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Vampire: The Requiem - The Slums
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PostPosted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 10:47 am    Post subject: Vampire: The Requiem - The Slums Reply with quote

Please post in here for Stories relating to the Slums.

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PostPosted: Sat Jul 25, 2009 4:14 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc bangs loudly on the rear door to the club, one of the few still grinding out a living in the Slum District. His leg won’t stop twitching and his fingers twine together frantically, but his voice is smooth as marble. “Open, ses-a-me.”

The door slams open. The bouncer takes just one look at him. “Maddoc. Just piss off, yeah? Too tired for your shit tonight,” he says, starting to close the fire-access door.

“Ahh, time, time, time. Too much to ask, then?” Maddoc says, his words sliding around the door’s sill. “But I ask little, when the taking would be so easy…”

The man steps back, shaking his head as if unsure of the reasons for his actions. ‘Allright, then. 2 minutes, no more, right?”

“Assuredly,” Maddoc smiles in response, the cracked fingernails of one hand reaching up to claw at his own neck. He moves inside the club quickly, past the bouncer, heading for the clubs ground floor lavatories.

The Bouncer snarls as he passes. “Fucking Junkie.”

Maddoc does not respond. He heads flor the Ladies, enters, and runs his fingers along the cubicle doors like a pianist. “And she vomits, just like a woman,” he sings, badly. His movements have settled, become strangely seductive. His nose scents at the air, nostrils flaring theatrically. “What’s behind door number three, Johnny?” he says, throwing back the cubicle door with a bang!

The stall is empty, smells and stains from the nights use evident in abundance. Maddoc drops to his knees in the filth, his head pushing down beside the bowl. “Clumsy, clumsy. There’s always one, isn’t there?” he says, focusing on the small pile of cocaine that had been dropped and forgotten, earlier in the evening.

With a groan of pleasure, he licks the tiles clean, rubbing his tongue over his gums to aid absorption of the coke.

He straightens, throwing his ratty locks back over his head, patting them down neatly with exaggerated calmness. His movements seem almost like liquid now.

He washes his face in the sink, plays at straightening his attire in the mirror.

“Now,” Maddoc says, “I’m ready for dinner.”
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PostPosted: Sun Jul 26, 2009 10:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc walks out into the club. His senses are assailed by smells of sweat, sex and blood, the blaring of speakers, and the discordant, coloured lights that flash out with the music. Drunks, energetic youths, whores and some homeless dance, stumble and dance with the general club audience. The disc jockey seems caught up in her own world, or trying to ignore the sordid environ. In the background a glass is dropped and shatters, and somewhere else someone vomits.
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PostPosted: Sun Jul 26, 2009 11:55 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc moves through the club, a shark gliding effortlessly through an ocean of humanity.

“Da-Dum. Daaa-Dum. Da-da, da-da, da-da,” hums Maddoc, his voice and humour lost under the deafening beat of the music. His smile though…Glimpsed in flashes, highlighted by the strobe, Maddoc’s smile is all straight white teeth and raw red malice.

He skirts the dance floor, keeping to the edges. His body moves in time to the music, but it is a poor approximation of dancing at best. Is it the music that moves him? Or is it the memory of music, heard and felt when blood still flowed in his veins? Danse Macabre, indeed…

Moving past the gyrating bodies, Maddoc approaches an area lined with booths, the vinyl upholstery cracked and stained. It is no less noisy here, but the booths afford patrons a measure of privacy. All manner of activity occurs within these shadowy environs, and Maddoc moves smoothly through these darker waters.
He scans each booth as he passes, searching.
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PostPosted: Mon Jul 27, 2009 10:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc notices that the first booth holds a drunken man slouched over a glass of beer, cigarettes lying dead or smoldering in a dirty pile of grey ash. The next booth along contains a couple engaged in some weird form of foreplay. Maddoc can tell the man is a junkie, as his arms are pockmarked with needle scars and his skin is jaundiced. The woman is stroking a syringe against his leg and grinning like a mental patient. A teenager wearing jeans and a Deathspiels t-shirt occupied the last booth, his long hair framing his pale, expressionless face.
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PostPosted: Tue Jul 28, 2009 3:59 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

“Ahhh,” groans Maddoc, his gaze filling with hunger as he observes the young couple, “young junkies in love…”

