Pilgrimage to the Mountain Basilica [ attn: Vee, William, Bertram ]

[Joey]

This lone thruway cutting through the darkened Rocky Mountain wilderness had first become the scene of an automotive hiccup. A flat tire and undead nobility put to the woefully mundane and tedious work of mending that problem in order to continue on their pilgrimage.

A small handful of minutes later a second car pulled up, posing as Good Samaritans before battle broke out and the rabid dogs they revealed themselves to be were put down mere moments. It was as effective an application of force as any of the harried travelers could have hoped for.

Now the roadside shoulder is taken up by a limousine-style party bus, a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter with blacked out windows and down one functioning wheel. A red Ford Bronco is parked behind it with its flood lights still blaring. It is also populated by dead (truly dead) bodies, one a great furred beast that could only be described as a werewolf in its most bestial and battle-worthy seeming, along with those same Sabbat pilgrims.

Flood stands out in the tall grass with Vee, having finished a short sermon glorying in the latter's battle prowess. Soon after they are in the process of returning to the unmoving caravan, Vee trailing the bony spine of a creature ripped free moments earlier and the Abyss' very tendrils a host of darkness converging around Flood.

William, Vee's loyal and attentive scion, is carrying away the bloodied body, a now-human corpse split open like overripe fruit. But the giant fledgling pauses in his labor just long enough to dryly deliver a gruff critique of Bertram.

William is met with a hiss and bared fangs that reveals the True Sabbat's brutish and savage nature for a second time that night. This time it is turned against one of his fellows.

Even as he bears down on William Bertram's suggestions hang in the air: That they abandon the bus, take the Bronco as another prize of their victory, and continue toward their destination before more of the lupines come looking for their fallen. His logical arguments as to the necessity of a hasty egress goes unheeded a second time.

Finally, no matter William's reaction to the dread gaze, the Lasombra's response comes in both words and action.

Flood continues toward the Sprinter and begins loosening the bolts of the back wheel. He seems stalwart in his stubbornness, though it might be hard to call someone with such a broad grin still gleaming pearly white on his face stubborn, Maybe he's just amused or still of an elated disposition following the battle, shaking his head as he continues changing the tire.

Oh, Flood is far from slow about it. He does not dally in his task, the tools still laid out and waiting, but he continues undeterred by the preceding violence. Indeed in the aftermath of the fight he moves with preternatural precision and expediency.

"I know how long it is going to take me to change a tire," he says as he returns to the work. "This is the only vehicle we need to worry about getting moving. But if you want to take the Bronco or keep browbeating newborn dragons..."

Flood is kneeling by the side of the road in all his tailored finery, and for a moment seems to be trailing off. But he only stands back as those shadowy tentacles lift the car up, his cold fingers pulling the wheel free and rolling the spare into place.

"By all means, help yourself," finishing in an even and unflappable tone.

[Samael]

Vee's William, he has been so quiet since he's become a Cainite. There are some who might consider the behemoth a sort of Lenny, big and dumb and not possessed of a lot in the way of complex thought. They could easily be forgiven for thinking such, all things considered; the monstrosity doesn't exactly engender an aura of scholarliness and even when he does speak his decidedly blue-collar verbiage supports such a notion. The truth is different; William is not mentally slow in any way. He is simply watching and learning everything he can before he does something to embarrass his Sire.

However, there are times when he speaks before he thinks. His newness to being a vampire means that he is still struggling with his Beast and it is a constant battle not to give into his instincts. When the fight is done, that struggle is conceded without thinking about it and he delivers the implication that the Brujah—older than he, and True Sabbat where he isn't to boot—was cowardly in his actions during the fight. That results in Bertram bearing his formidable presence down on William to cow him.

As a human, the giant would have been easily cowed and in fact would have run off into the woods screaming to high heaven, where he might have become Lupine food. He has hardened just a bit as a Tzimisce though, and he shakes it off. Oh, it is still felt; Bertram, Flood and Vee can see it in the way his shoulders tighten up like braided iron, the way he very nearly drops the furry, modern art sculpture of blood and bone that was once an instrument of death for people like them. His fangs come down in the blink of an eye and he snarls, but it's not defiance; it's defensiveness. He doesn't run and he isn't cowed, but Bertram's will is impressed upon him and he stalks off with a bit of extra speed and tightly clenched fists.

