The warehouse was a gloomy place, poorly lit, hardly ventilateda and filthy. More or less what Janus had come to expect when dealing with the black market, really. It was hardly practical to buy vast amounts of ammunition in a boardroom. The wasrehouse was simply the logical choice.
Janus didn't particularly mind. As a vampire, things like lighting and filth didn't bother him much, and since he was Sabbat, he saw no reason to act as though they did. The arms dealer, how ever, was clearly uncomfortable, as were his five armed guards. They shifted on their feet, and kept looking around the warehouse, as though some horrible beast lurked there.
Well, technically speaking that's true, but I doubt they really know it. More likely they don't like being in cold, dank, dark places He thought. For the tenth time he reviewed the plan. It was a simple one, and in situations like this, such plans were best. Basically, get the arms dealer to show them the weapons and ammo, wait for the ghouls signal that the coast was clear, then kill the gunrunner. Deal with the guards, planting evidence that the Giovanni (who maintained a small presence here) had done it to eliminate competition. This would cause a mob war, and in the ensuing havoc, the three Sabbat vampires could depart for Powtanville.
What little humanity remained in Janus felt little qualms about it; these men were not only criminals but killers, so what was the problem if they got the tables turned on them? The Magnificent Seven had never been in L.A before, it being an anarch town, so no one knew them. He had used Viscitude to craft new faces for himself and his packmates. He hadn't minded, but Jeff and Veronique had found the sensation to be…unpleasant. Few outside Clan Tzimisce appreciated the sensation of flesh and bone melting, then reshaping themselves.
Before coming to Los Angeles, Jeff's face had been almost aristocratic. Short blonde hair, blue eyes, small nose, and high cheek bones. Now, he looked like an ex-boxer; mangled nose, cauliflower ears, a broad face and short brown hair. "Definitely NOT an improvement" had been his comment "boss, you better be able to fix this or I'll have you arrested for vandalizing a work of art"
"Oh quit griping" he'd replied "You've got character now, and don't look so much like a pretty-boy. Besides, if you keep on bitching at me, I might just leave you like that"
"PRETTY-BOY! Why I ought to.."
At this point Veronique realized what she looked like. Being LaSombra, she couldn't look in a mirror, so she was confined to touching her face to see what it now looked like. She shrieked.
SIGH Perhaps I shouldn't have treated this as an opportunity for a joke
In a fit of dark humor, Janus had taken her beautiful, haughty features, and radically changed them. Veronique duMars now looked like an ancient bag lady. She had a broad nose, warts, and numerous wrinkles. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!"
Yup. Definitely should have kept a professional attitude here.
"Veronique, you agreed we needed new faces…" He began
"New FACE! I LOOK LIKE A NOSFERATU! You- you BUTCHER!" She wailed. Janus was beginning to lose his temper. Her problem with her face was puerile. She was a vampire, what did it matter if she wasn't pretty? Anyway, it was just temporary, once they were out of L.A he'd give her her old face back.
He was about to point this out when Jeff decided to be funny.
"What's the matter Veronique? I think it's a big improvement! I mean, before you were so…cookie-cutter. Now, you're truly unique".
Veronique didn't find this funny. The problem was that Veronique didn't really fit in well with the Seven. Where the others were perfectly content to play around, make jokes, and rag on one another, Veronique refused. She took little part in the social life of the pack, and seemed to regard them more as co-workers than anything else. Any attempts to 'kid' her were met with cold disapproval, a lack of understanding, or genuine insult, as was the case here.
With a shriek of rage, Veronique had launched herself at Jeff. This was a foolish maneuver at the best of times, but Jeff had recently lowered his Generation considerably, increasing his powers well beyond those of his LaSombra colleague. He caught her in mid-air and thrown her against a wall with ease.
Janus stepped in "Alright knock it off. Jeff, don't provoke her. Veronique quit acting like a Toreador priss; we need to look different for this to work. This is your face for the next few nights. Deal with it."
