This here was just a little tale I tapped out the other night. The basic story is actually all from an online game group which I had been playing on. I felt it was an amusing enough plan to deserve a story and also it let me take Patricia and bring her into Detroit to interact with some of my other characters. I'm at the moment finishing up what is to be my first Hunter story and am also almost done proofing the next section of Fall of the Heroes, so all goes well in my limited universe. So sit back, grab some pasta, and let's see how Patricia gets the Giovanni for messing with the Sabbat by making them pay...
An Eye for an I: A Tale of Detroit
Cal Jericho stood at the abandoned bus stop on the outskirts of Detroit. A cool wind blew his long black ponytail loosely around him. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrorshades that reflected the flickering light of the nearby streetlamp. His arms were crossed over his chest, his black trench coat and black clothing causing him to appear almost like a pillar of shadow. His face was grim as he stared silently at the road that stretched away into the distance.
He finally spotted the bus he had been waiting for, the only bus that still ran a line through the winding back roads that reached from one abandoned dark stop to another. This particular bus would only have one passenger; a special templar, sent in direct from Mexico City itself. Cal Jericho watched as the bus pulled to a creaking and groaning stop. The windows were all coated in thick paint that prevented any light from getting through. The doors hissed open as three figures stepped out. Each of them were dressed in black. The largest of them carried a steamer trunk, the other large one carried two travel bags. The last was a thin and gaunt man with hawkish features and sunken eyes. Cal nodded in greeting to him.
A dark night, isn't it?
Our fires will brighten it soon enough, chimed a cheery voice from within the bus. Cal Jericho scowled as he heard the appropriate response to the password greeting. He stepped back and watched as the true templar climbed daintily out of the bus.
She was a few inches shorter the Jericho, which made her slightly taller then an average woman. Her face was flawless and beautiful, creamy skin and sapphire-like eyes were accented by sweeping cheekbones, a delicate nose, and an elegant jaw line. Her hair was kept in a slightly boyish cut, curling about her ears in dark wavy patterns. Her body just continued the glory of her face, all the curves and muscles were exactly where they should be. She wore a fleecy white sweater and white tights. Over them was a long white coat that hung down to her ankles. The high backed neck of the coat was lined with plush white ermine fur that nuzzled about her smiling face. She almost seemed to glow amongst the darkness of the night and the dark clothing of those around her.
I am Patricia March, you were sent to meet me. You are on time, as am I.
Her voice was strange and unearthly. It was musical and sweet, like one would expect from such a stunning face. Yet she spoke in a slightly stilted manner, putting small pauses where they didn't belong and throwing the musical symphony of her voice into a strange pitch. Her eyes also never seemed to blink as she just stared at him.
Hey, m'name's Cal, Cal Jericho. Yeah, I've been asked to escort you in.
Good. You may take my bag, thank you gentlemen, she smiled at the men holding her bags. Cal frowned as he reached out and took the luggage, easily hefting it onto his shoulders even as he cursed the indignity of it. I have been told that this is an ugly city. The Motor City. Patricia seemed to look around slowly. It is dark, as though in oil, like a motor would be. There is no lie in this city, unlike the York which though new is not an apple, even if it is big. You may take me to my rooms now, I want a balcony.
We got ya a spot in the main communal haven, said Jericho as he carried her gear over to the Cadillac he had borrowed for the job. Though we did get ya a room with a door.
A door? Ador? Odor? I hope it is a pretty smell in the room with no balcony.
Jericho loaded her bags up and opened the door for her. She climbed in happily and seemed to enjoy looking around the interior of the car. He walked back to the driver's seat and climbed in. Soon they were driving back towards Windsor. There should be plenty of time to get settled. Cooler and the council are meeting at midnight, so you can come to that.
One joined with one and one is a good enough time for many things. After all, it is the basis of the plan.
