Logs:August Kindred Court
August Kindred Court
|Characters:||Pan Kinsey Prosper Aurelie Salazar Wojciech Cyrille Mingzhu Raimon Ghandara Fen Gio Damas Winter|
|Summary:||Kindred Court, what could possibly go wrong?|
From the ceiling hang ribbons of crimson and black silk, a highwire crosses the length of the building, a gilded trapeze glistens in the low light. The lighting in and of itself is something to behold as it seems candles and candleabras hang in midair providing the warm golden glow the room is bathed in.
To the right of the door is a long bar running of mahogany and brass, lined with red velvet cushioned stools. To the left is a large stage with a white and red curtain, reminiscent of the big top tents of old, and on the stage is a long thick wooden table set with a chair for each Primogen. Before the stage are several groupings of tables with plush seating.
Winter herself stands at the door greeting all who enter with a smile. A black corset molds her willowly form into a waspish hourglass, a full white tutu floats around her long alabaster legs, the hem coming to her mid-thigh. Black and white striped tight color her long legs and seem to make the impossible lengths even more astonishing before the tuck into black laced up ankle boots. Flowing loose waves of colorless hair spill from beneath a black top hat and sweep the drawn curve of her waist, her lavender eyes framed in a bright blood red, her full lips painted in the same. The Primogen are directed to the stage, while everyone else is offered a comfortable seat in front of it.
Entering the warehouse as perhaps the first arrival is the Changeling Primogen, arriving at exactly the hour and minute specified. Maybe even to the second, too. Mingzhu is dressed in a sharp power suit with a masculine cut, bright white with faint grey pinstripes. Informal? No, she doesn't do informal.
Given the moon is almost full, her skin is a pale silver-grey, and as always her eyes and hair are bright white too. The faint silver glow that surrounds her is slowly dimmed down to non-existence as she steps up onto the stage and takes the seat reserved for her, checking her phone one last time before switching the device off and resting it on her lap.
Effort is made to be sitting at the back of the class. Fen is here... because... well... She feels in spite of all urges otherwise she's obligated to be here. Who is Fen? Young Gangrel, apparently. A teenaged embrace, pink hair and an eyepatch. Faux-vintage SLAYER concert tee over jean shorts, sneakers. Did not dress for the occasion, clearly, and trying to not feel all the more conspicuous for it. Does she have a keeper of some sort? No, she's alone and a little on edge. Back of the class.
Not too far behind the other entrants, the dynamic duo of Salazar Correa and his sidekick Wojciech Koziol make their own entrance. Decked out in his traditional attire, Sal has apparently discovered a washing machine as all of his clothes are neat and tidy. He's all grins and teeth, doing his absolute best not to flip the heck out at all the alien beasts he's prepared to meet this evening. He doesn't at all, let his mind wander to the events that happened not too far from here only a few nights ago.
Nicolo slips in, not early, not late, but in time, and addresses the hostess of the night. "Primogen White -- thank you for hosting the festivities this evening. What a gorgeous space you've created." He keeps moving on though, so as not to hold up the other court attendees who are entering, and heads straight for the primogen area. The inquisitor comes in black jeans, a black shirt and a black jacket, appearing quiet and laid back as he takes a seat and patiently waits for things to get under way.
There are lots of vampires in this room. More than just the ones with names, there are at least a few vampires from every Covenant, the rank and file who don't typically make a name for themselves or stick in anyone's mind.
Conquista del Pan is, however, rather easy to spot and difficult to ignore. While not dressed in a powersuit or a corset, Pan's full-body black leather with a rose pattern on the back and arms likely -cost- just as much, the artwork done in intricate hand-stitched patterns and the leather itself black and glossy and striking, soft and supple to the touch if one were to attempt such a thing. Pan is seated on one of the chairs up on stage, slumped slightly off to the left, elbow on the arm of the chair and chin braced on their fist as they watch people filter in. They hold the butt of a metal baseball bat in their right hand, the thicker end braced against the floor, fingers curled around it. The bat has bands of different colored metals, what looks like steel, black iron, and silver on the thicker end. It is etched with the words: THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS. They look, if we're being honest, like a genderqueer modern imagining of a Conan book cover.
This is the sort of event you either show up for when few people are coming through the door, wearing your best, or you show up with the crowd and hope to blend into it so as to avoid the uncomfortable task of potentially shaking hands. Guess which sort Damas is. The black-clad crow of a man arrives with a few others, making sure to flow in behind the flashiest - Pan will do. The hands stay in the pockets, the host gets a pleasant nod, and Damas lurks his way to the back of the room to find some convenient shadow to stand in, not too close to anything potentially flammable.