He slides into the booth, seating himself next to the woman. He shouts to make himself heard over the din of the club. “That looks fun,” he says, indicating the needle in the man’s thigh with a nod, “can I play too, Mommy?”
Maddoc stabs one cold finger at the track marks on the woman’s elbow. “Mind you, it’s a long way from here…to here,” he says, tracing his hand up the woman’s arm, across her shoulder, along the muscles of her neck, crossing her cheek, punctuating the sentence by tapping lightly against the woman’s temple.
He leans in close, whispering breathlessly into her ear, “Ever had a jugular shot? Cuts out the middleman, straight to the Cortex. Instant Nirvana”
He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, drawing out a syringe filled with a clear liquid and holding it where only the woman can see. Maddoc ignores the woman’s companion as if he doesn’t exist; the man for his part seems all but unconscious, lost in the drugs coursing through his system.
Maddoc brings his hand down to gently stroke the woman’s neck again, his eyes fixed on the pulsing of her carotid artery.
“First taste is free..?” he says, the offer unmistakeable.
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PostPosted: Tue Jul 28, 2009 11:09 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Seduction (Manipulation + Persuasion) roll: 6 successes - Exceptional Success!

She turns her head lazily to look at Maddoc with bloodshot eyes. "Yesss," she says softly, her breath stinking of five years of drugs and desperation. "I like that. Give it to me, pllease . . . " A hand reaches across to his thigh and starts stroking it. She leans over drowsily and nuzzles Maddoc's neck. "I want it all, and will do anything. Anything at all . . . "
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PostPosted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 2:00 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc's smile barely masks his hunger, but he accepts the woman’s embrace. An unwilling mannequin, he sits stiff and unresponsive as the woman grinds out her display of desire against him. “Okay then, finished?” he inquires. “My turn.”

Giving the woman no time to respond, he turns her roughly away from him, holding her tight about her waist, pulling her into his chest. He lowers his mouth to her ear, whispers, “I can hear it, you know. The pounding, the roaring. It’s oh so fast, now.” He moistens his lips with the tip of a pale pink tongue. “Are you ready? Believe me, the first time is always a russshhhh.”

The mask drops, and a feral beast descends upon the woman’s neck.

Maddoc attempts to feed.
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PostPosted: Fri Jul 31, 2009 11:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Feeding (Wits + Subterfuge) roll: 2 successes. Maddoc is able to drain as much blood from the junkie without drawing attention to himself. She has 6 points of vitae available. Maddoc started with 8 vitae.

Maddoc bites into her neck, his fangs breaching the dirty skin and piercing the vein like ivory syringes. She shudders against him and releases a cry of pain, but no one notices. Warm blood spurts into his mouth, a cocktail of youth, heroin, cannabis, and street pharmaceuticals. As his victim loses her blood, she begins to relax against him.
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PostPosted: Sat Aug 01, 2009 9:26 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc draws 4 points of Vitae from the woman.

Maddoc draws the woman's blood eagerly, greedily, slurping at her neck like a pig at trough. In his excitement, he smears the dark fluid against his chin and cheeks, reveling in the texture.

Lost in the sensation, it is only the woman's growing flaccidity the brings Maddoc back from his feeding trance. He pulls free of her neck with a growl of disappointment, a vulture flying from a carcass while there is still marrow to be eaten. He scrapes the drying blood from his face with both hands, cupping them together to lick avariciously at the clotting fluid.

Maddoc straightens, shuddering as the mask of humanity settles back over the beast within. Only then does he lick at the wounds on the woman's neck, removing all direct evidence of his damnation. "Well, it's been fun kids," he says, rising unsteadily from the booth, "let's do this again, soon."

Neither of the two unconscious people at the table reply, and with a lazy smile, Maddoc turns away. Staggering like a drunk, he heads back towards the Club's fire-exit. Few patrons see him, and those that do note the unsteadiness of his gait and the dried blood on his face, and give Maddoc a wide berth.

"What the fu-?" says the Bouncer, staring incredulously at the sight of Maddoc. "Just get out, man, and don't come back, okay? You've officially used up your privileges here, scum-bag." There is disgust plastered on the man's face as he holds the door wide for Maddoc.