Jericho passed through one of the security checkpoints and made the appropriate gesture through the window as Patricia seemed to start admiring her nails. Normal humans would never know, but Windsor was heavily defended indeed. Hidden Sabbat kept a tight watch on all the roads, using auspex to sense out any vamparic intruders who dared to enter the stronghold of Sabbat activity near Detroit. Jericho glanced over at Patricia. So, you're here as some sorta political assassination expert, eh?
I have never harmed a political in my life, nor would I wish to. Patricia seemed to grin to herself as she finished admiring her nails and turned to look at him again. I have been sent to deal with the Giovanni who are pushing into the territory Cooler is supposed to defend and to deal with the police chief who is helping the Camarilla. I have been given a room with no balcony to accomplish this task, if I had some pictures all would be well.
Jericho decided to stop talking to her for the rest of the ride. Patricia seemed content with this decision.
Is she a fuckin' Malk and nobody told us?
Calm down, said Cooler with a frown as he glanced around the meeting room. Many of the other Sabbat dignitaries had glanced up at Jericho's outburst and were watching him curiously. Archbishop Micheal Cooler didn't like it when he seemed out of control or unaware of something. Thus he calmly took Jericho's arm and turned him away from the gathering. What are you talking about?
Look, Cooler, muttered Jericho as he pulled free from the large biker's grip. You know I don't like ya, and I know you don't like me. But you better believe me when I tell ya that ya might not want to just bring in this templar to talk to the others without figuring out why Mexico sent her in the first place.
What do you mean? Patricia March is a highly respected templar. From what I hear she's pulled off no less then twelve successful assassination plans within the last year. She's supposed to be a genius at tactics and counter-intelligence operations as well as being capable of doing much of the work herself.
Yeah? Is that between her time being a fashion plate and a total airhead?
Listen to me templar, sneered Cooler sharply, I don't know what you're on about, but Patricia March is one of the best. I've had my sire's own word on that.
Fuck your sire and fuck you too. Jericho turned away and stomped off towards his seat. Cooler shrugged as he too made his way towards his seat. He hadn't really expected that from Jericho, maybe the templar just felt some natural rivalry towards a new templar in town. Honestly Cooler had expected more resistance from the Black Hand when he had told them he was bringing in a specialist. However Anne Arbor, the local leader, was apparently sticking to being supportive of him in the aftermath of her part in the botched attempt to oust his power a few months ago. He nodded to one of his aides.
We're all here, show her in.
Patricia entered the room casually, looking around at the assembled leaders of the local Sabbat. Cooler noted that her clothing made her stick out like a shining light in a dark place, almost all eyes became riveted on her by the simple nature of her brightness. She seemed to smile at them, a small and gentle smile. Cooler stood up and bowed in greeting.
We are delighted to finally meet you, Patricia. I am Michael Cooler, Archbishop of Windsor.
I know who you are, she said with a slow nod. You are the man who has given me the room with no balcony, this makes me sad. I have been told that there is a one that you want dead. This was interesting, for in one for one it was obviously a mission for me to consider. But one cannot do so I talked to my dog Wuffles and became one. Therefore we developed a plan, it is a very good plan.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Could we hear the plan, finally asked one of the lesser pack leaders.
Yeah, tell im the plan, chuckled Jericho as he smirked at Cooler.
The plan requires a picture for it is one and one to destroy that does not work for you claim them as two and thus they don't even exist for me to destroy. However with another one they become one and one and one, which is indeed not a problem. You wouldn't mind if my plan weakened the Camarilla, would you? I could adjust it I suppose, but it seems too difficult.
There came another pause.
You're saying you can hurt the Camarilla besides just by removing the police chief, asked Cooler as he tried to follow the oddly rambling speech patterns. Patricia grinned at him as she crossed her arms and suddenly frowned.
I require pictures of the Giovanni, without pictures there can be no finalizing of the plan.
Cooler snapped his fingers. Some of the pictures your men took. The Black Hand commander stepped forward and produced a handful of pictures. She started to sort through them but Patricia reached out and grabbed the whole pile which she then spread out across the large conference table. Cooler and the others watched as Patricia cooed happily and crawled up onto the table as she slowly sifted through the pictures. Finally she picked one up with a grin.