Woj, who has no idea he's a sidekick, is not quite so neat and tidy, although he /is/ decked out. He spent some time at the Emporium and found himself a flapper-styled dress with an orange zipper down the front that is covered with downy cobalt blue feathers. It flares a bit at the knee and stassles skirt the mid-calf hem. It's hiddeous. Yet, at the same time, he seems rather proud of it. He's even combed his hair, he's wearing real shoes. A myriad of different styled tattoos show where the dress doesn't cover (which is too much and not enough at the same time). He wears a pair of yellow start-shaped sunglasses.
The man in the atrocity looks around a moment, taking it all in as if it's the first time he's ever even /been/ to court. It's not, but it might be the first time he remembers it. He wraps an arm around Sal's until he's deposited in a seat. He looks back and forth, to see who his neighbours are, and offer a smile, and his hand, and he'd probably start up conversation if he weren't so distracted by everyone else. So many people, so much excitement in the air - he's rapt.
Raimon might as well be one of those vampires without names. The rather reserved gunsmith hasn't been out in the larger vampiric social circles much at all since arriving in New Orleans months before, but here his is now. He arrived early, looking more rumpled than a Daeva probably should and not in the artistic 'this is a style' way. More like, I slept in the these clothes way. At least the trousers appear to be linen to deal with the heat, though that just makes the wrinkles show all the more. He had arrived a little early, staking a claim to a folding chair and reading a paperback book which now that the crowd is assembled, he tucks into his pocket and glances around. Ready for whatever to start.
Upon entering the warehouse Kinsey's eyes lift upwards to the ribbons suspended from the ceiling, the trapeze and the glint of a narrow highwire running from one side to the other. Her nose scrunches slightly. The short skater is dressed her freshly patched black leather jacket with the intricate rose embroidery along the back and sleeves. Under it? A zippered purple hoodie, loose jeans and black Converse with white laces. She has a leash in her right hand at the other end of which is the bulky, muscled form of a blue and white Staffordshire Terrier that anyone with the proper senses could pick out as a ghoul. The canine seems to eye the occupants while trotting along at Kinsey's side. The waifish girl's brown eyes briefly land upon her sire seated on the stage and she offers them a wink before plopping her ass down in one of the offered seats. "Lucy, sit," she murmurs to the cute puppy-faced Pibble who promptly sits down and rests her chin on Kinsey's knee.
Court. Isn't this a treat? Henry Jacob Prosper, in service and company with Primogen Aurelie Fontenot, looks about as tired and self assured as a long lived Ghoul often does. Dressed to kill, the clothes horse cuts a striking image of severe street professionalism in a black leather ensemble that's shockingly similar to a few others that may have also adopted. A large briefcase in a gloved hand, the Savage Vitae addict gives the Door Ghoul a knowing nod of solidarity before a polite smile and greeting to Winter for setting the figurative and literal stage for them all. He lingers a moment at the threshold. Waiting for his Coterie mates to catch up and filter in before he follows, Prosper gives the place a customary once over of tried and true paranoia. Appeased, he soon found himself gravitating toward Pan, Kinsey and where the rest of the Roses on the Table would likely convene before taking more appropriate seating. "Looks like a mash up of Blade Trinity and the first dinner at Hogwarts. Nailed it, right?" He says before setting the briefcase beside his booted feet. "Nice bat. That an Easton?"
Jean-Cyrille LainÃ© may not be precisely on time, but he finally makes his way to the event. The Defiant Acolyte's dressed cassually for the evening in a Hawaiian shirt, linen pants, and sandles that clap everytime they hit the bottom of his foot as he moves. To those around he gives the usual nod and wave, but primarily spends his time looking for a seat. When he does find someone to park his backside his gaze lands on the Wojciech, and he can't help but to give a bit of silent applause.
Mingzhu sits back slightly in her seat on the stage, turning a small smile towards Pan, eyeing their baseball bat with mild curiosity but dismissing it after a moment. Her white-eyed gazes skims out over the growing throng, pausing on a few colourful sorts - Wojciech, Cyrille, and so forth, though she manages to keep a neutral expression despite witnessing horrific crimes against fashion.
Ghandara lurks. It's what haunts do. Even magnificently statuesque ones who might, other times, be considered eye-catching. Among this crowd, it's easier to let the others draw attention while she, in a flowing dress sheer black trimmed in ghostly white floral lace, keeps quiet and... not quite entirely still. Not until she's taken up her spot among the council and can resume playing perfectly inhuman.
