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PIC PROMPTS / TFLN / RANDOM SCENARIO

ACTIVE: bridget 'birdie' lewis (vampire: the masquerade oc) SEMI: jessica jones (netflix mcu); han solo (star wars); steve harrington (stranger things); INACTIVE: too many to list

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Viva Las Vegas ⌠ for ~terrifies ⌡

[acaseofyou]

Settling into Vegas is surprisingly easy. Time passes quickly in the neon lights and Ouija's company, and with the knowledge that Lorelai is safely tucked away and easy to get to, the main anxiety over what was left behind in Denver begins to fade into the background. Now there is only the task of figuring things out in front of her, personal and professionally speaking.

Birdie has enjoyed the break from a regular gig after the nights at the Broadstreet, but when Ouija suggests finding a little spot she can go to perform after so long off a stage she's genuinely delighted by the possibility.

There's still a lot to learn about how things work here, both in terms of Kindred politics and just basic geography, and for now she's happy to coast along on the knowledge of someone else. She hasn't done much away from the Strip before, and now they're walking down a street somewhere north of there. Normally a thing to be concerned about, but Birdie trusts, at least, in Ouija's judgement and that they wouldn't take her somewhere terrible or dangerous.

"So," she asks as they walk, holding one of their hands in both of hers, "if we get there and they're playing honkytonk, we're leaving, right? You're not gonna make me stay as revenge?"

It's a revenge she'd suffer through, though. As welcoming as Vegas has been, almost suspiciously so, it's Ouija's company and advice she goes to like a well as many nights as she can. Listening to shitty Nevada Seventh Son knockoffs is a price she'll pay to keep their hand in hers for as long as she's allowed.

[terrifies]

They'd never had a Childe, and the only ghouls they really had experience with were very old, professionals who were trained amongst other Camarilla operatives. Ouija therefore had kept some of the earnest naivete that characterised some fewer Elders than Neonates, accustomed to obeyed commands and being aware of greater machinations. Not that Ouija didn't scheme, but as Birdie had observed, these were primarily short term and-or related to Setite advance. They did not make catspaws of their friends, or associates.

This was a way of saying nothing Ouija did with Birdie felt like business, and informing her of what they had gleaned that she had not had reason to discover did not feel like superiority. In the one sense, she was more well versed in life experiences than they, and they stood to learn as much from observation of her.

"Revenge?" Ouija repeats, casting a forlorn little smile at her, "You make it sound like it was your fault I went through any of that. Give your former Prince some of the credit for thinking anyone could possibly want to sit through that un-coerced. Clearly he was half-drunk with power."

It's not the greatest topic, even though it was a joke, but it doesn't feel supremely uncomfortable, either. "Is that the genre you hate most? Just for unrelated reasons."

[acaseofyou]

Birdie has experience, at least, with being a Childe. Years with Lorelai, years spent listening to instruction, both kind and not, about the world she moved through and the things she should and should not do. Years, too, being guided by the Elders in her bloodline in much the same way, sometimes gentle and sometimes uproariously not depending on the evening's revelations. Then, most recently, the paternalistic fervor of Edward and his insistence on knowing what's best, what's right, what's good for her.

Those sentiments don't color what goes on between herself and Ouija. If she's lead, it's because she asked to be in the moment. More often than not it's sharing information, sharing time. Being seen less as a Neonate and more as a peer, which is refreshing after... Well, everything.

(For the record, none of those 'beware of Setites and their many drugs and serpentine wiles' pamphlets had been accurate.)

"Only half-drunk? You're giving him a lot of credit." If that comes out of her mouth seeming strongly bitter, well, it's because she is. And she opts to not address the other part, the reason for enduring that shitshow -- a descriptor of the whole Denver situation that she likes because it works on multiple levels of meaning. She doesn't want to argue the finer points of 'fault' at the moment. Not in the open air.

That last question, though, has her scrunching up her nose at Ouija and letting go of their wrist with one hand so she can gesture vaguely in the floodgate that's now been opened regarding Musical Opinions.

"Honkytonk could be good, which is the worst part of it! It's not far off from folk, but no one sees fit to even try and make it sound good anymore. Or sing about anything other than getting drunk, or some self-pitying nonsense."

Is Ouija prepared for what they've just unleashed? Because if they don't interject, they're in for a full minute to five minute rant about the state of modern country music, lyricism, unions, and steel guitars, one hand continuing to gesture wildly and emphatically while the other remains with fingers laced between theirs as they walk.

Tremere MacGuffins R Us ⌠ for ~terrifies ⌡

[acaseofyou]

So far, the Road Trip for Information has been a bust. The secretive rumor feeding of her bloodline means there's not many who even know going banshee is an option, let alone what might bring someone back from it.

