09-17-2013, 04:18 PM
[ We are going to move forward without a posting order to keep things moving. Players are still expected to post once per round, and are especially encouraged to do so promptly when their character is addressed or otherwise involved.
I plan on posting the rest of my week's availability when I get a schedule tomorrow night. At this point we are going to be moving forward to the final scene of the storyline, involving the arrival at the Cardinal's haven of any PCs still wishing to stay with the group. ]
The idea a deck has been stacked against any one of them can only follow a number of assumptions. It indicates that had Bertram played the same hand of cards in a different game the result would have varied. It hints that the vampires present would care for orders or criticisms from any other (even each other) as from him. It posits that the game is meant to be a fair one. And most importantly presupposes that this is a game at all.
In any case Flood's glance up at that rear view mirror and into the bus cabin is barely perceptible, visible only in the shift of his shoulders and his ear turning, the light refusing to touch and reflect his form in the glass. He seems ready to take Bertram's silence as a willingness to move along. He even looks like he is taking this with more restraint than the average scorned brute might, though there is a quirking of Flood's brow when he turns around to see a deeper fissure forming and resentment that might be fomenting in Bertram.
A slight that won't be forgotten. Oh, that puts him back on edge.
Flood is ready to move past it all, though, just as he had promised. A problem for another night. But it seems Vee has spotted a similar simmering ire and anger in the Brujah antitribu that the Tzimisce is intent on addressing. That or the silence has unsettled the fiend's own serenity. Maybe it is both.
Flood finds the truck stop exit. It has a waffle house that looks like the kind of place anyone without a long hauler's iron gullet wouldn't trust for anything but coffee. A weathered and near-dilapidated motel lies closer to the woods. And a gas station with far more diesel than unleaded pumps. Truck drivers are milling around, shouting and joking and otherwise carousing when not walking back and forth from their trucks to the various buildings, suspicious cars that may or may not be dealing drugs - may or may not because some of them have women of the night coming and going from the lodging house as well.
Broken down gazelles, wallowing hippos, and snaggletoothed crocodiles jockeying for a drink of the economic runoff coming through. Rogue lions and hyenas passing through and looking for a quick a fix before moving on to the next oasis. That is what comprises this place when the apex predators roll to a stop near the edge of the parking lot.
This is where Flood stands from the driver's seat to watch the results of an ultimatum given. He leans back to sit against the dashboard of the bus, folding his arms over his chest.
I plan on posting the rest of my week's availability when I get a schedule tomorrow night. At this point we are going to be moving forward to the final scene of the storyline, involving the arrival at the Cardinal's haven of any PCs still wishing to stay with the group. ]
The idea a deck has been stacked against any one of them can only follow a number of assumptions. It indicates that had Bertram played the same hand of cards in a different game the result would have varied. It hints that the vampires present would care for orders or criticisms from any other (even each other) as from him. It posits that the game is meant to be a fair one. And most importantly presupposes that this is a game at all.
In any case Flood's glance up at that rear view mirror and into the bus cabin is barely perceptible, visible only in the shift of his shoulders and his ear turning, the light refusing to touch and reflect his form in the glass. He seems ready to take Bertram's silence as a willingness to move along. He even looks like he is taking this with more restraint than the average scorned brute might, though there is a quirking of Flood's brow when he turns around to see a deeper fissure forming and resentment that might be fomenting in Bertram.
A slight that won't be forgotten. Oh, that puts him back on edge.
Flood is ready to move past it all, though, just as he had promised. A problem for another night. But it seems Vee has spotted a similar simmering ire and anger in the Brujah antitribu that the Tzimisce is intent on addressing. That or the silence has unsettled the fiend's own serenity. Maybe it is both.
Flood finds the truck stop exit. It has a waffle house that looks like the kind of place anyone without a long hauler's iron gullet wouldn't trust for anything but coffee. A weathered and near-dilapidated motel lies closer to the woods. And a gas station with far more diesel than unleaded pumps. Truck drivers are milling around, shouting and joking and otherwise carousing when not walking back and forth from their trucks to the various buildings, suspicious cars that may or may not be dealing drugs - may or may not because some of them have women of the night coming and going from the lodging house as well.
Broken down gazelles, wallowing hippos, and snaggletoothed crocodiles jockeying for a drink of the economic runoff coming through. Rogue lions and hyenas passing through and looking for a quick a fix before moving on to the next oasis. That is what comprises this place when the apex predators roll to a stop near the edge of the parking lot.
This is where Flood stands from the driver's seat to watch the results of an ultimatum given. He leans back to sit against the dashboard of the bus, folding his arms over his chest.