When Kinsey and Prosper take up spots near the stage where Pan sits, the demeanor of the Carthian Primogen lightens -considerably-, from a sort of brooding quiet to a more comfortable, amused warmth. "It's custom work," they say in response to Prosper's question about the bat. "Same guy who made your guns. The other metals are only a sheath around an osmium core." Which makes that a -heavy-, very expensive baseball bat. Mjolnir Slugger. From between Pan's legs, rubbing against their calf, a black cat with -purple- eyes (does Pan make their cat wear fucking contacts) slinks out to drape themself across one of Pan's booted feet while peering balefully at Kinsey's dog.
Having deposited Woj in/around/on a seat, Sal moves off to find himself nearish to Fen. Gangrel 'too cool for this shit' solidarity indeed. No words are exchanged, but a light nod is offered as he pulls a book out from one of his cargo pants' large pockets. 'Political Manoeuvring for Dummies.'
Aurelie arrives with her clothes horse of a ghoul. She's resplendent in a gown of garnet silk with long, fitted sleeves that drapes off of the shoulder and defies gravity with a plunging neckline that opens in a V to the middle of her torso. The skirt of the gown is voluminous and full, flaring from that second-skin of a fitted bodice -- split up the front to the hip. The skirt flourishes around the pale alabaster of legs that don't stop, delicate strappy red heels on her feet as they flash with each confident step along with Prosper. "I don't know, I feel like I'm about to ballroom dance like my life depends on it to save the recreation center in this getup and I love it," whispers Aurelie to Prosper as she enters -- catching sight of Pan and Kinsey, petting the small Daeva's dog before she heads up onto the stage with the rest of the Primogen. The cheeky Gangrel looks out to the crowd, raising her hand in a perfectly cupped beauty queen wave complete with plastic, playful pageant smile before she perches beside Pan.
The bat Pan carries around like a Cartier accessorie is given the quick arch of a snowy brow, But Winter lets it slide it seems. A smile for Salazar and then a second look at Wojciech when he arrives, "Bravo.", she murmurs to her fellow Freak. Prosper and Aurelie are given smiles and a nod as they arrive, and then a cold finger runs down Winter's back as Ghandara arrives. A shiver from the Daeva, while unusual, has to be forgiven in the presence of the Haunt, when it seems all who are going to arrive have done so she closes the door, her ghoul remaining to stand guard at it.
Winter makes her way toward the stage and steps up onto it. "If everyone will take a seat we can get started.", her voice airy and delicate yet it would reach the very back of this cavernous building. The pale Winter watches until the crowd seems to have found their comfortable positions, and the Primogen have joined her at the table.
"Thank you all for coming. For those of you I have not had the pleasure of meeting, I am Lady Winter White, Primogen for the Daeva of this fine city. We will be first addressing the current business at hand, namely the positions left open on both the council and in the Praxis. We are in need of a member of the First Estate to step up and fill the vacancy left by Alder Marcus Perperna. We also seem to have misplaced a Sheriff and a Harpy.", she clucks her tongue softly. Pulling out her own seat at the table and sinking into it, "Please remember that with the loss of our previous Sheriff, the Regas is no longer an established Elysium, we should all refrain from treating it as such. Now, the Council would be more than happy to hear from someone willing to step into those positions as well. Or perhaps nominations from the Praxis for such fine upstanding members who would fit the bill. Is there anyone present who would like to throw your hat in for any of these voids in our structure?"
Wojciech, deposited, takes time to look around. To see who's pairing up with who. To see who's happy to be here, who's not, who have what kind of outfits. He's pretty happy just lounging back in his seat and watching. He even kicks his feet up, which is not good for anyybody who looks back at him because they get a bit of a view. But, oddly enough, he actually seems to be listening. Maybe it was the mention of Daeva, or the fact that Winter's speaking.
At the mention of the Sheriff, he leans over to whoever is close by, if anyone. "What happened to the Sheriff? Murderclown? Psychopathic child?? Just guesses." If no one's close, he just pats the air nicely and looks back at the show.
Besides a faint upnod for Salazar, Fen is just going to quietly pretend to be invisible. Everyone here seems to be so much... /more/... so going to play it low key. Doublecheck that her phone is set silent.
While Woj's question may have been facetious, there is a quiet voice that pipes up, "He began messing with that which was beyond his reach. Hear an angel killed his coterie mate. Probably him as well..." Raimon may have been pretty reserved, but the Invictus does apparently know the rumors of where some bodies are buried.