Who is this, she asked as she turned the picture towards Cooler. He glanced at the slightly fuzzy photograph, obscured by the bodyguards swarming around the man climbing into his limousine.
that's Arrio Giovanni, one of their most influential members he-
No! He is not pretty! I mean the pretty one, right here. One long red fingernail taped at the picture, pointing at a large and fairly handsome bodyguard who stood off to one side.
I don't, Cooler looked up into her
unblinking blue eyes and wondered what she wanted to hear.
He's a bodyguard.
An official one?
Official one, not two, he is one that shall be one to kill the one. One and one as one, it is never two for two doesn't exist, or it can't for long. Of this I am sure. She sat up and kissed the picture happily. I need scissors. The cutting tool that is one and one for the one and one as one.
Cooler and the others watched her as she carefully cut the picture and mumbled to herself, constantly repeating various phrases about one'. Finally she pulled the section she had cut out away from the picture and kissed it gently. She slipped it into her white coat and nuzzled her face down into the thick ermine with a contented sigh.
I'm ready to return to my room now, the one without a balcony.
No sweat. Jericho stood up and walked over to escort her away, offering her his arm as she delicately stepped off the table. He spared a knowing look at Cooler with a noted I told you so' painted across his face. Cooler glanced back to the others who all sat around the table in silent confusion. Cooler motioned to Anne. The Black Hand commander walked over to him and leaned down.
Yes, sir?
Go use all your sources. Find out everything you can about that nutcase.
I want to go to a club!
Jericho glanced over at Patricia as she stepped out from behind the changing screen. Her outfit was the same design and look as her old one, only now all the colors were a gleaming rusty bronze. She seemed to sparkle as she walked forward and smiled innocently at him.
I want to par-tay. We must go to the club known as Insomnia.
That's Giovanni turf, and over by Detroit and the Camarilla in any case.
I want to go to a club so that I can swang my thang. She idly swept about, performing one motion of a gyrating dance before becoming motionless again, her eyes still staring at him. Jericho noted that every time she used a slang phrase her voice seemed to go flatter, as though she was just remembering something she had read. Or like someone simply inserting the appropriate phrase without properly getting the emotional message behind it. She smiled. I want the night life, even though at night I am dead.
Cooler didn't really want you wandering around.
I am not wandering, I know where I'm going.
Couldn't you go without me?
I could, but I do not drive well.
ah fuck, sure, why the hell not? Let's go clubbing.
I did not bring a club, she noted idly as she followed him out.
Never mind, he muttered.
She insisted that he use the car, as his bike wouldn't have room for the one and one as one. Honestly he was just as happy with that part of her plan as it meant that she wouldn't be sitting behind him with her hands wrapped around him. Who knew what ideas she might get?
He circled wide out onto back roads before trying to circle back in towards Detroit. He knew that crossing through the Camarilla security net would be risky. On the plus side they hardly seemed to think of themselves as an army, and more as individuals; thus security was more lax then the Sabbat perimeters. He chose the expressway, figuring they'd have a hard time spotting him entering through such a major roadway. It was another forty minutes of lousy city traffic before finally pulling up outside the nightclub. Patricia suddenly cooed and pointed to the crowd outside.
There he is, he is as pretty as I imagined. She glanced back to him. We must find an alley now. Soon Jericho had pulled into a nearby alley and left the car out of sight. Patricia looked around and nodded. It is a good spot. You shall wait here and be silent. I shall return soon and you will then also be silent. You shall once more react when I give you your next order.
She smiled innocently at him as she spun on one heel and sauntered out of the alley. Jericho stood there alone, the wind making haunting howls as it gusted through the alley occasionally. There would be a storm blowing up soon. He glanced once more in the direction Patricia had gone.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Ten minutes later he heard laughing sounds as a flirting couple approached. He snarled and prepared to maybe just jump out and beat the crap out of them for fun when he heard the voice.
