The streets of Vancouver were pretty quiet for the days before Halloween. Then again, this was also a neighborhood where most people knew to keep their head down. Even then, they weren't so lucky, and they especially weren't lucky on nights like this. This night was a night in preparation for an event that made the year of many a Sabbat Kindred - Palla Grande.
"What costume are you going with?"
"Do I look like guy who worries about a costume?"
"I mean, I guess not?"
"C'mon, Fenrir. I could give you a face like that Paul Stanley guy yo-"
"Shut up, Melvin."
"My name is Jormungandr!" All the Tzimisce got was a snort of amusement from the Gangrel he was trying to insist upon his name to.
"Anyway." Ben Grayson leaned back against the cushions of a built-in couch in a bay window. "We need to round up a few more vessels. Thomas says that we're due for the biggest Palla Grande in decades."
"How many packs are coming in?" Albert, the Harbinger of Skulls known as Slepnir, piped up.
"At least six." Ben said. "So, like I said, we have a lot of work to do in the next two nights."
"Especially after that last vessel you, uh..." Melvin said, ". . .got a little overzealous with."
"She should have stopped crying." Ben said dismissively. "I can't stand when they start crying."
"Speaking of when they start crying, where's Hela?" Albert asked.
"Esme is meeting with the Bishop. She has her own preparations to make." Ben said, giving Albert a look that could have burned him just as easily as a sunrise.
"Sorry I asked." Albert raised his hands.
"I suppose it makes sense." Melvin said. "She is the Bishop's favored childe. Imagine if you were a Kine couple. You'd be doing something like being cuddled up together and watching crappy movies."
"Yeah. That'd be a real drag." Ben gave a genuine laugh at that.
October 30, 2018
"Okay, so...Friday the 13th: Part 6..."
"Jason Lives?"
"That's right." Ben nodded to the redhead sitting next to him on the couch. "That's when they brought Jason back. Everybody hated A New Beginning so much, but I thought it was an underrated classic."
"I, uh...I thought it was kinda crap." Angelica admittedly sheepishly, tucking a strand of her curly red hair behind her ear.
"Yes, but that's just because you haven't seen the other ones. Trust me, Jason Lives is great. Probably the best in the series besides the original. No joke." Ben said.
"Well, alright, let's watch it!" Angel gave a smile. Ben was beginning to enjoy the bi-weekly movie nights. He got to expose Angel to a bit of his own tastes and she got to expose him to a bit of her own. It felt...normal, honestly. Really, actually normal. It was something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It almost made him forget.
Almost.
His phone rang. Ben sighed deeply.
"Are you gonna get that?" Angel asked after it had rang twice.
"No, that's why we have voicemail. Or so I'm told." Ben said.
"Do you even check your voicemail?" Angel asked.
"I...mean to, I just get confused by all the buttons." Ben said. "They're all swipe-y now and I-" He stopped, hearing Angel laughing. "What's so funny?"
"You sound like an old man!" Angel's laugh was melodic. He couldn't really be at all upset with her, honestly. Even so, the phone rang. "I don't think they're letting up."
"Alright, alright." Ben sighed and went over to the chair he'd put his hoodie on, pulling his phone from its pocket and answering it. "Hello?"
"Ben. Where are you?" Grace. Wonderful.
"Busy." Ben replied, curtly.
"Well, get unbusy!" Grace said. "I have a show tonight and I want you there. I've already called Sybil and Anthony. They're coming."
"Send me a copy." Ben said. "I'm busy."
"Call it some coterie bonding time." Grace said.
"I'm on a date." Ben admitted finally.
"Bring her with you then." Grace hung up without any further discussion on the matter. Ben sighed and slipped his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie.
"Now where were we?" Ben asked, returning his attentions to his date.
"What was that about?" Angel asked.
"I've got a...co-worker who is doing a production tonight." Ben explained, trying to be as vague and not obvious about it as possible.
"A friend, then?" Angel asked.