Her eyes drift down to Lucy whom Kinsey begins to scratch behind her ears and stroke her thumb lovingly down the center of the Pibble's forehead. The dog's eyes half shut in that goofy heaven sort of face while Kinsey briefly looks back up to Winter and gathered primogen as the pale woman speaks then subtly wander across her fellow kindred, noting first Woj leaning over to whisper.
After a few moments Kinsey pipes up, "Listen I don't know shit about being a sheriff but if Nikola was keeping the vampire hunters stalking havens and the fuck off crazy feral kids and creeper candy van guys in dark alleyways at bay then we definitely need one," she shrugs. "I don't have any intention of going swimming in the Mississippi again because of some assholes playing vampire hunter. Only three people had the balls to go after those crazy assholes in the alleyway. My sire, me and Hedda.. who.. isn't here. So."
Winter watches the subtle cues of those gathered, a snowy brow arches when Kinsey speaks up though and her blood red lips purse together. "I am very sympathetic to your situation, but let us not call into question the state of anyone's testicles based on such an event. I assure that not all of the Praxis was made aware of what happened to you. Had it been known I believe more would have come to aid."
"The night's still young, darlin'. May just save that Rec Center yet. We'll play it close to the leather." Prosper whispers back to Aurelie with a sliver of a little smile on his face. Even patting his chest for emphasis. An upnod to Kinsey gets the newly dead Daeva a conspiratorial wink. Her first Court! A shoulder bumps to Pan's briefly as he watches Aurelie take the stage. Eyes on her like they were sewn to the woman's back. "Custom ain't regulation, Primogen. Gotta watch that in play." HE says with a light chuckle before taking a place of his own at stage right. Briefcase sat down once more before his hands clasp loose infront of him.
The topics on the docket get Prosper to again regard Kinsey when she speaks up. Almost expectant before he addresses the audience with that Georgian drawl. "Kinsey ain't saying anything you all don't already know for the most part. She's got a solid jump on the talent... I say give her a shot at the badge. You find somebody that can take her down a peg, I'd like to meet 'em." Bold of a Ghoul to speak up in Court for a nomination of his own Coterie mate? A tad.
"I might be dumb as a bag of hammers," Sal says as he leans forward, not to loom but to be better heard by the group. He is very intentionally not trying to be intimidating. "But I could've sworn Woj and I were there too." He pauses and shrugs, "Unless you're talkin' about some other event that nobody fuckin' heard about?" He places a hand on the table, "The main problem we've got is there ain't much communication. We don't know squat about what's goin on most of the time. Relyin' on rumour only gets us so much."
"An angel killed him," Pan says, confirming Raimon's statement to Wojciech. "An angel sent him a video of his coteriemate being murdered, and he went looking for her, and was killed himself. The angel had a plan to destroy the city by enacting a grand ritual involving some kind of...fetal blood creature. The Carthian Movement has ensured that the creature who killed at least two members of this Praxis and who murdered countless mortals with exsanguinations, drawing attention to us and threatening the Masquerade, is dead, via our mortal connections to the cult known as the Black Constables. As my childe says, while I am -heartened- to see a room more full of the Kindred and our associates than I have seen in more than a year, and -certainly- more than since the murder of six of our more prominent members last December, the city is -not- in a safe state of stability. There are rogue vampires who are a danger to us all roaming the streets, violating the Masquerade, and entering frenzy at the drop of a hat. There are organized teams of hunters tracking us down in our havens. There are vampires from other domains setting up strongholds in areas just outside our metropolitan area to target Kindred in the city. We -need- a sheriff. It should not fall to the newest among us to shoulder this responsibility, although I'd like to say that Kinsey has done -admirably- in her service to the Movement and the Praxis."
A sidelong look is shot to Winter, an eyebrow arched, then Pan turns their gaze toward Sal. "I think, Mr. Correa, that my childe was suggesting you stood back and waited until you were specifically targeted. Then killed a child two on one rather than subdue her, while everyone else was pro-active in joining the frey and took prisoners to be questioned. Unless you have a different accounting of the events."
Winter's chastisement over her choice of words is met with a slight shrug of the youngest vampire's shoulders. She'd not been 'raised' to not speak her mind and a single withering look from Effie Trinket wasn't going to stop that. She was all on board with Prosper's backup though the suggestion she fill the role was met with a subtle arch of the young skater's brow. When Sal says his bit Kinsey leans back and turns her head to look his way. "Nah, same incident," she says. "You all were there. So busy staring at my sire's ass that Susie Preschool nearly ate your faces off."