You are so pretty, do you think I am pretty?
Hell yeah, baby, yer a doll.
No, I am a woman, noted Patricia carefully as she entered the alley. She was all over a large man who was lecherously eyeing her. Already her clothes had been somewhat disheveled, and the man's hand had slipped up under her sweater and was moving around excitedly. A flush of crimson was apparent on Patricia's face, and though it made Jericho feel a pang of lust and hunger he knew it was nothing more then a cunning color display; like a chameleon hunting insects. Patricia pulled the man against her as she backed up against a wall, her musically girlish voice suddenly sounding desperate. I want you inside me, I want to be inside you.
That sounds like it could be arranged, chuckled the man as he reached down and started to peel Patricia's tight pants off her toned ass. The man's hands greedily gripped the two smooth curves of flesh as he pressed Patricia in towards him. I'm gonna eat you up honey doll.
There is doubt in that. Your mouth is too small for me to enter by. The sudden return to her normal speech patterns made the man she was with pause and look at her. Patricia's left hand snapped up and gripped onto his throat tightly. The man gasped as he was slowly lifted into the air. Patricia looked at him and spoke the next words in flawless Latin. Do not betray the Camarilla.
Her right hand snapped forward, one sharpened fingernail driving deep into the man's eye amidst a spray of blood. Jericho noted how she twisted the man so he wouldn't bleed on himself, though some blood did spatter her own outfit. He also couldn't help but note her change of clothing made the blood far less noticeable then her white outfit would have. She held the body for some time, then finally glanced up.
Enough time has passed, come take the body that is Frank./Patricia? She jerked her finger out of Frank's eye socket with a wet slurp and dropped him to the ground. She smiled slightly as she suckled at her finger like it was a lollipop. You shall remove his clothes and pack them neatly in this bag, she said as she pulled a bag out from under her coat. The body shall be stored in the trunk of the car.
What am I, a butler or something? Patricia only hummed to herself as she walked away, licking her finger. Jericho quickly did as she had asked, making sure not to think of it as an order. When he finished he climbed back into the car and glanced over at where she sat happily in the passenger seat. He passed her the bag of clothes. Can we go now?
Yes, but stop at the supermarket on the way home to my room with no balcony.
Why the supermarket?
I need to buy ice to pack around the body and garlic bread and olive oil.
He started the car. I guess it's your money.
You shall pay for it as I have left my purse in my other outfit.
She did what, asked Cooler again, still guessing that he somehow must have been hearing this wrong. Though he knew as one of the undead he couldn't develop a headache he was starting to massage his temples uneasily.
She had me go to another store where they did indeed have extra virgin olive oil.
This is the second store you visited?
This is just getting better and better, said Anne quietly. The Black Hand commander stood in a shadowy corner, half invisible except for the small and amused smirk on her face. Cooler frowned.
Well then we go back to the haven and she makes me take the body into the cold storage. I had ta like whup a few asses to make sure nobody messed with the body. Then later she came down and sortashe sorta fondled him a lot.
Fondled him?
Jericho shrugged, some of the guys said it was a pretty good show.
She didn't make them leave?
It didn't even seem to occur to her. Cooler's head sank down into his hands. Jericho chuckled. Don't worry, I'm really sure that the garlic bread is a vital part of the plan. At least that's what she kept saying. Vital. Or she did say that, when she wasn't talking about how she wanted to be one and one with the stiff.
mumbled Cooler between his hands, what did you learn?
Anne reached under her coat and pulled out a small piece of paper which she glanced at. Ms. March apparently lives up to her name, she's always moving around from one city to another. All of her previous assignments include praise of her abilities and cunninghowever all that praise comes immediately before she's shipped off somewhere else.
Your sire slipped ya a half-brained bimbo, chuckled Jericho. Cooler looked up coldly.
Listen to me very carefully, Jericho. I am placing you as her subordinate and second in command of the assassination job. If anything goes wrong then know that you are going to shoulder some of the blame.
Wha- Wait a damn minute! You can't do that!