"That's. . .not how I'd describe our relationship, no." Ben said, grabbing the remote and preparing to press play. In his peripheral vision, he caught her still looking at him. He sighed, putting the remote down. ". . .it's Phantom of the Opera."
"Oh, I love that one!" Angel smiled. "Who is she playing?"
"Given her ego, probably Christine." Ben said.
"You mean your friend Grace, right? Grace Penderghast?" Angel asked.
". . .say what now?" Ben blinked, turning and looking at her.
"The woman you were at the shelter with a few weeks back? Well, one of them."
"Oh. Right."
"Saw some fliers outside the shelter. The word's been getting out." Angel said.
"So, I assume you wanna go, then?" Ben asked.
"I'm young, I'm a theater major, and I've got a beautiful blonde hunk on my arm for it? Count me in!" Angel was grinning ear to ear.
"I mean, it's not exactly the Paramount, but..."
"Yeah, nice digs." Hope nodded, pulling on the golden handle to open one of the doors. An usher stepped up to the pair as the entered.
"I have a ticket." Sybil said, lifting her phone so the QR code could be scanned.
"Ah. Miss Langtry and guest. Wonderful. Thank you." The usher said, ushering them down a hallway away from the two doors that lead into the theater proper. "You'll be in Box Three, Miss Penderghast personally reserved it for you."
"Damn. And even after we jacked her car. Nice." Hope whistled, grinning shamelessly.
". . .very good, yes." The usher muttered, returning to his duties. Sybil tried to avoid snickering as she followed in Hope's wake. The pair went down the hallway to a set of stairs leading up, which itself led into another, much shorter corridor lined with doors each of which led into their own little open boxes. Sybil found the one marked with a golden "3" screwed into it and turned the knob, opening it.
"Ah...Miss Devereaux. Detective Langtry. Welcome." The voice was familiar to them both, having heard it before. Hope more than Sybil had.
"Hey, boss." Hope said, a bit of a frown scrunching her features.
"Now really, Hope. Did you think I wouldn't come to see my own childe's first step onto the stage?" Isaac Carroway leaned back in his chair, looking to the two women. "Please, have a seat. We still have quite a few available, don't we, Mr. Wallace?" They then noticed a familiar Tremere seated only a few chairs away from the Toreador, one whose face they had not glimpsed in a few nights, and it hadn't exactly been under the best of circumstances.
"Yes, I suppose we do." Anthony said. Sybil was quick to notice that Anthony's partner in crime, Marion, was conspicuously absent.
"Didn't bring a date?" Hope asked, arms crossed over her chest. It was more than clear that there was more than a little bad blood given recent events.
"Didn't want to come to begin with." Anthony grimaced.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Wallace!" Isaac laughed. "Even the Tremere must hold some appreciation for the arts. Culture is a thing sorely lacking among many of the clans in these modern nights."
"I'll be sure to express your concerns to the Primogen." Anthony muttered.
"How droll!" Isaac laughed heartily. "But we are being so rude. Ladies, please...a seat." He gestured, allowing the Brujah and the Malkavian to select their own seats. "Ah...now once Mr. Grayson and his date arrive, we will all be in attendance."
"Ben's coming?" Sybil asked.
"Oh, I have every confidence that Grace summoned him." Isaac said. "As you have seen, no doubt, she can be very convincing."
"Convinced me that she's a right-" Hope started, but stopped when Sybil nudged her in the side.
"A little showing off never hurt anyone." Sybil said.
"So very right!" Isaac said. "Even a Malkavian can feel the need for art from the unmoving husks of our hearts!" Sybil and Hope took their seats next to Anthony, leaving the empty seat at the end and Sybil acting as a sort of buffer between the two. While Hope shot the Tremere a few nasty looks, Anthony seemed not to notice and it wasn't evolving at all beyond that. It was not long after this that Ben did indeed enter, accompanied by a redheaded woman.
"How's it going, you two?" Sybil asked with a smile, the first to address the couple.
"Sybil. Hope. Anthony." Ben nodded to them all, then glanced at Isaac. "Carroway..."