Wojciech's gaze looks from group to group, person to person. He kicks his feet up on the table. He's content just being watched, being forgotten about. Even with his horrible yet fantastic outfcit - which he will again draw attention to once he's ready. In the meantime, he's actually watching, and listening. When Sal speaks, he's laughs, sitting forward. "Oh, yes, it was a total fucking shit-show!" He speaks with an eastern European accent (Polish, actually). "It was out of hand, then that one," he motions at Pan, "had them settling down but then they /blew/ the fuck up and attacked and were eventually subdued and... well, surpisingly minimal damages were done and that's why I think /he/," he turns and points at Sal dramatically, "should be the Sheriff." He smiles at the man like "yeah I know you would hate this but it is what it is".
As the the talk about angels, Woj quiets, mulling it over. After a moment, he shakes his head and replies, "Wild. I didn't even know angels existed. That's... Well, I still support what I say about Sal here, bummer for those... " He waves a hand and flops back in to his seat to think about things.
"There's more things in heaven and earth, than dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio," Raimon might be butchering the quote but it's only been a couple decades since he last read Hamlet. As for Pan's suggestion that their child not be forced into such a position of responsiblity immediately, he gives a shrug. "If she's so promising, perhaps Hound would be the right position for her... if there is anybody willing to agree to be Sheriff to then appoint Hounds. On the job experience is the best experience, right?" And with the rate New Orleans has been going through Sheriffs, whoever the new guy or gal ends up being will certainly need all the help they can get.
Aurelie stands up then with a flourish; sitting too long isn't her thing. The leggy redhead looks out to the crowd with bright, seaglass green eyes -- letting them tick over each face, taking in the measure of each Kindred and Ghoul in kind. She speaks up then, her voice projecting out -- a trained public orator it seemed when she was called to work. "I would like to address the Kindred of this Praxis as both a neighbor and a leader who knows that we all love nothin' more than to be safe. Now.. if I have to put on heels and a pretty dress and come do my civic duty, then one of you who is worth a damn is going to step up and do their part. Will it be Kinsey? She is lovely but she's still green. Are y'all really going to let this sweet innocent child who has barely passed her first meal from her body be the one to shoulder the responsibility of Sheriff?" Aurelie lets that question hang in the air, eyebrow raised as she peers at the crowd.
Winter waits silently then as the discussion continues, her lavender gaze shifting toward Prosper when he makes that bold nomination and then her attention shifts back to the crowd. The moonlight pale woman's expression is non-descript, void of any new emotion she may have over the nominations being thrown around though she does look toward Salazar when Wojciech makes another bold suggestion. That sideeye from Pan gets a faint roll of a shoulder, "I agree with Primogen Pan, Sheriff is no position for a newly embraced Kindred, no matter how skilled she has thus far shown herself to be." When Aurelie rises and speaks so gracefull, Winter simply nods and then her gaze returns to the crowd, "Will no one step forward to take up the mantle of Sheriff? Communication may be lacking, it's true, but that too is often the responsibility of the Sheriff to keep us abreast of the threats. This position cannot go on empty."
Maybe Prosper was being a dick by pushing Kinsey at the Sheriffs vacated position. Maybe he was motivating a crowd of old immortals and an extra dimensional lunar lady to make some moves. He doesn't say more on the nomination of either Vampire. Aurelie's stand both physical and political brought an unguarded smile to his face. Which he covers with a cough behind a gloved fist. Mention of experience weighing over ability does get him to chime in. "I'm not wearing a badge. I don't care if I got half you beat on birthdays or not." He says with a gruff tone.
"That's a stupid fuckin' suggestion," Sal says, pointing a finger at Woj, "Brave, but fuckin' stupid." To Pan and Kinsey, though, he just shrugs, "Don' get me wrong, I like you both. I do. But that's the weirdest fuckin' reading of a situation. Still, this ain't about my ego so think what you will." He shrugs again, "I'll work with whoever steps up, but it sure ain't gonna be me wearin' the fuckin' target."An' for the record? I was starin' at their face."
Her shoulders straighten somewhat between her sire's praise followed by Aurelie's equally eloquent statement. The girl's eyes shift to Raimon at the suggestion she become a hound and Kinsey lets out a snerk. "Hey I'm not scared to be muscle but I'm not gonna be a Hound for someone I don't trust," she says, letting that linger. After Winter polls those gathered yet again Kinsey shrugs her shoulders. "Fuck it then, I'm going hunting for vampire hunters anyway, Sheriff or not," she says. Her eyes roll at that last little comment thrown out there and she puts her back to Sal. "Through their colon."
