Meet Me At St Louis
The lamentazioni came across the night air, a peasant song filled with deep sorrow and regret at the lost world destroyed by the land lords. Salvatore fills his glass, reflecting that the Volstead act thankfully allowed ‘sacramental’ wine, ‘hic est enim calix sanguines mei’ has a hollow ring to it these days. His mind returns to the court, and to the bottle of blood put in front of him by another of his ‘kind’.
Acutely aware that his actions would be his own in a few hours, Salvatore had nodded at Caitlin as he entered the Lackadaisical Cafe, he showed his lapel badge at the door, apparently marking him as a member of the court. Salvo briefly wondered if they gave out decoder rings like the one Edward had been proudly waved at him from the stoop as he left for the event. He moved into the speakeasy, quickly noting a number of kindred in the bar, despite their attempts to blend in.
He is taken aback to realise he recognises two of those here, the first is a woman he had previously arrested and the second is the owner of a dingy speakeasy, called the black blind-meat or something equally preposterous. Weaving through the crowd, he makes his way to the bar, only to be stuck speaking to a curmudgeon imitating the ‘Oldest Member’, after complaining about the drinks on the menu he orders a French red. The bottle that appears contains someone’s blood, a woman he thinks, and he moves around the room wondering what else is here.
will insert any extra background on blood & dude here
The court itself was dull as Mitnick and Caitlin had warned him. Kindred congregated into smaller groups, clearly trading information, favours and these boons. He recognises Doyle, the one who confirmed the chalice he’d drank from contained a number of bloods. Seven names at least, although he felt he owed nothing to the Brujah, Tremere or Ventrue who’d actively participated, and by extension to their clan generally. The casual way these fiends toyed with humans, traded lives, destroyed dreams and good men disgusted him. His fingers go to the St Michael’s medal, his thoughts to St Sebastian, martyred by arrows on the orders of a decadent tyrant. He wondered also what the Nosferatu who’s blood he carried had done to make others convinced she would react violently to his creation.
Looking around the room, he can’t banish from his mind the thought that any of them could fall on Eddy, or someone like him, and he realises he wants little to do with them or their so called court. As they prattle on about domain and tradition, he begins to realise a way he may be able to avoid this. The Prince calls the newcomers to his court to give an account of themselves. Salvo looks at Caitlin before he moves up.
“I understand my actions are now my own, Prince, and do not reflect upon Caitlin?” he nods assent “In that case I would ask why I must join your court, my current circumstance is not of my choosing.” The Prince’s words are measured, reminding Salvo that his embrace came too close to being one of the Sabbat, and that he must be monitored to ensure my compliance with this Camarilla’s rules. “In that case, given the abuses already heaped upon me by members of this court, I would request that for the duration of this probation, I am left alone by the other members of the court. I would ask that I be granted the area of the ‘"Hill":https://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=the+hill+st+louis&hnear=The+Hill,+St+Louis,+St+Louis+County,United+States&gl=uk&t=m&z=15’ as my domain.”
The Prince acquiesces to his request, and I step back to the shadows glad that I have achieved some degree of protection for my people.
To judge by the sneers of other kindred, holding it will be another matter.
The Prince, through Doyle, then requests that we go look for the jam in his alcohol supply. Discrete enquiries confirmed that a general stop to supply had occurred, without it necessarily going elsewhere. The Brujah ghoul that had gone north, and had his ass handed to him was as thick as manure, and only half as useful. What was clear, there was no accident that the alcohol had stopped. There was something or someone attacking the suppliers in the swamps. From others in the court, we were advised that these were the domain of gangrel, one called Willy Moon.
The group set out into the swamps, careful to mark that they were coming for the Gangrel, and considered what was coming next.