"Ah, Mr. Grayson. A pleasure to meet you once again." Isaac stood, offering his hand to the Gangrel for a shake. "And who is this ravaging creature?" He asked, turning his attentions to Angelica.
"Oh, I'm...Angelica. Angelica Knox. Most people call me Angel." Angel said.
"And it is a fitting moniker for you, my dear. Welcome, welcome. Please, sit, both of you." Isaac said, gesturing to the empty seats that remained. They took two of the ones next to Isaac, Ben sitting between the older Toreador and his own date and only needing to cast a simple glance toward Isaac to get him to keep his distance. Before too much longer, though, the curtain rose on the Paris Opera House, circa 1905. The auction that began the play began, leading to Raoul's purchasing of several items and then at last it came to Lot 666.
"Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained." The actor playing the auctioneer spoke up. "We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?"
The flash of light from the chandelier preceded the Overture as the stage was meant to be transformed into the Paris Opera House from years past. Only, that didn't happen. As the instrumentals thundered in the ears of all in attendance, the same chandelier that had illuminated all around the stage only moments before went out. So too did the stage lights and all other lights in the room, leaving the audience in darkness. There was a quiet, rapidly rising din of people expressing confusion.
"Well, I mean...I was always more of a Jesus Christ Superstar fan myse-" Sybil started to babble. At least three of her compatriots shushed her. "I'm just saying, I think the dead ar-"
"Shut up!" Anthony hissed. "Do you not hear it?" Soon enough, they could all hear it. An ethereal humming from...somewhere...behind the stage. Soon enough, the emergency lighting came on and it wasn't the only light. Upon the stage, there was a sickly, green light that seemed roughly about baseball size, and that light was illuminating the face of a figure holding it in what was presumably their hand.
"Cum hac sanguinis oblatione: Surge, mortuus, surge!" The voice was deep, masculine, and it echoed through the theater.
"Oh, no..." Ben muttered. Sybil could hear him moving and felt suddenly a hand at her back. "Watch Angel." He whispered before that pressure from his hand rescinded.
"Ben? BEN!?" Angelica shouted. Sybil looked back and saw in the emergency lighting that Ben wasn't where he'd been seconds before.
"Hope, get after him." Sybil said. "Miss Knox, please stay with me."
Ben had made it down to the theater floor in record time, just in time to hear the first of the screams. The light on the stage had winked out, but there was the unmistakable smell of blood on the air as if someone had just opened a wound...a wound in everyone in the room. In the light, he could see bodies writhing and did his best to keep his Beast under control as he glanced around for the source of the disturbance. His eyes glowed a red as he pierced through the darkness and saw body after body of the audience falling, a smoke or vapor seeming to rise out of them and swirl about in the air.
"What the hell is going on?!" Hope asked as she came down after him. The scent of blood hit her nostrils, drawing her in. "That's...a lot of blo-"
"Touch a drop and I'll stake you to a wall." Ben said, eyes still scanning the crowd. It was as much for Hope's good as it was her own. Given the clear ritual that had just been performed, there was no telling what the blood would do if it were converted into vitae...if it even could be converted into vitae without some adverse effect.
"We'll find her. I'm trying to find the caster." Ben said, eyes catching someone heading for the backstage and taking off after them, running down the aisle with no care for who he may or may not have been knocking over. The only way to have any chance at helping these people now was to stop...whatever it was that happening.
"Uh, Ben...wait up!" Hope shouted, heading down that way as well, although she noticed something very quickly in the dim, blue glow of the emergency lights. The people who had died began to rise up, and some were emitting low, unearthly groans. "We have a problem!" She called. Ben, though, had already leaped onto the stage and was darting behind the curtain.
"Oh. Great." Hope said, hearing the moaning behind her as one of the creatures shambled toward her. "No thanks...once bitten already here." She muttered as spun around, giving it a quick back kick and sending it back into the seats. Yet others were coming, Hope finally able to see as the swirling mist above was finding its way back down to the bodies it had come from.