Gio slips into Winter's warehouse like a shadow, moving with a familiarity of the environs. Dressed head to foot in matte black; a jacket over a simple buttondown and sleek matching trousers, the epicene Haunt finds a convenient place to simply linger and observe, though those black pools he has for eyes do seem to be searching out a familiar face.
"I'll neither block nor support nominations for sheriff. I already condemned two of my closest friends and allies to death by placing them into positions of authority. It is someone else's turn to take -that- job on, and decide whether Mr. Correa possesses testicles or not. I've no need nor desire to judge such a thing. I will say that -as Ms. Braddock's sire-, she is an unreleased fledgling, and if my coterie-mate Primogen Fortenot means to nominate her to this position, that she should take into account that it would give me considerably power over law enforcement of the Praxis. No more than, say, when the Primogen of the Invictus nominated her -husband-, who proceeded to do nothing, until the threat of a sex scandal drove both from the city. But to be considered nonetheless. Mr. Carrea does not seem to want the job, but I will remind the Council that we are not -absolutely- required to take his consent into mind. Nor Ms. Braddock's. We can appoint them and leverage whatever pressure we feel necessary and justified to compel them. Even Mr. Prosper, here, who seems to have not-it'ed before anyone could look his way." Pan leans forward, shifting their baseball bat to between their knees and resting their weight on it to peer down the stage at Mingzhu, then the other way at Ghandara, at Nicolo. "Does anyone know anyone who -wants- the damn job? What about that former Hound, uh. The bottle blonde girl with all the zip ties, the Hispanic face and the viking name. Hell, I don't care if we appoint one of the mortal Hounds Nikola was collecting, as long as it's someone willing and competent who I don't care about dying."
At Sal's last words, and Kinsey's retort, Pan smirks but makes no comment.
Wojciech looks around at the other Kindred. One to the other. And another, and another. He listens to all the talk going on, even after he suggested a suggestion. Finally, he's standing up. He sways a little. He looks around the room and speaks. And he's actually a pretty good speaker - circus works makes him understand projection. "Hey! Okay, guys, simple task. You choose a Sheriff. It's pretty much agreed on that it shouldn't be the kid. Common sense. So, you need to nominate someone. Because, right now I am applying for the position. And I really, really, really hate this lack of decisiveness. So c'mon."
He looks around, still dressed atrociously, and a very, very bad example. Yet he does have the guts to show up, and to speak up now. He looks around again, "Well? Vote for the one in the suit or vote for me, I don't care, just fucking vote. And, no offense to you," he nods to Kinsey, "but it should be someone who's been around the block a time or two." He looks around, then shrugs. "Or do whatever."
"So someone else should wear that target for you?" Aurelie inquires of Salazar, her red head tilting -- her bright eyes lit up with challenge. She doesn't seem like she's trying to intimidate but she is locking eyes with the other Gangrel -- one neat, red brow quirking. "Someone else should put their ass on the line so you don't have to?" Aurelie snorts, folding her arms imperiously. She tosses a side long glance at Pan, her expression grim. "I didn't wake up from a forty year nap to be a Primogen in a Praxis full of YELLA BELLIED CHICKEN SHITS who would put the responsibility of protecting this Praxis on the shoulders of an actual baby or a Ghoul." Aurelie's voice projects to the room on those four coward describing adjectives before softening into sweetness again. She then looks over at Wojciech and her jaw sets -- eyes narrowed as he applies. She sits then, crossing her legs.. confident that Kinsey's not going to end up on the Sheriff block.
There's no hiding the look of frustration and disappointment on Winter's face when Salazar so blatantly turns down that nomination. As once again Aurelie speaks ever so eloquently, Winter dips her hide to hide the smirk that plays across her lips, but Wojciech's curious statement pulls her head back up. "Well, finally, a candidate who will willingly take some responsibility. Does anyone have any reason to object to Wojciech taking the position of Sheriff?", her tone holds a cold razor's edge as if it will cut anyone who would speak out against it.
"Exactly," Sal says, nodding towards Aurelie, "Someone with the actual skill to deal with havin' a target, rather than someone that'll die from incompetence." His voice is even, calm. But that is mostly a lie. "I ain't good enough to be Sheriff. You may as well appoint a fish to be in charge of birds." He slams his hand down on the table, now, and shakes his head, "It ain't about bein' a coward. It's about knowin' I ain't good enough for the job, so I don't wanna do it an' fuck it up. Better a baby with skill than a fuckwit with an ego."