Cooler chuckled as he leaned back in his seat.
I just did.
muttered Jericho as he puffed on his cigarette. I want you to explain the plan to me.
I already have, said Patricia calmly from behind the screen. Jericho could see her shadow shifting about as she got dressed.
Actually, I don't think you have.
I shall be body three of the plan, which is the body that is not body one. There is no body two, for it doesn't exist. The entire operation shall be timed and you shall pull the switch. There was a pause as she stopped getting dressed and turned to look at him. You did keep the bread fresh, right?
Yeah, I kept the damn bread fresh, he muttered. Now are you going to tell me the damn plan?
Again and again he speaks to me, how boring he is this man who shall not be silent.
You talking to me? Jericho watched as Patricia seemed to mess around with her makeup or something. He crossed his arms. C'mon, I'm your damn second on this mission. If it fails it's both our asses. Now I don't know about you, but I don't fancy the thought of being shuttled around from city to city because I can't do a damn job right. People in our line of work who can't do their jobs right tend to end up dead.
You are correct.
There came a long pause. Jericho fumed slightly to himself as he stared at the shadowy shifting of Patricia. He couldn't believe this certifiable bimbo had ever become a templar. Obviously somebody's standards were slipping. He grumbled and glanced at his watch.
Are we ever going, or what?
I'm ready now. The voice was deep and heavy. A man's voice.
The bodyguard from the alley stepped out from behind the screen. I'm Frank.
This is just too weird. You're a flippin' Tzimisce. I don't believe it.
The dirt was in one of my bags, noted Frank with a bored sigh. You did get the bread, right?
I got the fuckin' bread, Jericho snarled. Now, how about you tell me what the plan is.
You will cut the power at a predetermined time, said Frank with a shrug. Everything else is pretty much set to go.
But why'd you have me load up Frank's body back inta the trunk, much as I love riding around with a dead look-a-like.
That is not Frank, I am Frank. That is body number three.
So where are you when I cut the power?
Inside the police chief's office reporting on the mob.
Jericho paused as he considered that, suddenly a large part of the plan fell into place. He glanced over at Frank', who was humming to himself and staring out the window. Well, maybe she wasn't totally insane. She could definitely get inside the building, then probably even smooth talk her way to the chiefassuming she didn't start babbling about the number one. Then again, as soon as she had assumed Frank's face she had seemed to act totally differently.
he muttered, let's do this.
Frank/Patricia walked into the police station looking for the one who was chief. Under her/his arm was the bag of garlic bread and olive oil. On the way here s/he had made Jericho buy her/him some uncooked pasta too. S/he walked up to the desk and nodded nervously to the young desk clerk. The boy looked like his skull was shaped oddly, s/he considered peeling the skin off of it to find out but decided this was not the time. Time? S/he glanced at his/her watch. No, time was going well.
May I help you?
Yeah, yeah you can. Frank glanced over her/his shoulder. S/he looked nervous and agitated. I've had enough, I wanna turn state's evidence. I got everything you need to nail my boss. But I want protection. I want guaranteed protection or I'm not saying crap. Let me talk to the chief!
Um, you better come with me.
They led him/her into a room. There was a mirror to hide the one way window on the other side. But for her/him it was a one way mirror. Those fools on the other side couldn't tell how pretty they were. S/he smiled. The search came. They found the I.D. and many other things. S/he was protective of the bag for a little while, but then quickly relinquished it. They spent a lot of time wondering about the bag and the items therein.
The plan had worked. They were worried about what was inside the bag, not what was inside Frank/Patrcia. S/he smiled at the video cameras as they recorded the whole event. His/her face would appear the same to anyone watching, unlike the vagaries of using the mental powers of Obfuscate to hide oneself. One self. Or was s/he? Patricia/Frank wondered which of them would have to go down with body number three.
Had s/he remembered to feed Wuffles? Another look at the watch, time becoming an issue.
Okay, wait here. Chief Benedict will be in to see you shortly.