"I can't fit in the fuckin' truck. The beds on those things are like five fuckin' feet by three feet tall, ya…" He bites off his words there, so as not to insult the Brujah further. He grunts and carries the body along, side detouring to grab the body of the woman that had been unceremoniously flung to the side. They get flung into the baggage compartment on the side as quickly as he can (he's ridden in one of these enough times to know about them) and he gives Flood an apologetic look as he leaves him to handle the tire. He has to get out of Bertram's presence, and the bus interior will provide sanctuary.

He steps onto the bus and peels off his blood- and gore-covered T-Shirt, letting the adults talk and make the decisions as to what to do from here. The man is a professional wrestler; he's used to being around people without a shirt on, and he has no desire to add to the bodily fluids that they can smell inside. On his way back to his seat he bellows in frustration, smashing his bloodied knuckles where his Bonecrafting attempt went so terribly wrong into one of the wall panels and, with his blood-heightened strength, denting it badly.

Yeah, he'll be covering whatever is taken out of the deposit for that. And what's more, he'll be apologetic about it to Flood and Vee once they're on their way. But his Beast doesn't care and right now, neither does he.

[errin]

Vee does not step in when Bertram levels that dread gaze upon the childe. One might expect Vee to bare fangs, to hiss in response to the threat to its childe, but these are not things the Tzimisce does. William is young yet, he is not yet True Sabbat, there are things he has yet to learn. And his Sire is not always one to coddle and protect him.

A fine eyebrow cocks upward at the exchange as eyes the blue of a glacier's shadow lift from the grisly prize held in long-fingered pale hands - such benign looking hands capable of such incredible horror. William tenses, and finally the elder Tzimisce steps toward him, placing a cool hand to his shoulder. There are no words, only a slight pressure, urging him to move along now the adults are talking.

"They'll be looking for the truck, and they'll have an easier time tracking it than this," one hand flicks casually to the bus. "But, if you'd like to make yourself a," here Vee leans a little to the side to look at the truck beyond the glare of the lights, and those lips curl into a smile like sour milk, "literal big red target," Vee straightens, shifts the weight of the spine in that grip, "be my guest."

Then, turning to enter the bus after the childe, Vee says, "Someone turn off those fucking lights."

[Joey]

The wheel is lifted on, bolts fastened one after the other, and not all of those arms are necessary to raise the Sprinter's massive frame.

One of them slinks off, lazy and winding like a viper until it lashes out at the lights of the Bronco with a sudden alacrity. Its tip cracks and crushes metal, shattering glass with pops and showers of shards, before returning to its summoner.

Leaving the road that much darker.

The distraction does slow the Lasombra for a few moments, but not for long and not by much. The spare is on and he stands. The new wheel bears the weight of the tire, the suspension giving a near-imperceptible groan when those shadows squirm forward to slither up the hem of his pants and suit jacket, hiding away as he gives the spanner a few last tugs to tighten the final bolt.

Bodies stowed. Check.

"I think you made some fine points," said to Bertram as Vee boards the Sprinter.

Hypothetical safety deposit lost. Check.

"I also think leaving us down a set of hands," a smirk at the pun gladly taken up at William's expense, "because you felt like asserting yourself?"

Flat changed. Check.

"It was arguably as much of an indulgence as running down the lupine or not wanting to leave behind this fine vehicle," a sound slap of his hand on the Sprinter's hull-sized side.

Lights out. Check. Bonus points to the Lasombra.

"Let's move on and count Caine's blessing, shall we?"

If Flood is waiting for a response from Bertram for any of this or what has been said before it isn't obvious. He just turns after a final wink at the Brujah antitribu and begins making his way toward the driver's seat.

[Samael]

William sits in the bus all the way at the far back, and he's calmed down by the time Vee and Flood step on the bus. His hands still have open wounds from where he pushes his attempt at bone claws out just above each second knuckle, and he's slowly, carefully willing his precious Vitae to those sores, sealing them up and repairing self-inflicted structural damage. The Hollywood movies make it seem like vampires can't feel pain, but William knows very different. He's felt pain since he rose from the dead, most specifically just minutes ago when he's snapped his own bones. What he does hurts, and while he has changed a lot since his mortal days he is no masochist...well, no more than your average man who willingly allows himself to be hit with a barbed-wire-wrapped 2X4 to the forehead on regular occasions.

That being said, the pain is useful. It reminds him not to make the same mistake again, and it gives him something to focus on while the adults talk outside. By the time that Vee and then Flood come on board William's hands are whole again, and while his Beast snarls in the back of his mind for blood he holds it away. He can wait.