Ghandara murmurs a soft, "No," when the question is posed about knowing anyone who wants the job, her lips pursing thereafter. Briefly, as her gaze drifts over somebody among those gathered, she smiles. Elsewise, the Nosferatu primogen leaves the debate to those already engaged.
Mingzhu sits quietly, listening and observing. Though she holds the rank of Primogen, she is reserved, feeling that it's not her place - given she isn't a Vampire - to make any kind of judgement call about who should hold what roles.
All of the talking draws Jean-Cyrille's attention here, there, and everywhere. Pan's rather vibrant vocubalary has the Gangrel blinking several times over in surprise, and he has to fan himself. Salazar's nomination draws his full attention until more is added by the others. When Wint's question comes he shakes his head until Salazar's rebuttal comes. Then he lifts his hand, and clears his throat a few times. Likely a few times too many. "I'll do it," he flatly says with slight growl.
There's a low wuff from the dog resting her muzzle on Kinsey's knee. She looks amused as Aurelie calls everyone else out and then leans forward as both hands scratch and rub along the dog's neck and she smooches Lucy's nose. As Woj applies for the position Kinsey looks over her shoulder at him with mild interest. She doesn't appear bothered by what he's said. In fact she shrugs her shoulders, having never outright applied for the position anyway; she'd only merely illustrated the need for it. "No offense taken," she says, "but I think some of my Carthian brothers and sisters would probably take offense to it."
"Mr. Wojciech. Perhaps you should not accuse the Primogen Council of indecisiveness because they haven't selected a sheriff -after fifteen seconds of discussion-. In general, appointments like this are not made on the spot but rather discussed amongst ourselves in private when they are not raw nepotism. The reason to -tell the Praxis- that we need a sheriff in a public forum like this is not to solicit insults but to -ask y'all to fucking volunteer-, because I've been -saying for a very fucking long time- that we need a sheriff and none of you have spoken the fuck up." There's is a cold tension in Conquista del Pan's voice. "I am -attempting- to not disparage you and Mr. Correa too badly in front of the entire domain both out of general respect for -any- Kindred and out of a desire not to disparage my own fucking Covenant, but I -also- found the behavior of the two of you in a combat situation fucking disgraceful. Sit down and be quiet. -Please-. Your self-nomination will surely be considered. -If- anyone wants to be sheriff? Please fucking tell your Primogen. If you know someone who should be sheriff? Tell them to tell their Primogen. Tell -your- Primogen. Unless it's me. Then tell your -other- Primogen. Preferably -not- while insulting them and making demands."
When Cyrille volunteers, Pan gestures at him vaguely with the bat. "There, see, you. Tell someone who cares your name. Lady White, are we done with the official sitting on stage part of this night and on to general social mixing and insulting one another more quietly and less publicly?"
Down on Pan's boot, the cat (whose name is Lamashtu) streeeeeetches, then rolls onto her back. She's still staring at Kinsey's dog.
From the far side of the stage comes a low, quickly cut off but not soon enough laugh from Prosper as his Regnant called out the room in one fell swoop. He clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his jacket zipper. Shiny. New. Still has that clicky feel as it goes up and down the teeth. So very interesting. A dark eyebrow hoists upward and his attention is brought back to the debate once more when a growling voice throws in to the pile. "Look at that. Got one that doesn't look homeless or made of paper mache."
As Pan reprimands Wojciech, Winter remains silent, her gaze drawn toward Cyrille when he too volunteers for the position and the Daeva seems to suddenly release a weight from her shoulders. A nod toward him, in gratitude and then she turns to Pan. "We have two volunteers for Sherif, I would like to once again remind you all that we are in need of a new Harpy and an Invictus Primogen. Beyond that unless there is new business by anyone?", she looks up and down the Council table. "If not then yes, we can conclude the business part of the evening."
"Come talk to me after Court," Aurelie informs Cyrille. Her demeanor changes -- lightening a bit. Aurelie's eyes find Prosper and she gives him a little wink before going back to the business of preening her hand through her hair -- tucking it behind her ear before she stands up before Winter even finishes the word conclude to head off of the stage, holding the vivid garnet skirt of her dress as she descends.
Wojciech looks at Pan for a moment. At first, he's nodding. He agreed. He doesn't want any position, but he's trying to move things forward. He feared a newly embraced Sheriff wouldn't be best, simple. And he fully expected to not be chosen. But when Pan mentions he and Sal being /disgraceful/ in combat, his whole demeanor changes. He tenses, his feet coming down. He stands, looking back at Pan.