Maddoc barks with laughter, splattering the man with droplets of blood, and staggers out into the night without a backwards glance.
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PostPosted: Sat Aug 01, 2009 9:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc walks out into the slums. Ahead of him is a low, sloping hill covered in shacks and caravans, all broken and decaying. Most emit a pale grey or jaundiced light, and briefly hunched silhouettes can be seen. The air is still and warm, scented with sweat, trash and vomit. In the distance, the sounds of a woman crying, a child screaming and men arguing over something of relative value can be heard.

Headlights illuminate the street outside of the club, and a taxi slows to a stop. A man in black is at the wheel smoking a cigar. "Maddoc?" he says with a slight accent. "You fit the description. Otto Teufel asked me to pick you up. I'm to drive you to the Opera House. Hop in."

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 5:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The moon is growing old, as Maddoc slowly makes his way back towards the city. With head down and shoulders hunched, his thin t-shirt providing little protection against the night’s chill, he’s just another waster. The few people who pass by give him a wide berth – only a crazy would walk the streets at night looking like that. Most don’t even notice him, their eyes hidden behind carefully groomed protective masks.

By chance he passes a bus stop just as the 108 to Old Town pulls in. Without breaking stride, he swings himself aboard, paying his fare with the $15 he took earlier from the wallet of the mysterious attacker. The driver shoots him a venomous look from behind inch thick polymer, but if Maddoc notices it, he doesn’t respond. He seats himself near one of the rear exits, away from the few other passengers aboard.

Maddoc seems to have trouble sitting still. His right leg jiggles incessantly, his hands engage in a pointless war with themselves. Time and again, he pats the rear pocket of his jeans, as if reassuring himself. When the bus eventually pulls into a stop near the slum district, Maddoc launches himself from the bus, almost running. By the time the bus pulls away, he’s already gone, lost in the warren of desolate and abandoned buildings that dominate this part of town.

* * *

The tenement is a maze of scrawled walls and rotting plasterboard. Impossible to believe that anything lives here, let alone humans. Piles of refuse clog stairwells, the occasional fluorescent light splutters irregularly, hiding more than it reveals. Death is quick here, if you’re lucky. A decaying fortress, the local police will come only in numbers, during the day, in full riot gear.

Maddoc feverishly applies heat to the cheap alloy spoon, struggling to keep his hand steady over the flame. The room is dank and putrid; it’s only window boarded up with cheap plywood. His mix cooked, Maddoc sets the spoon down as carefully as he can, drawing the liquid into a cheap disposable syringe. Hands shaking, he ties off his left bicep with a length of electrical cord, then, as the vein rises, injects the syringe in one practiced movement.

“Ahhhhh…” sighs Maddoc, as the drug hits him. He falls back with a smile, closing his eyes as his body finally relaxes and outside, the sun begins to rise.

Expend 1 Vitae to stimulate blood circulation.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 5:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc drifts into a deep sleep as heroin spreads its soothing and toxic touch throughout his body. His dreams are a rapid and disjointed retelling of his Requiem, the events of the night before a manic presentation. The heroin in his vitae eases the nightmare, and after a few hours one impression comes to light in his mind.

Doctor Montefiore placing a piece of paper into the right pocket of his pants.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 6:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc fights the return of consciousness, his face clenched tight. But it is a fight he cannot win, and with a final snarl of anger, he wakes.

Spend 1 Vitae

-edit-
He immediately reaches for his jeans, searching through the pockets for the note from his dreams.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 7:08 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc pulls out the note, the urge to return to sleep almost overpowering.

Refer to personal message for note details.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 8:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Maddoc squints at the note, reading it once, twice. By the end of his third perusal, the note’s contents manage to imprint themselves on his sleep-fogged mind.

Dropping the note to one side, he succumbs to his new physiology’s demand for sleep, leaving behind the squalor of his apartment for the darkness within.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 23, 2009 3:32 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

One week later, Maddoc walks in the front door of the Slaughterhouse. Resplendent in a purple velour suit, he struts towards the bar, patent white leather shoes glowing in the ultraviolet strobes. He must have decided against trying to clean his hair; far simpler just to cut it off.
"Jesus...Maddoc?" asks the incredulous barman, his eyes widening as he takes in Maddoc's attire, "Where have you been man? Haven't seen you for weeks - figured you musta died or somethin'."
"I did," says Maddoc, "but I'm feeling much better now."
It's 90's night at the Club, and even though it's early, the music is pumping, cutting a swathe across the room.

Breathe the pressure, Come play my game I'll test ya.
Psychosomatic addict insane

"So man; messages been piling up. Where you been?"
"Around."