When the chief arrived he was not short, this confused her/him, but only for an instant. The one who was chief was tall with a sharp blonde crewcut and a serious look on his face. Behind him came an overweight man in a stained coat and crumpled hat.
Hey, you're Frank Fingerbone' Malone, right? I'm Chief Benedict, this is Detective Mazzo. We hear you've got some stuff to tell us about your boss? So who do you work for?
Down in the basement Jericho came out of obfuscate and sneered at the breaker box. He pulled a magnum and fired. Sparks sprayed out and rained around him as the lights flickered and died.
There, that for your plan. This crap better work. He slipped back under obfuscate, disappearing amongst the shadows and leaving not a trace.
What the hell?
Was that gunfire, snarled Benedict.
Yeah, I think so. Mazzo stumbled to his feet in the darkness and fumbled his way to the door. I better g check it out.
Sitting alone with Chief Benedict Frank/Patricia's enhanced senses enabled her/him to see perfectly well in the darkness. S/he slowly stood up and looked down at Chief Benedict. The ghoul was watching the door nervously, his hand by his side where he kept a gun holstered. One gun in one holster, one door with one man's back to her/him. There was no escape. Fangs extended from her mouth.
I like pretty things, she said with a laugh as she lunged forward.
Benedict cried out in fear and managed to dodge. Patricia had not expected that turn of events and sprawled onto the ground most ungracefully.
That was unpleasant, she noted as she started to rise. Benedict stumbled away from her, drawing his gun. If he could fire then all would possibly be ruined.
He tripped over the power cord of a lamp and collapsed to the ground. His gun skittered away across the floor.
she noted as she dove down atop him, her fangs ripping deep into his neck. When she was done she used some of his blood to paint an anarchy sign on the wall. It was a obvious misdirection to make them suspect the less obvious misdirection. She laughed.
Jericho was waiting by the car when Frank calmly strolled out of the front doors of the darkened police station as though he hadn't a care in the world. Tucked under one arm was what appeared to be a desk lamp. Jericho blinked in surprise.
Um, why did you His voice trailed off when she turned to look at him with unblinking eyes and smiled slightly with bloodstained lips. never mind.
They drove back towards Windsor, until Patricia made him stop at a small bride. He pulled onto a fishing embankment, out of sight of the road. She had been partially toying with her face the entire drive and now seemed to almost be part Patricia and part Frank. She opened the trunk and looked down at the body. She stripped down, peeling off the clothes to reveal that her body underneath was a strangely formed mass of bare muscle and pulpy fat.
I have decided that by the proof that I remember Wuffles that I am not Frank but am Patricia. I am not one and one, I am one. This is one and one insomuch as it is body number three, and Frank the murderer. She dressed the corpse up in the bloodstained clothing. He was prettybut not anymore. Get rid of him please.
Want me to weigh him down?
The body'll float.
Of this I am sure, and it will bring me much joy. She smiled happily and slid into the car, her muscles and exposed ft sliding greasily along the leather seats. Jericho shok his head as he tossed the body into the river.
I'd have to say I'm impressed, noted Anne as she reported on her spy network's findings to the assembled Sabbat leaders. The police had extensive evidence pointing to the murderer, one Frank Malone, a Giovanni ghoul. At the same time the body is showing up in a nearby river. I hear the Giovanni got ahold of it and seemed to claim it was a Camarilla set-up. The Camarilla's police control is in shambles as the cops seem to be declaring war on the mobs. The mobs via the Giovanni are now also under attack by the Camarilla. It Anne shrugged, it really seemed to work out well for us.
It was a good plan, noted Patricia simply as she stroked the desk lamp in front of her. Too bad Frank couldn't figure out how to get away. I think I liked him. He was so pretty on the insideat least for a while.
Cooler glanced at Patricia and sighed. His sire had been right, this one was good. However he didn't think he really wanted her lurking around his city. No, it was time to give her a good report and find someone else who would ask for her so Cooler could send her on his way.
I like pretty things, said Patricia to no one in particular.