"/We/ ended a threat." A pause, then, "I need to run. You know where to find me, but right now, you have bigger things to worry about." At Winter's words, he waves a hand, "Hey, hey! No, I don't want it! I was just making a point!. Carry on." He then nods to Pan with a smile and starts making his way out.
Raising his hand a little, Sal stands, "Yeah, I have some news actually." He glances around, ensuring that he's not going to have his testicles questioned for the moment, and continues, "There's a new drug floating about down south, goin' by the name 'Red Tide' or 'Red Wash'. Normally not really our concern, but there's a rumour floatin' about that it causes problems for us. I don' know much yet, hard gettin' news from down there. But it might be worth watchin' for."
Seemingly satisfied by the events of the evening Kinsey turns her attention to the dark, growly Gangrel that stepped up to volunteer with some weight behind their voice. The waif-ish skater gives Cyrille a nod of respect and a casual, fun two fingered wave his way. Kinsey offers everyone on stage a bright smile as praxis business is announced as concluded. The girl stands up and pats her thighs prompting Lucy to bounce up and wuff, offering both her paws which Kinsey takes for a moment. The dog briefly looks in the direction of Pan's cat as the youngest Daeva begins wandering toward her coterie mates, watching Woj's back as he retreats but having missed the exchange and his withdrawal from the position.
Cyrille's gaze flits to Aurelie when she calls his attention, and he gives her a nod. As Wojciech makes his exit his brows lift slightly. "If this does lead to my downfall, I at least hope it's something bombastic and exciting. Maybe with bombs and fireworks and a bald eagle flying somewhere." His attention shifts to Salazar for a few moments. "If this does get made official, I think I'll need to speak with you for a bit."
While everyone seems to be happy to end business, and quickly begins to rise and start to mingle, Winter turns her attention back to Salazar when he chimes in about some new threat. The Daeva looks positively exhausted already, "Do you have any information beyond that, Salazar?", but Aurelie has already made her exit and it seems. A nod at Cyrille's comment and then back to Sal, "We'll have the Sheriff get in touch with you once it has been ironed out." With that she rises from the table as well and immediately walks off the stage and heads toward the bar on the opposite side of the building.
Gio smiles towards Ghandara -- soft and closed-lipped, a comforting sort of smile. He remains where he is, though he does occasionally flit his gaze towards Winter, observing as she runs proceedings. Managing a circus is something she's no stranger to.
"Come on, Lam." Pan leans down and takes the purple-eyed cat by the scruff of the neck, and hauls her up (with a low warning growl) and places her on their shoulder (where she clings to their leather and embroidery) before hopping down off the stage to join the rest of their coterie. Voice pitched lower, the vampire leans in to murmur something into Kinsey's ear.
Seemingly satisfied with how things went, for whatever reason, Prosper digs his phone out of a pocket along with his cigarettes. Vampire senses be damned, they could hold their collective breaths. Rapid fire texting soon follows as Prosper waits for Aurelie to descend the stairs. Offering his arm when she touches the floor. The two make a casual retreat, Prosper texting one handed all the while. Cigarette pack under his arm. "Could have gone worse. Didn't end up like back in '53. So there's that." A light smile, a wink to Pan and Kinsey as he leads his Primogen and Regnant outside for some air.
As Pan leans in to whisper something to her Kinsey makes eye contact as she pulls back and nods her head. Brown eyes shift to Lam and she considers trying to boop the cat on the nose but thinks better of it. Her left hand slips into her jacket pocket while the right holds Lucy's leash. The Pibble sits calmly as Kinsey's heel and stares up at Lam, watching the feline on Pan's shoulder. When Prosper waves their way and begins to follow Aurelie out Kinsey lifts her hand his way, then she whispers something back to her sire.
Sitting himself back down, apparently quite content to remain where he is, Sal leans on back in his chair with his hands stuffed behind his head. Surprisingly chill in spite of everything said about and around him this evening. He doesn't seek anyone's attention, and is content to sit and muse for the moment."No one even died, so much better than 2019, too!" Pan calls out after Prosper. With the bat in one hand, they slide their other arm around Kinsey. "You wanna stay and mix or get the fuck out? Your call. You should meet Damas, maybe Mingzhu, if not now then some other time. Mingzhu's a changeling. Don't call her a fairy. Damas is the guy we're setting up that warehouse for. If you wanna learn to walk in the sun or turn on the beast at will he can help."