That had been last night. Now Veronique was…well, resigned was probably too strong a word, but she was bearing her new appearance. If she had been any other member of the pack, Janus would have been on the lookout for pay-back. Bubba or Jeff would've just punched him in the head a couple times, saying they preferred to reshape faces the old-fashioned way. Jessy'd dig around then astound the pack with some embarrassing secret about him. Simon would use Dementation to give him a really embarrassing and/or stupid bit of temporary insanity. Like that month he made Tariq morbidly afraid of the color purple, to pay him back for 'losing' the key to Simon's chains. But Veronique wouldn't get him back, she'd just NEVER FORGET. It was one other reason no one in the pack liked her. She just couldn't let things go.
Jeff, on the other had….Janus grimaced; he was going to be hurting after that bit of karmic restitution. He made a mental note to get extra blood; he couldn't avoid what was coming but he could be ready to heal up.
Now though, the members of the Seven were all business. The runners seemed to have decided that Jeff was in charge, probably because he appeared to be a thug like themselves. All their body language was focused on him the dealer using it to make himself seem ingratiating, the guards to seem intimidating. Individually, it wasn't a bad attempt, but taken together, the two attempts clashed so badly as to seem ridiculous. Janus, who had had kindred, Lupines and mages all try to intimidate him at one time or another, had to restrain himself to keep from laughing. This was especially difficult for him, since he had long ago enacted the Viscitude ability Ecstatic Agony, which made biting his lip to hold in the laughs futile (it would just feel pleasurable). AS though he would ever bow to the will of Kine!
"You have what we wanted?" Jeff asked, deciding to cut off the dealers introductory chit-chat. They needed to get going, and had no time to waste on this small time Russian gunrunner.
"Yes. 100 rounds of silver-nitrate tipped bullets, 200 rounds explosive tipped, 3 Kalashinikov assault rifles, twelve pounds of Semtex, a grenade launcher with 20 rounds of grenades. But it was difficult to obtain such a…large order in so little time. I'm afraid I must ask for more money"
"I see" Jeff asked, quirking his lips "And what, pray tell, do you feel would be a fair price?"
"1.5 million should just cover my costs/" The Russian said, his manner shifting in response to Jeff's arrogance. HE went from servile to dominant (or an attempt at dominance) "If you cannot or will not pay, I and my associates would be most displeased". At the word 'associates' his goons cocked their weapons.
"Hmm. Here is my counter offer. You will give me the weapons, and I will pay you…nothing!" Jeff crowed the last word, and went into action, activating Celerity to enhance his speed.
Janus was amazed. This was the first time he had seen his packmate use Celerity since diablerizing the Elder. Jeff had always been fast, but this… This was astonishing. He seemed to be everywhere at once, hacking and slashing with his machete. In moments, the goon squad had been reduced to little more than a pile of quivering, bloody meat. The gunrunner was still alive, his face white with terror as he began to realize he was not dealing with run-of-the-mill gangbangers. Jeff turned towards him.
" Nothing like a bit of mayhem to renew the spirit, I always say! But it does work up a powerful thirst." He seized the Russian by the shirt and yanked him in close. Sinking is fangs into the man's throat, he drained him dry in a matter of seconds. "AHH! Good to the last drop. Pity his goons didn't have more fight in 'em…"
Ooookay. Time for that chat.
"Veronique, take the guns out to the truck, get the ghouls to start loading up. Jeff stay with me, we need to talk"
Veronique, as usual, protested "I will not-". Unfortunately for her, Janus was in no mood.
He whirled around and, fleshcrafting his hand into a talon, slammed it down on her shoulder. He enjoyed her scream as his new claws tore into her. "You. Will. Do. As. I. Say."
She made no attempt to answer, but left with what dignity she could muster. Janus knew he'd be paying for that later. Janus ignored the thought for the time being, focusing on Jeff.
"You wanted to talk boss-man?" Jeff said, licking the blood off his machete.
"Yes. Jeff, this has to stop."
"What does?" Jeff seemed genuinely puzzled, as though he was unaware of the problem.
