michelle with interest. Perhaps wisely, perhaps just from good luck, uncommon to Ouija, they do not mention anything about Birdie's sire, or their plans to help her, or anything of that nature. Let Michelle think even that it might be some crush, or covetousness of Birdie as a person; let her think what she liked. Ouija didn't buy the clan rumor that Lasombra were de facto sociopaths, though some might have been, perhaps even a disproportionate amount, if they selected for that sort of thing from their human population. But if she was, if she thought Ouija was here only for malicious reasons...
It might actually help. Sometimes a malicious reason could be trusted further than a softhearted one to execute itself as anticipated.
"I assume it is a coup of sorts. A bloodless one. Even the Prince should have no objection to that. He does so hate bloodshed, from what I can see." Ouija adds, bluntly.
no subject
And, for now, this snake. Who seems to be very happy with her lot in life, being hand fed worms by a pretty dead lady without a single concern in her little snake head.
Birdie smiles when Ouija looks back at her. Small, hopeful maybe. That glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel. She's tempted, but doesn't say anything about how there will be other shows. That she'll do another private concert whenever they ask. A small favor, since there's no boon in all of this, and one she's happy to owe for as long as Ouija asks it.
It's Michelle, though, that answers the question.
"Edward has kept his power since 1924 when the agreement to rule as a council was established," she says, wanting to be sure she is clarifying everyone's place in this scheme, "because everyone had seen the benefit of doing so. His recent fixations are... Only tangentially related."
Another right turn, back toward the bait shop.
"Things change."
Enigmatic elucidation at its finest.
In the backseat Birdie pets the snake around her hand, draws herself taught as a guitar string but not ready to snap -- something steely and tuned, instead. All of this is risk, and while it benefits Ouija to seem as elusive in their motives as possible, Birdie prefers clarity of tone for her own.
"I can do that, for tomorrow night and any other night he'd like me to. I hope that if I go, whenever this is over, Don Alonzo would be kind enough to help me locate my own Sire."
Michelle tenses, slightly, the smallest fraction of a tell in the dark. Not many know the full story of what happened with Lorelai, but those in this inner circle of the court know: Birdie's Sire came, she went mad somehow, she broke the Masquerade, and Edward is the one that put her into torpor. There are nuances and angles to it, of course. Opinions. Not everyone agreed Lorelai shouldn't meet the Final Death for the infraction but had little argument when the threat was neutralized so efficiently. Most of the rest of Denver just assume Lorelai is already dead.
Better, too, that she bring it up instead of Ouija. Let Michelle think they have no idea about how complicated this is, compared to simply stealing away a fascinating friend for themselves. And, in some measure, better to put her own skin in this game of liberation instead of making Ouija responsible for every play.
"And please," she keeps her tone pleasant now, a major chord, "remind him that I know more than lullabies, even though I choose not to sing them."
A threat, though it's sweetly said and could be considered an offer, too, if that's how they want to take it. There are a lot of feelings in the world, even in the dark. Calm and quiet, yes, but rage and fear, too. Both Don Alonzo and Michelle have been around Birdie long enough to know that the reason she hasn't done this already is the same reason she came to stay in Denver to begin with. No fighting, no blood in the streets -- but if they keep Lorelai from her, or if Don Alonzo manages this coup and decides to give out retroactive judgement, Birdie will make herself a problem.
Michelle, somehow, did not expect that from the little songbird that keeps everyone at the Broadstreet so serene. Certainly didn't expect it from Birdie before Ouija, this unknown Setite element sitting next to her and plotting with a dry wit that seems about to break the skin. But she nods approvingly. She can appreciate dedication to one's Sire.
"Of course. A bloodless coup would be ideal. Well, as bloodless as we get, anyway."
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"You know I wouldn't miss it, without a good reason." Ouija adds, to her smile, and then looks back at Michelle, gently, "A Toreador in control of anything has no benefit. Some of my companions in the Camarilla of Europe insist that the Malkavian Princes are the cause of recent destabilizations, but if you know enough to construct a map of who rules what domains, it tells its own story."
Ouija looks out the window, then frowns and redirects their gaze, restless. They want to destroy him, but more, they want him to apologize, to acknowledge his failings. That won't happen, not even if Ouija had all the time and torture devices in the world.
Then Birdie steps up in a major way and Ouija does the verbal equivalent of a record scratch, listening between them mutely. This is a side of Birdie they haven't seen before but nevertheless was told existed, and they have a moment grappling in sheer delight at the hidden danger. That's excellent. That's the kind of thing that keeps them feeling excited, and alive.
"You would know better than me whether it is advantageous to kill or merely collar the Prince." Ouija adds, recovering with only a bit of stumble. "Whether his Childer would react badly, or seek only to fill the void he would leave. I'm... flexible."
no subject
The resulting frustration from unfulfilled plans is how she gets so sour, like prison wine.
Michelle's car pulls in again to the bait shop parking lot, right next to Birdie's waiting car.
"His Childer, and how they feel about the change in the landscape, will only be a concern after you've gone." Michelle unlocks the doors, and considers that Ouija is very correct in their assessment of Toreador rulers. She certainly hasn't seen them in a favorable light. "Unless you want to make it your concern. And in that case, you can go over it with Don Alonzo tomorrow."
She takes a moment to look at the both of them in turn, cool and stony. "Thank you for your time, and please," she smiles, small but amused as she glances at the cup of worms still in Birdie's hand, "enjoy the rest of your evening."
A Jump Forward
Don Alonzo wants the city, and Birdie is fine to let him have it. Getting it will be the problem, but things are already in motion. The appearance of a Setite Primogen from another Camarilla court was an opportunity he would be a fool to pass up, a distraction for Edward to mull over while his shadows worked setting dominoes into place.
And so it goes, to Wednesday and a very disappointing concert at the Broadstreet.
They're at her home after. Birdie figures, on some level and with growing hope, this will be one of the last scant chances to have Ouija over to see it before she leaves it behind.
"You know," she says as she unlocks the front door and ushers them inside and out of the cold that's starting to lean toward snow, "I think I got used to how bad it is? Just from the constant exposure."
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"I have a spiritual headache." Ouija remarks, half-stalking into the front and stopping, judiciously, to take off their shoes. Even if it's not snowing yet, it's not polite to track in all and sundry. "I assume you mean the concert and not the general court of Denver."
They frown at nothing, hanging up their coat. "You have a beautiful home. It'll be a shame to leave it... I can help you bring anything irreplaceable to you, that's partly why I brought so little down with me."
They pause and wait for her, glancing back surprisingly soulfully at her. "I don't know if Vegas will feel like home, and if you move on, I'll help you do that, but you deserve better than this."
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