He doesn't look to see if Bertram is coming with them or taking the Bronco. If he's being honest, he doesn't give a shit either way. The Bronco will give them both time to calm down, but the Sprinter will keep them all in one spot and make sure that they aren't tracked. Pluses and minuses down both roads.

He looks up to Vee as the older Tzimisce moves to whatever seat he does…as Flood moves into the driver's seat. "Sorry," he says to them both…directed mostly to his Sire (of course) but to Flood as well. Screwing up his hands during the fight, snapping at Bertram when it wasn't his place or denting the panel of the bus…it could be all three of them. He doesn't specify.

[Umbralwind]

"That dragon would not be here if it weren't for my quick actions. Both of those things were headed straight at it, and it was a moment of benevolence which drove me to take an action which would spare it from having to face both of those things down at once." He says calmly enough in response to Flood.

"This might seem like a fun game while you're playing it, but I do not take unnecessary actions which imperil myself or those I depend upon. You were successful tonight... I call that luck, not skill. Fortune was on our side tonight but that will not always be the case. You've got a reputation for violence, certainly, but I have a reputation for success. There is a difference. Keep that in mind. I haven't lived as long as I have by making stupid decisions."

How a Ford Bronco could be more easily tracked than a Party Bus was still something Bertram simply could not understand. The Bus was heavier, slower, far more visible, less aerodynamic (so it would get less gas mileage which means they would need to stop more leaving them more vulnerable), and about the only advantage to it was it was apparently the only thing in the universe capable of holding a 7 foot tall man, because a Ford Bronco is incapable of that, and it was a matter which had him puzzled. However, they seemed to insist on the bus and Bertram saw no reason to set himself off to the side as a target so onto the bus he would go.

[errin]

Vee is not there, so any speculation on what words the elder Tzimisce might offer to the Lasombra and the Brujah is a pointless venture. When the other two finally leave behind the bright red local vehicle which may or may not smell like its previous owners and may or may not have some sort of tracking device - care of automobile makers catering to their paranoid clientele - they find William seated all the way in the back, and his Sire seated on the floor, the spine taken from a still living werewolf stretched out along the aisle. William's apology, said to the three of them or to the bus or to Vee, is answered with a quiet, "Hm." Sometimes, lessons must be learned the hard way.

When the bus rumbles to life again, Vee looks up at Flood and smiles. "Flood, darling, I'm feeling a bit peckish. Any chance we can stop for a bite along the way?" Like the level of mind paid to the flat and the fight is the same, which is to say: not very much if any at all. Even though now Vee's hair is a little mussed and Vee's clothes are a little bloody. They're about to get a little bloodier.

Running a hand along that perfect column of bone and cord, Vee says without looking up, "It was good thinking sending the second one scurrying. One of us might have gotten hurt otherwise." Vee does not suggest one of them might have died the true death, because Vee does not believe such a thing was a possibility. Three Sabbat and one in the making against two werewolves...to the Tzimisce the odds were stacked drastically in their favor.

Still not looking up, Vee says, "But if you do something that threatens myself or my childe again you will regret it." There is no menace to the words, no malice, no threat. Vee does not issue threats, only results. Some of those results are stretched out on the aisle. Some are stowed beneath the bus.

Finally, Vee looks up, but it is not to the Lasombra behind the wheel or to the Brujah. It's to the other Tzimisce. Vee's angelic face is lit with a smile. "Watch closely, pet. I'm going to show you something awesome." Turning back to the bones, Vee sets about making them into a weapon.

=====
niko @ 11:10AM
[int+occult diff 8 per ST]
Roll: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 4, 5, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 1 ) VALID

Samael @ 11:11AM
Witness!

niko @ 11:12AM
Thanks!

niko @ 11:23AM
[-1 BP bonecrafting: AW WHIP IT, diff 7 because it really can't be that hard to turn a spine into a whip, can it? dropping a WP]
Roll: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 2, 4, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP] VALID

niko @ 11:23AM
[AW YEA 6 SUXX *fistpump*]

Samael @ 11:23AM
Witnessed!

niko @ 11:24AM
Thanks!

[Joey]

"Conjecture about hypothetical outcomes aside," once Flood is settling into the driver's seat, once William has offered his apology out into the ether for whoever would accept it, once Vee has asked about sustenance - "Of course," had been his answer as the Tzimisce set to work on its trophy.