"This." He gestured at the blood, gore and human meat that was strewn around the warehouse "Jeff, whats happened to you? You were always a damn good fighter, and enjoyed it as much as any of us. But now you act more like a Brujah or a Lupine then a Ventrue, and its starting to be a real problem. Take tonight for instance. We were supposed to wait until the ghouls sent a signal confirming the gunrunner didn't have any friends waiting outside. For all we know this building could be ringed with snipers. Now, whats up?"
Jeff's cocky smile and confident posture were gone now. Now he looked small, and actually afraid.
"Its…its Alaine. The Brujah Elder I finished off back in Chicago. He's-he's still inside me."
"What? Jeff, I know sometimes diablerists hear those they've consumed, but that only lasts a couple of nights. Its been four months, you can't still be hearing his screams"
"Not just his screams. I think.." Jeff swallowed "I think he's trying to take me over. I hear his voice telling me to do things, trying to command me. Its hard to fight it. He tries to get me into fights, though whether its because he liked fighting or because he wants me to get killed I don't know. Listen Janus. I'll reign it in, but PLEASE don't tell the others!" The man was actually pleading.
"Okay, okay, okay man. I won't say anything, but you gotta keep it together. And talk to Simon, he's pack priest and Malkavian and probably knows a lot about this kind of thing."
"What, diablerie?"
"No, voices in your head"
"Haha. Glad my misfortune could be such a joke. Which reminds me, its time for me to repay you for your experiment in plastic surgery…"
One savage beating later, the two Kindred headed back to the truck. Jeff looked like his old self, Janus having undone his fleshcraft. Janus was a wreck. He had three cracked ribs, his nose was broken, his eyes were blackened, and he had a compound fracture in his left leg. Veronique just sniffed when she saw this. "When will you be ready to restore MY face, Janus?" The Tzimisce just groaned.
Two nights later they were on their way to Powtanville. The weapons and ammo were stored in the truck, along with their bikes, as the vampires had decided that the big rig would be easier. Besides, the cargo was essential and none of them were comfortable leaving the ghouls responsible for it. After all, they were only human.
Before the night was out, they were in Powtanville. They called Tariq, on his cell phone and were told the location of their new Haven, a slaughterhouse on 53rd street. While technically still in use, the abattoir was experiencing hard times, and had drastically cut its hours and manpower, so that it was only in use a few hours a night (the day shift having been eliminated). Basically, they had to be out between midnight and four AM. Tariq stressed that, as per Janus' specifications, it did in fact posses a fair view of the city. More than that, it had a ready supply of cattle blood. None of the Magnificent Seven liked to drink the blood of animals; it just didn't SATISFY the way human blood did. But they acknowledged that a night might come when one (or more) of them was badly injured, and unable to hunt, and the cows blood might mean the difference between unlife and Final Death.
The moment they reached the slaughterhouse, Simon came rushing out. "Boss-man!" he exclaimed in tones of great happiness. Turning to Jeff he cried out, in that same tone "Blondie!". To Veronique he exclaimed, in that same happy tone, "Bitch!"
"Shut up, lunatic, and help the others unload the truck, I am in no mood for your stupidity"
"Later. Right now, we have to do a Vaulderie."
"Simon" Janus said, trying to be diplomatic here "We can always do one later. Right now, "
"Right now we do a Vaulderie. Janus, I don't know if you realize it but its been 2 weeks since we last had one. The Vinculum bonds are starting to slip, and we're growing further apart as a pack. We have to do it now, when we have free time, because Caine only knows when we'll have time for another. We need to go into this thing strong, and UNITED in our strenght. That means Vaulderie."
Janus slowly nodded. Simon was right, the Vaulderie would increase the packs unity and therefore their chances of success and/or survival. So he summoned the rest of the pack and told Simon to prepare for the rite, the most sacred in all Sabbat ritualism.