Cue montage scene...

...here's Maddoc, waking up the night after the Gathering. Christ, he looks like shit. What's he doing now? Oh. Of course. God damned junkie...

Breathe the pressure, Come play my game Ill test ya.
Psycho. Somatic addict insane


...it's later now, and here he is on the streets, talking with some other lowlife. Watch them caper and jest, pose and preen, following a code of behaviour as old as Humanity - there! Did you see the hand off? No, huh? Yes sir, the hand is quicker than the eye...

Come play my game.
Inhale, inhale, you're the victim.


...it's 4 days since the Gathering, and Maddoc's been a busy little Kindred. There he is, coming out of that garage, two shopping bags filled with little packages of crack in his hands. He'll distribute them to the street dealers along the North side of the Slums, ready for the weekend rush from the 'burbs. Then he's got pills and coke to deliver to the clubs, weed to run over to the Uni kids, and mesc for those crazy bikers. Busy, busy, busy.

Come play my game.
Exhale, exhale, exhale.


It's the seventh of September now, and here's Our Hero, breaking into some poor shmuck's house. At least he knows what he's doing - give him that much. No brick and crowbar job for Maddoc, oh no. In and out, clean and quiet. He's got the laptop and the blackbury and he's heading for the door when he sees it - just hanging there in the hallway wardrobe. Those lapels, and those flares....even shoes to match. A thing of beauty...

Come breathe with me.
Breathe with me.


..and we're back.
Maddoc smiles at the bartender, reaching up his sleeve like a dime-store magician. "Behold!' He says, "I have a phone! Here is the number!" Maddoc hands the barman are scrap of paper, a number scrawled across it.
"Okay, man, shit. No need to get excited; so you gotta phone, finally. Whoop-de-fuckin-do. About time; I'm tired of being your secretary," says the man.
Maddoc's smile just deepens. He slaps a wad of used bills onto the counter top. "For your troubles," he says.
"Okay. We're cool," says the barman, making the notes disappear faster than you can say, 'gin and tonic.'
Maddoc turns imperiously from the bar, heading out the way he came in, striding. He seems to revel in the looks he gets, the frequent laughter, the occasional words of praise.

Once outside the Club, he hails a taxi, directing it to the Lordenshaw Hilton.


OoC: lyrics copyright The Prodigy, used without permission.
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 24, 2009 12:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The taxi arrives twenty minutes late. The driver as pale faced as Maddoc, only sweating a sheen of terror. "Get in and let's get out of here, hey?" He says quickly. "The slums aint a place I usually do business in. Where you off to?"

When he hears the destination, he turns a shade paler. "I have never done a stranger job; picking up some weirdo in the slums and dropping em at the Hilton. Lordy."
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PostPosted: Fri Sep 04, 2009 3:26 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

James pulled up outside The Slaughterhouse. Dismounting he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and quick dialled Kaine.

"Hey man, Jimmy here. Yeah man good. Hey them bitches I was hiding from, they're on to me, I might sit pretty a few days. If some bitch with a fork tongue comes looking for me say I headed out west. And give that coke head son of a bitch a smack in the head for me. What? Na man, I'm fine. Ill cal you in the next few days. Seeya."

Putting away the phone, James entered the dark club, looking up at the thug of a doorman.

"Hey man, I'm looking for someone. You may know him. Junky mother fucker, said I can leave messages here for him? Here's my number, tell him Jimmy wants him to get in touch."

Back outside, a sense of loss washed over James. Here he was, a creature of the night, tangled up in some game he didn't understand. A month ago he had been a wash out, but at least he knew the world around him. Now he had snake tongued woman hunting him down, all because he wouldn't bow to some bitch he had never heard of before.

Miserable, James slumped down to his knees, head bowed. It was all too much. At time like this he would kill for just one more hit. Fuck this being clean shit.

It was then he became aware of the wallet in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the leather wallet the coke head vampire had given him at the opera house. Then a spark of hope filled him. Sure the thing that had attacked them was probably not his friend, but it was a start on the path of understanding this new world James found himself in. Also, it clearly wasn't the princes friend either.

Standing with a new found direction, James continued to search the wallet for more clues to the original owners identity.
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PostPosted: Fri Sep 04, 2009 11:29 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

James opens up the wallet . . .

(refer to PM)
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