"If we were or were not lucky, if we did or did not display skill, has nothing to do with your track record or us comparing birth certificates, Mr. Kohl," a very formal addressing of Bertram by his surname punctuated by the Lasombra turning over the engine of that not-a-stolen-vehicle not-owned-by-local-lupines. Advantages Flood doesn't seem to think to elucidate on, but maybe that's why outwardly he doesn't seem as puzzled or hesitant to get into the diesel-engined box of faux leather and steel.

"Neither did my decision. I saw a loose end, and as fun as it was watching our fiend tie it up, it was equally practical to not let a lupine who knows about the old girl," a slap on the wheel to indicate he means the party bus, "run off to tell his litter," pulling onto the road and gaining speed away from the bloodied crime scene.

"I don't think another corpse would leave the mongrels any more or less angry with us. But it would leave them up a mutt who could spot us and one more set of claws," a hand off the wheel like he's weighing the pros and cons, but it doesn't sound like it's the first time he is considering them.

"But back to track records," his voice taking on a nostalgic quality. "I'll tell you a story. I use to own a horse. It won every race until it didn't. That's the race I made the most money on. Because I paid attention and ran the numbers. I didn't assume it would win because of its track record," the last part delivered without any stern tone or anger tingling his voice. Like the rest, it's more pedagogical and academic in a gritty sort of way.

"You shouted out your recommendations," he nods, "ones that sounded a lot like orders," a mockery of suspicion somewhere in the words, "but I'm moving past that. Just like I moved past them after weighing our options, and just how I tried moving past this armchair pissing contest you seem intent on wrangling me into. I can promise you next time I'll take your advice in the same unbiased manner where my unlife is concerned, and be just as ready to defend my actions."

They continue their journey toward Ioana's mountain chateau. As the vehicle begins to gain speed, gravity propelling it down the hill, Flood's attention becomes split toward a sign for a truck stop, one of the last before Aspen.

"Drive thru, anyone? It might be rude to show up with too much of an appetite," and sharing a meal might serve to diffuse at least some of the tension, or at least the act of offering seems to signal Flood attempting to return toward whatever passes for normalcy when four monsters are confined to such a space and disagreeing.

[Samael]

Vee's noncommittal response to the apology is taken in stride by the big man. He gets it…watching and staying silent for the past month means that he's learned some things. He still has a lot left to learn, and he knows that, but he gets it when he fucked up and that a simple 'sorry' isn't going to cut it. Words mean shit; he's seen Vee and Flood and even Bertram shape and mold words like clay to form whatever truth they want. He knew that was the way of the world well before he became a vampire. Words are nothing; actions prove it all.

So he doesn't flinch or cringe; he doesn't say it again. When Bertram comes on the bus and starts offering his explanations and his counters, William very specifically doesn't pay attention. That way lies arguments and he doesn't make the same mistake twice, at least not so close in time to one another.

Besides, Vee wants him to pay attention. And that's exactly what he does. He shifts to the side so he can get a better look at what Vee is doing, expertly shaping and molding the Lupine spine into a flexible weapon. William watches closely, noting every move of his Sire's dexterous fingers, every twist made to the bone structure; how certain portions are built up to maintain structural strength. He's not looking so much in order to know how to make his own spine-whip; he's learning how to make the changes in bone that he so drastically failed to do outside the bus.

Truth be told, he's a little enthralled by Bonecrafting in general.

When Flood asks if anyone could eat, William nods. "Yeah, might not be such a bad idea for me." It's likely to be the only thing he says on the rest of the way to Aspen. He was doing so much better when he didn't open his mouth, after all.

[errin]

[I was waiting for Seb, but since it's been a few days since my last post and since I'd like to move along to the next act, guess I'll go again. Sorry, Seb!]

The rocking of the bus does not hinder the elder Tzimisce in their work in the slightest. Long, strong, dexterous fingers pluck and pull at the bones, creating handle, binding pieces together more securely. Making it a weapon. Vee will decide before they get there if this will be the gift they bring for Ioana or if the wolf pelt will be sufficient. For now, there's the question of where to get that bite.

Continuing along that vein of supposed normalcy, Vee says, "So long as no one resorts to feeding off the bodies below, anything will do, really."

As they wend their way along the mountain road, Vee sighs but does not voice its cause. Truthfully, the Tzimisce is regretting not bringing Isabela. The ghoul would have no doubt plotted out a course with planned pitstops and scheduled feeding. She is quite thoughtful, is Vee's Isabela, but alas, no point lamenting her absence. At least, not for long. Soon enough their hungers will be satisfied, and perhaps their tempers will have abated, as well.