"Oh crap..."
Grace had been preparing for her big entrance. Isaac had said it would be a big step for her career, something to whittle away eternity and bring in another revenue stream. Her albums had some regular sales, but nothing too spectacular. While Isaac had his people slaving away working on better songs, Grace would try a hand at acting. Simple.
An audition later, and she was landing the role of Christine. The rehearsals had gone well enough and she was ready for the big moment...and she'd figured bringing her coterie in to view was a. . .well, no, to be fair she was flaunting.
'Interesting justification for peacocking...' The Beast had taken the tone of Marquis, echoing in the corners of her mind. It was always there, taunting her. Taunting her for gorging herself on the Ghoul, draining him dry for what he'd done. 'Sure, I did kill Mortimer...but now there's a little piece of me inside you...forever...'
Grace did her best to ignore him, the Blush of Life having come to her cheeks and making her appear quite hale and hardy as she would for the entire night. When she looked in the mirror now, the perfect leading lady looked back at her. All she wished was that she didn't have to wear this ridiculous wig...
The lights went out. The makeup artist working with her suddenly gasped in surprise.
"Hang on, Miss Penderghast, I'll see what's going on." Grace remained in her chair, listening as she heard the footsteps of the man heading over to the door, that door creaking open, and then a sickening crack and and gurgle and the door slamming shut again. Grace sat there, feeling the Beast gnawing at her just a little more.
'Trouble...we should go...'
Grace ignored the urge and waited, her senses reaching out into the dark as best she could. They were helped somewhat by the emergency lights kicking on. She turned toward the door to find it shut and, at the floor, there was a trail of splattered blood. Blood, she had no doubt, that had belonged to the make up artist whose name she hadn't even bothered to learn. She gazed about the room, looking for something with which to arm herself. Clad in naught but the undergarments that would be beneath the dresses Christine wore in the play, Grace quickly removed her purple robe from the back of her chair and tied it around herself as she searched.
In the end, all she was able to find were a pair of scissors that she took to hand, feeling somewhat comforted by at least something to her hand. She crept toward the door, reaching out nervously with her unoccupied hand to pull it inward into the room. As she suspected, the trail of blood moved outward into the backstage area. There was screaming from out in the audience, and a distinct lack of presence backstage...and Grace soon realized why as she saw one of the crew was slumped over onto the ground. In the emergency lighting, she could see that the man's throat had been slit and-
She turned suddenly, ramming her knife into the person she sensed behind her. A towering man in a suit, a cape on his shoulders and a distinct mask over his left eye, took the hit full in the shoulder, grunting as he staggered back from Grace.
"Oh, gods, Johnathan! I'm so sorry!" Grace gasped, realizing she'd just put a pair of scissors into the shoulder of her co-star. However, Jonathan did not seem at all bothered by it after a few moments. In fact, Grace realized, he didn't even seem to acknowledge her existence. He stared blankly at the scissors in his shoulder. When his head finally did crane upward, Grace saw his jaw was hanging slack. His eyes were...empty. Soulless. As if the life had been dragged out of him.
He groaned and Grace moved back from him. Even as she did, he shambled forward. Channeling her vitae, Grace attempted to use Dominate upon him...and found nothing happened. Her power reached out and found no mind to reshape. With a bit of Celerity, she was able to leap back from him, but Johnathan continued to narrow the gap regardless. Unfortunately for Grace, a superhuman burst of speed did not give her a superhuman sense of direction. Between her panic and the dim lighting, she soon found herself backed against a wall.
Jonathan lumbered forward, a hand outstretched, ready to claim his beloved Christine. Grace braced herself for a struggle to escape...and then, suddenly, light seemed to overcome the man. The Toreador covered her eyes with her arm and, when the light finally faded, she looked down to see the man had been reduced to a smoking pile of dust.
"What the hell?" Grace stared.
"Guess again." A feminine voice got Grace's attention. She hadn't heard it in some nights, but she was able to identify it immediately.
". . .Primogen Brook?"
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