08-13-2013, 10:56 PM
Many of the Camarilla and Anarchs have their own boltholes they've gone to ground in. A deceiver's domain, no matter how vaguely its details were given in Elysium before the Sabbat presence was revealed, might not be accepted with open arms. Especially in lieu of one's own haven, backup haven, or backup backup haven, even if it is a cramped storage locker for an expansive warehouse. But that doesn't mean Kali isn't given sincere thanks for the offer from those she does get in touch with.
Baja's cursing up a storm from his end. But she can hear his Crysler roaring to life and he says he's on his way. Maybe he sees the strength and safety that can be found in numbers. Maybe it's that she's a clanmate, though he doesn't sound like he's going to be following her lead and asking her to vouch for his membership in the Camarilla any time soon. Not with Elysium still smoking.
St. Germain answers with his usual charm. He even has some questions about what he missed, many of the Anarchs in his own social circle having skipped the Elysium-turned-slaughterhouse. But his response is in the same vein as many of the others she has gotten.
"Fuck. We're all good on our end. Decided to keep our heads down and get the lowdown through the grapevine. Glad to hear you've still go that motormouth running, but I don't know if I'll be RSVPing to any group play dates," a nervous kind of laugh following it up. "Keep on truckin'," the Brujah Anarch says, like he's done with the call, but then his tone gets more serious. "Be safe."
Rasmussen doesn't answer. At least not directly. A woman answers his phone. A familiar feminine voice from Elysium, Estelle Burnhouse the gatekeeper and face of Richthofen's stewards, a ghoul who thanks her for her message if she'll relay it to her and lets her know that both the Prince and Sheriff have survived the night's events. "I am sure Master Rasmussen will appreciate your offer of accommodations and I will be sure to pass them along to those in need of safe haven."
Lucille also answers her phone. She sounds pleased to hear from Kali. "Yes. I am well. Richthofen still stands. The contractors are going to have a field day with their repair invoices," an annoyed huff here.
"I've never been much of a fan of mixed and unconventional media, but I believe Henrietta's head on a spike would fit the postapocalyptic décor," the facade of composure cracking as malevolence tinges her voice. "Don't you?"
Leave it to a Toreador to finally begin the dissemination of hard facts and information.
"Please, if you hear from Gotfred or any of the Nosferatu, let them know Rasmussen would like to have a word with their Primogen to see if he still wishes to retain that title or suffer a fate similar to his dearly departed sire," she finishes before hanging up. Before cracking up and losing it, the way her voice again grows sharp, short, stabbing in its tone.
Baja's cursing up a storm from his end. But she can hear his Crysler roaring to life and he says he's on his way. Maybe he sees the strength and safety that can be found in numbers. Maybe it's that she's a clanmate, though he doesn't sound like he's going to be following her lead and asking her to vouch for his membership in the Camarilla any time soon. Not with Elysium still smoking.
St. Germain answers with his usual charm. He even has some questions about what he missed, many of the Anarchs in his own social circle having skipped the Elysium-turned-slaughterhouse. But his response is in the same vein as many of the others she has gotten.
"Fuck. We're all good on our end. Decided to keep our heads down and get the lowdown through the grapevine. Glad to hear you've still go that motormouth running, but I don't know if I'll be RSVPing to any group play dates," a nervous kind of laugh following it up. "Keep on truckin'," the Brujah Anarch says, like he's done with the call, but then his tone gets more serious. "Be safe."
Rasmussen doesn't answer. At least not directly. A woman answers his phone. A familiar feminine voice from Elysium, Estelle Burnhouse the gatekeeper and face of Richthofen's stewards, a ghoul who thanks her for her message if she'll relay it to her and lets her know that both the Prince and Sheriff have survived the night's events. "I am sure Master Rasmussen will appreciate your offer of accommodations and I will be sure to pass them along to those in need of safe haven."
Lucille also answers her phone. She sounds pleased to hear from Kali. "Yes. I am well. Richthofen still stands. The contractors are going to have a field day with their repair invoices," an annoyed huff here.
"I've never been much of a fan of mixed and unconventional media, but I believe Henrietta's head on a spike would fit the postapocalyptic décor," the facade of composure cracking as malevolence tinges her voice. "Don't you?"
Leave it to a Toreador to finally begin the dissemination of hard facts and information.
"Please, if you hear from Gotfred or any of the Nosferatu, let them know Rasmussen would like to have a word with their Primogen to see if he still wishes to retain that title or suffer a fate similar to his dearly departed sire," she finishes before hanging up. Before cracking up and losing it, the way her voice again grows sharp, short, stabbing in its tone.