----------——| Welcome back to Miami |
What's going on?
Vampire: The Camarilla is gearing up for war against the Sabbat as they investigate the city's Haitian and Hispanic gang presence and the origins of the explosive attack on one of their Elysiums.
Werewolf: A Monkeywrenching group of Garou are teaming up with the Rokea who wish to protect Sea from N.S.C. Plastics. Meanwhile, something is sewing up the Gauntlet so tight in the Everglades, you can feel it without thinking.
General: A statue of a man fell out of the sky, presumably from a passing plane, onto a car in Biscayne Boulevarde. Witnesses heard a strange screeching noise before the impact. Police investigations are ongoing.
Song of the Day: Black Magic Woman by Santana
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| Nights on the Strand |
Nights on the Strand is a two story complex of four buildings and a main office under a scalloped and grey roof, coming off somewhat like an apartment complex with its railed, wraparound cement porchfronts. The sheetrock of the siding has been plastered into a prim texture. At the heart of the hotel complex, a large, glinting sign with tall, vinyl letters boasts the name of the hotel.
Inside, the air is crisp and sterile. The lobby sports a group of chairs with thick upholstery in an unflattering but demure flower print and a length of cabinet and counterspace that plays host to coffee machines and cereal dispensers and other conveniences for a "continental breakfast" each morning.
Thanks to the navy tile floor and the faux wood siding that half-panels the walls of the hotel lobby, even the small hum of the fluorescent lighting overhead seems to echo.
___
Exits
Out <O>
Contents:
Frost: Certified creeper.
Vilkas:
Elliot: A conservatively dressed middle aged man in glasses.
Lucas: Late 20's man in a suit. Nice shoes.
Luke: A short, rangy man with long black hair and sienna skin.
It's evening and the sun has sunk. Elliot has made his phonecalls and arranged for a meeting of folks.
Elliot paces the lobby of the hotel, glancing down at his watch every so often. Finally, he settles himself into one of the lobby's ugly little chairs that affords him an unobstructed view of the entrance.
Frost stalks in through the main doors, brushing sand off of his coat. He was unsure what time he was supposed to meet Elliot, or, more importantly, what this was all about, so he wore a sour expression as he looked about for his rendezvous.
Rising from the chair, Elliot strolls across the lobby and greets the two newest arrivals. "Ahh, You've made it." He claps Lucas on the back and offers a hand in greeting to Frost. "I'm sure you're probably wondering why I've asked you here, so I'll get right to it. I have received some information linking Ochoa Storage to NSC Plastics. I'm sure you are aware of the recent events at NSC, so from what I've been able to gather, we can expect the gentleman who runs Ochoa storage here this evening. I hope to be able to gather further information regarding the goings on at NSC."
Luke makes his debut as well, but it's a different face than his that comes inside. Lately he's been getting heat from hanging out with the fangy types, so he had told Elliot he wasn't coming and sending a friend of his in, instead. And so here comes some short-haired blond dude in a nice pair of jeans and a workshirt. He hears the tail end of what Elliot says to the people already present here and approaches.
Lucas' brow twitches as he looks over at Frost briefly. "Perhaps our mutual friend has a good sense of the necessity of order," he says, "Or an awful sense of what makes a fun weekend." He searches through his pockets and retrieves a short cigarillo, smells the end briefly and twirls it between his fingers.
Elliot explains the situation. The werewolves in the city are known by some of the Camarilla, Elliot included, to be on a mission to take down NSC. This is a problem since NSC is tied to one of the Camarilla's business interests, namely Ochoa Storage. So, Elliot is investigating the situation to protect their own interest, see if there's something he can do about it and bridge some kind of agreement between the shifters and the Camarilla without horrible horrible violence. Elliot has been talking to Luke Smith, who has been flitting around with Camarilla vampires lately and is very likely a shapeshifter. He passed to Elliot a credit card which belongs to Charles Hauser a manager of Ochoa's flagship office in Miami. The card is primarily used to maintain the shipping part of the business. He ran a background check on him and found out a few more names: Rachel Matthews uses her company card for vehicle repairs. Anthony Greer unnamed business expenses. and then just a random name Isaiah Carroll. Ochoa Storage is shipping something back and forth for NSC, unsuprisingly. They're also for some reason renting out half of this hotel on a consistent monthly basis.
Frost whistles. "You've been a busy bee, Elliot. So what you're saying is, you want to find out what they're doing here in the hotel? Don't you think we look a bit," Frost gestures to the ragtag group, "conspicous?"
"Hmm," Lucas says, "I'm sure anyone coming upon such upstanding gentlemen would think nothing but innocent, passing thoughts." He scratches his chin absently with the hand holding the cigarillo. "I'd hope. Do we have a location where we can discuss the finger details, Elliot?"