Birdie is about to call it, pack up the van and head in a new direction, when Eggenhard asks for a meeting. 'Pursuant to your greater interest in certain... mysticisms,' was the exact wording of the message. Viktoriya opts to stay with Joe during the meeting, catch up on some other side project she's working on, leaving it to Birdie and Ouija to figure out what the hell this is gonna be at the 'neutral meeting ground' a block away from the chantry. Which, honestly, doesn't feel as neutral as it could be, but Birdie understands he's a skittish fledgling.

"You think this is really a thing?"

She's sat with Ouija at the little late night bookshop, all low lighting and first editions and little laminated handwritten signs that say stuff like 'DON'T CRACK THE SPINE IT MAKES THEM SAD.'

[terrifies]

Ouija perches across from Birdie, trying to think of something optimistic to say to her about this mess that isn't pure bullshit or copium. They wish for about the fortieth time that they paid more attention to the Akhu lessons Jocalo had offered them, wondering if there was anything in those uninspiring old papyri that could wake a dreamer in murderous eternal frenzy. A lot of it was sympathetic magic, though, using objects to stand in for other objects, becoming aware of spirits. Weird things. Of course Jocalo had been their first port of call about this, but the Daughters being such a young bloodline to the Setites' storied antiquity worked against the possibility.

Birdie is evidently trying hard to be brave about the situation, and Ouija can't just let the painful silence continue for too long. They clear their throat unnecessarily.

"It's definitely worth investigating. And I think if he has a steer at all, it might be because the Tremere themselves think it exists but they don't want to risk going after it, so they'll send some expendables." They answer, after another second, "But I will haunt him so hard if this is a pointless Tremere ambush. And I also hope Prince Bearcula eats hi--there he is over there. I hope his hearing isn't very good. Hi, hello. Good to see you."

Ouija lifts one hand in a wave, pushing aside a small stack of books that assuredly have no good answers in them.

[acaseofyou]

It feels, night by night, like this is a Season of Disappointments. Denver had been it's own season, less disappointment and more abject despair. Vegas was a season of stitching herself back together. But now? The hunt for clues that turn up nothing but maybe, maybe, a little glint of a cagey Tremere?

Season of Disappointments fits, though she tries to stay positive about it all. It'd be a good album name, too.

Ouija mentions haunting, and Birdie smiles. "Throw him in a few fountains for me, if it comes to that." She doesn't expect it to be an ambush, though she knows at least one of the employees here at this bookstore is one of the chantry's ghouls. She likes to believe, against all reason, in the best of kindred. Eggenhard may be stuffy, skittish, and without enough humor to get by, but she never took him for mercenary. Desperate, maybe, and desperation is something she can relate to real well.

Speaking of, he heads over at Ouija's little wave to sit with them. Awkward, stilted, and adjusting his coat around himself like it's armor. Maybe it is, all warded, as if the meeting might pose a threat.

"Thank you for coming to meet me. I know," and he looks at Birdie specifically, "that the answers you look for are important to you." Here, he isn't without sympathy. Despite all the nonsense that goes on in Tremere chantries, Eggenhard isn't sure what he'd do if something happened to his own Sire.

Birdie clocks the sympathy, though maybe she catches it more as pity, and frowns even as she nods. "If there's anything you've got, I'll hear it. And I'll pay it back in kind, if it's something that can be paid back."

[terrifies]

Much like the humans from which they came, kindred were rarely satisfied with a mediocre or bad outcome, even if it was stable. They stirred shit, they provoked new consequences, they explored with daring. This was, Ouija considered privately, one of the few saving graces of their people. Birdie was a shining star, and another saving grace. Eggenhard... was too early to call, but he was at least entertaining.

Maybe the whole losing-ones-mind-to-banshee-thing was partly complicated by the superstition and general lack of willingness to engage with the possibility that Kindred could lose their minds permanently - like talking to a mortal about dementia. It left a bad taste.

Ouija's comfortable being ignored for the moment, putting a hand on their chin in affectation of boredom. They are actually quite interested, and paying attention, but there's no reason for interjecting anything just yet. Birdie can handle herself.

"We can discuss the repayment aspect if this pans out." Eggenhard's response, while superficially uptight, is about as warm as it has been to either of them since Birdie first came to Billings. He gives Ouija a sideways glance. "I don't expect anything substantial for hearsay. Or... as some might call it, a 'bum steer'."

"I would not call it that." Ouija reflects, absently admiring the wooden bookcase nearby.

"In any case." Oscar continues, determined not to be intimidated or put out by the Setite's eccentricities, "If it comes to nothing, forget all debt. If you further your understanding, return to me and we can discuss further. I might be able to interpret what you do find. Tremere scrolls recovered from the Baali bloodline--"

"Wouldn't that make them Baali scrolls?" Ouija does interrupt then, mildly.

Oscar bites his lip hard enough to draw a little blood, offended by the comparison, "No. The scrolls were... transcribed from clay tablets, and the tablets were - lost. That was before my time. Anyway. The author, Oukranos, witnessed a meteor landing at the structure near here known as Pompey's Pillar. She investigated, and found that the meteor shone with a 'demonic flame', and devoted herself to protecting it for eons. In the tablets, she reports that the flame calms everything that looks upon it, even Garou in bloodlust against a vampire will stop and become filled with peace."