In truth, Simon needed little prompting. He loved the heavy ritual, which was the cornerstone of Sabbat life. In a way, he felt that it brought him closer to Caine. Since he was a ardent follower of the Path of Caine, and had dedicated his Unlife to being as much like the Father of All Vampires as possible, this meant a great deal to him.
With reverence he removed a silver goblet from the sidecar he traveled in. This was the Magnificent Seven's Vaulderie grail, it had been taken from a museum one hundred and thirty years ago, the founding act of the pack. It was the heart of the pack. With it they were the Magnificent Seven, the baddest and closest pack in the southern United States. Without it they were nothing but a bunch of individual vampires travelling together, no different from one of the pathetic coteries of Camarilla vampires. If the grail ever broke, or was stolen, it would be the end of the Seven.
The pack assembled in a loose oval around Simon. At the 'head' was Janus, to his left was Jeff, then Veronique, then Jessy, then Tariq, then Bubba, then Janus again. Simon lifted the grail, and began.
"I consecrate this vessel to the blood of my brothers, purified by the mark of Caine" Simon intoned, and handed the chalice to Janus, along with an ornate knife.
Janus took the chalice in his left hand and the blade in his right and said "I give this blood unto my brothers, that they might be freed by me". With that he cut himself with the knife and bled into the chalice. HE then handed the knife and chalice to Jeff who repeated the rite and passed them to Veronique, and so on down the line.
Eventually, the items returned to Simon, the chalice now filled with the mixed vitae of the Magnificent Seven. He placed the knife in his belt and handed the chalice to Janus. Janus accepted it, and intoned "I take back this blood from my brothers, so that I may break the bonds of the Antediluvians, and follow with them in the footsteps of Caine", before drinking. He passed it to Jeff, and again it made the circuit, finally ending in Simons hands.
Now the pack priest began what was a ritual for the pack. All priests occasionally made speeches, the 'sermons of Caine', but the priests of the Seven did it after every Vaulderie. Simon paused, and the pack was silent. Simon rarely prepared his speeches beforehand, counting on Caine to inspire him. Often this made for some truly horrible lectures, incoherent and dull. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, he came out with something inspiring.
He opened his eyes and began.
"Caine the first, was our father, His blood is ours, His gifts are ours, His wisdom is ours as well. His words have been brought through the millennia, lost, and found again. Listen, think, understand. It is said, in the Book of Nod: 'But the world grew dark with sin. Caine's Children wandered here and there, indulging their dark ways Caine felt anger when His children fought He discovered deceit when He saw them make word-war'. From this we see that Caine desires unity among his childer. The First City, Enoch, was torn apart by the scheming of the Antediluvians and their broods, ending the Golden Age of Cainite existence. The greed of the Antedeluvians destroyed Caine's glorious dream.
Even in these modern nights, we see that the same holds true. The Antedeluvians and their puppets in the Camarilla still battle one another, fighting like animals to gain power. We do not tread this road"
Simons voice had until now been calm and reasonably quiet. Now, though, the Cainist priests voice became that of a true fanatic.
"We are Sabbat, the Fists of Caine! We will restore our kind to the purity and unity of which Our Father dreamed! We deny His treacherous grandchilder and their tools. Here, in Powtanville, in the sight of Our Father, we shall demonstrate to him that not all of His childer have forgotten His dream.
My words are finished. May they guide you well."
The ritual concluded, the Seven split apart, each seeking a private place to contemplate their bonds to their packmates. The exceptions were Tariq and Jessy, who stayed together to renew their Blood Bond (broken by the mingled blood of the pack). Each Vaulderie produced emotional bonds between packmates, but the effect was different each time. One Vaulderie might produce a near-Blood Bond to a packmate, while the next would reduce that to mere passing affection. Thus, private time to adjust was essential. Not much would get done tonight, but that didn't matter. The Seven were as ready as they would ever be. Tommorow, the operation would begin.
Authors Notes:
The quote in Simons sermon comes from the Book of Nod, a copy of which I found online.
The procedure and rites of the Vaulderie comes from the Style guide to the Sabbat.