"Well, I suppose we can get you cleaned up a bit once we have our room. I can probably arrange to have some clothes sent over… I'm going to go get us a suite across close to where Mr. Houser is going to be setting up" With that, he starts to work his way toward the receptionist desk.
Luke listens to the low-down and feels like a stranger, since he doesn't really know any of the people here at all. He explains himself to Elliot as a friend of Luke's (Robert, dat be his name) before the man heads off for the receptionist's desk. One look at Frost and he knows who he's going to try to never, ever be friends with. "So, we gonna play stakeout, huh? Or what?"
Frost takes slight offense to the suggestion that he would have to get "cleaned up." He stalks off to the bathroom to arrange himself.
Lucas brushes a vein on the cigarillo with his thumb. "I hope they allow smoking in these rooms," he says. The young Ventrue looks up at his companions and around the room, then slips the miniature stogie back into his pocket. "Just on principle, mind you," he says. He leans back against the wall furthest from the windows. "How are we supposed to help you on this little project, Elliot?"
Elliot holds the card key to the room up. "Well, I was hoping we could try and work our way into the party, that's why I brought you along Lucas. I'll admit I'm not the party type. And Frost… oh dear." Elliot eyes roam about the lobby. "Where'd Frost go?"
"Somewhere that's not here," Luke muses aloud, but he follows the group to the room, so far playing observer. He keeps an eye out for Frost, or debuts of old ladies, or hipsters, or just, anybody that shouldn't at all be here, goddammit.
Fake Maid emerges from the bathroom as a Latina maid, complete with the appropriate uniform. He tails the group as they enter the room, waits a minute or two, and knocks. "Room service!" he calls, sweet as a hobo can be.
"Should I open that?" Lucas says. He taps his chin, "Hmm, far too early for the bad guys to bust down the door." He walks over and looks out the peephole, then turns with a questioning gaze to Elliot.
Elliot walks over to the door and looks through the peep hole. "Oh, It's just the maid service, she just probably has the wrong room." He opens the door smiling at the 'woman' "I'm sorry miss, we didn't order anything."
Luke suffers a moment of quiet laughter that he manages to keep mostly to himself as he remembers the *last* time Elliot spoke with "waitstaff" (and if only he knew what was really going on here, the irony would just kill him). He moves across the floor and looks toward the window to see across the parkin' lot view, parting the shades. "Hey. So, you mentioned a party, right? There're people across the lot…"
Lucas ' eyes open wide for the briefest of seconds. "Fascinating," he says. He walks over to the window and peeks through the shades. "I think I see a familiar face or two."
"Folks you've partied with before Lucas?" Elliot steps aside to let Frost enter, but makes no move to look out of the window himself. "How many are there, Robert?"
"Which building are they in?" Frost stands near the door, ready to leave. "If you gentlemen don't need me for your master game plan, I'm going to give it a go my own way."
Luke, or Robert for now, parts the shades a little wider so that Elliot can get a veiw from here. As Frost speaks he bristles in discomfort at the guy. There are five people standing out front of a hotel room on the lower floor in the building across the property parking lot. They're standing around and talking, and the door is propped open with a chair, lights on inside and movement promising more patrons. "You think maybe Hauser just rented out the place so he could party? You think he'd lease like, … I don't know, not a hotel." The people outside are low-class working people, though a couple of them might have hit the nightclub scene for the sake of having fun.
"I suppose so. We were in the same place doing the same things," he says, "They're hangers-on, weekend bunnies, people partying with secondhand money. Not really my crowd, but I can get us…" he stands and looks at his companions, "I'm fairly certain I can get us in. Is this a private affair? Or semi-private? I hadn't heard of it before. But maybe it's too dive for my crowd."
"I believe it's more of a private event." Elliot walks over to the window and looks down at the parking lot. "Frost, I will trust in your reputation and insight. If you think you'd be better on your own, then I'll not stop you." He hands Frost a preloaded credit card. "This card has 500 dollars on it. This should cover your expenses for the evening. We'll determine the rest of your pay later. Robert, Lucas any ideas on how we could get in there?"
Luke blinks at the handing over of cash. "Yeah, I got an idea. It starts with givin' me a credit card," he jokes half-assedly, before frowning at the flat non-recognition of the people here. He trails off and stares a little too concentratedly out the window and comes out of his slight trance with a draw in of a breath and a troubled and frustrated little sigh. "Yeah, I'll bet it's private. Can't hurt to just, you know. Come over there with some beer an' try to ask for invites, I guess…"
"Forget beer," Lucas says, "Just bring me. And act like you belong there but don't own the place. I'll get us an in-road." He slips off his jacket. "Each of us already looks like we belong but not that we belong together. Lose the sweater, Elliot. And roll up your sleeves. It would help if you acted like you've already had a few drinks. And looked at girls too young for you." He looks at Robert. "You didn't happen to bring an extra pair of shoes, did you?" His face fails to hide the traces of a grin as his mind constructs social strategy.