Ouija blinks. That's quite an endorsement. They look back at the bookcase, letting their thoughts drift off. Lots of questions they could ask, but this is Birdie's rodeo.

[acaseofyou]

Mediocrity is, at least, useful for the Masquerade. A talk like this happening here, everyone assuming it's business, or the negotiations of a very odd polycule where the newcomer looks like he's about to assign the other two homework.

Birdie listens as intently as she ever can manage, everything filtering in and through the Fugue. She leans, too, forward mostly but toward Ouija just enough to be clear that she's trying not to lean more, trying to not be obvious at her own need for support. She'd hoped, when this was first set up, that Viktoriya would be here to lend authority to the conversation. To make the choices.

"That's... Definitely not what I expected you'd bring to the table."

She doesn't bother hiding the surprise on her face. Not aghast, or disbelieving. If all her nights have shown her anything, it tends to be that the weirder shit sounds the more likely it is to be true.

Oscar nods. "It is not something commonly advertised, even within the chantry. I was not told of it until a few nights ago." He notes her lean, lets himself look at her and Ouija in equal turn. The focus of the conversation is Birdie, of course, but he can't help but consider them a unit. A chaotic one, in may respects, at least in comparison to the structure he's more comfortable with. But one, he knows, would exist even if it were only her sat at the table. That she would consult them regardless, and so he must convince them both.

In hindsight, he's not sure he meant to let slip that what he's sharing is new to him, but he can't take it back now.

"If it were to be found and recovered--"

Birdie catches immediately what the real thrust of this has become. "Meaning if we find and recover it." Eggenhard, wishing he were more professional, alas, sits with his mouth open around the rest of the sentence she finished for him before closing his mouth into a thin line of annoyance. Mostly at himself. Meanwhile, Birdie looks to Ouija. "You think we'll need shovels?"

The ease with which she's on board is probably concerning, or at least tells of the desperation she's at to find something solid to work with.

[terrifies]

That did make sense, far too much for Ouija's liking, and they allow their face to loudly reflect the annoyance they felt about it. No wonder Oscar is so generous to give them a tip for free if it doesn't turn out to be anything. In a different sense it's much more like a favor for him, and by extension for Clan Tremere, to first verify the existence of such a meteorite (at risk of aggravating what sounds like a dangerous or possibly just grumpy methuselah of a competing occult bloodline), and then, at worst if they die, letting them know such gifts from space are to be researched and sought after. If they live and bring it back? Maybe steal it or arrange for them to die.

Ouija finds themself disappointed in Oscar, but only superficially. He's extremely young and in one of the worst clans for advancement! It makes sense he'd try political maneuvering, and it's not an insult that he's not very good at it.

They reach across and touch Birdie's hand, no bonus snake this time to lend support, but the gesture is identical to the one before. I gotcha. Even when she reveals how much she needs this to be a lead.

"Before we agree to risk our lives on a maybe-space-rock from prehistoric times, it sounds like something we need to know more about." Ouija returns, evenly.

Oscar glances away, recovering himself poorly, but respectably, given the limitations. "I've told you all I was told about it."

Ouija combines a half eye roll with a needless huff, the only reason they inhale these days. "No pictures, paintings, sketches? Maps of where specifically it landed? Like Birdie says, is it above ground or buried somewhere? In a cave? You haven't even told us how big it is."

"I don't know those things." Oscar returns, looking a little guiltily back to Birdie, "If it will help, I will travel with you to the site and give you an updated opinion there."

[acaseofyou]

Ouija's hand helps, even without the bonus snake. It reassures, even as she sits and realizes a few things listening to Ouija lay things out so reasonably.

As the two of them discuss, a few things click into place for her, the Fugue playing back to a major chord. Eggenhard is not really in-the-know about this. If he was, if this was all the information the Tremere had as a whole, he might be able to make it sound more enticing. (Then again, he's a baby and a nerd. Maybe he's incapable of enticement.) And, belated, that he was told about it. This isn't a lead produced by his own research, this is information through a grapevine she can't see the roots of.

"Who was it?" Her question stops Oscar short, but Birdie presses. "The one that told you about it a few nights ago. Does the chantry have visitors?"

There's a brief flash of oh shit on Eggenhard's face before he schools it, tries very hard to not outright frown. "Professor Thierry. She's here, she's been here longer than you. I just..." He struggles for a moment. "She is focused on her own research. We don't often talk."

One bad worry put to rest, at least. No outside powerful elder feeding this information down to their fledgling for entrapment, and while Thierry is formidable in her own right from what Birdie has heard around Billings, she's not much older than Oscar. Another bad worry, that this is just another rumor that will come to nothing. Season of Disapointment.