Pulling the sweater up over his head, Elliot folds it neatly and places it on the bed. Rolling up his sleeves, he looks over at Lucas puzzled, "Shoes?"
Luke blinks at Lucas. Luke's closet consists of 1. Sneakers in horrible disrepair, 2. Pinstripe sneakers in worse disrepair, and 3. A pair of Justin workboots. "No?" He moves toward the door nonetheless.
Fake Maid has secured one of those cleaning carts and positions himself in a prime snooping location.
Tthe door is still open. Two men, two women are outside. The women are sitting on a cooler that's probabyl full of beer. You hear music from inside the hotel. It's nothing that's loud enough to gett them evicted by security, but you can still hear it plainly. It's, by the way, like 9.00 PM. The men are standing and talking over some shiner or other dark beer and the conversation is about mudcrabs and the wine in cyrodill. Actually the conversation is work gossip, it sounds like. One of them is strategizing how to try to finagle a promotion.
Fake Maid shuffles a cleaning cart to the apartment next door. Instead of knocking, he just parks there and lights up a cigarette, trying to hard to appear that he doesn't give a fuck and would rather be somewhere else. It comes naturally.
Fake Maid shuffles a cleaning cart to the apartment next door. Instead of knocking, he just parks there and lights up a cigarette, trying to hard to appear that he doesn't give a fuck and would rather be somewhere else. It comes naturally.
Luke blinks at Lucas. Luke's closet consists of 1. Sneakers in horrible disrepair, 2. Pinstripe sneakers in worse disrepair, and 3. A pair of Justin workboots. "No?" He moves toward the door nonetheless.
Lucas shrugs, "Just stay behind us until we get inside, then." The air of the night is thick and most of the stars are hidden behind a inky cowl of cloud cover or washed out completely by the upward reaching light of the city. As they walk Lucas' lazy slouch becomes a half-stumbling swagger. He snaps his finger and points, "I know this man. Craig? Craig Simon?" One of the men furrows his brow. "Ed Timmons. Do I know you?" "Sure you do! Lucas Berggren. You went to that get together for your sister Cheryl last week at my place!" Lucas says. "That was a month ago. And Sandra." Lucas continues with a string of memories and the apparent Timmons with various corrections. Before long he has slid in between the two men and been handed a beer. They trade jokes, the three apparently ignoring the over-rich lush's two companions. The two girls look them over. After an obscenely long time Lucas waves his companions over and steps inside. "Easy," he mutters.
Fake Maid takes a drag on a cigarette. He hates the things, but they help him blend in. He watches the gang lie their way inside and feels content to watch the entrance. Too many unfamiliar faces in there would probably raise suspicion, anyway. There sure are some weird looking people out here. Frost makes a note to tail any of the weird fuckers that leave in pairs or groups.
Through their carousing, the party finds out that this is just a social party to celebrate an anniversary. Actually nothing big. Nights on the Strand doubles as a sort of apartment complex and has leasing within it. Hauser pays for all of these people because they are his employees on a sort of program to help the down and outs get back on their feet. It's like a company-funded welfare.
Elliot idly chats to random people as he makes his way across the room. He finds a nice piece of walll and leans against it shaking his head.
Lucas wanders over to his companion. He slumps against the wall with a smile on his face. "So, this night turned out like any other for me," he says. He pulls the cigarillo out of his pocket and points it at Elliot. "But apparently they wont let me smoke in here." He looks out over the crowd. "It doesn't feel normal in here," he says in low tones, "Everyone acts like it but it's not. And I don't know why."
Luke moves toward Lucas as he goes through the people here, all nice and oblivious to whatever the hell you bastards are keen to, but he's working the room like a goddamn salesman anyway with his own personal agenda. He murmurs to Lucas, "So it looks like the people here are on some kind of welfare type of program compliments of Hauser at NSC Plastics… What the hell is NSC doin' pickin' up homeless people out of Alapattah?" The comment of the people being 'strange' suprises him and he looks around the room with a new sort of suspicion.
Fake Maid thinks this is bullshit. From what he's gleaned from the outside crowd, this isn't some big NSC Plastics honeypot. Frost doesn't know what this is, but he elects to wait for his companions to leave the apartment and meet up for a second round of "wtf are we doing."
For a moment Elliot looks defeated, but then he smirks to himself, and says a little to loudly, "You know, Houser's a real dick. I know he's the one that got to Andy."
Lucas nods at Robert. "Really not my crowd then," he says. The young ventrue slips taps the wall behind him for a second before his posture grows stiff at Elliot's words.
Luke starts toward the door very suddenly. "Fuck. No. This isn't my crowd either," he tells Lucas on his way out the door in too large of a hurry to be stopped. Whatever he had been staring at a second ago was not user friendly, apparently.
Some of the schmoozers in the crowd stiffen when Elliot pulls off his performance and their gazes snap over to him. "-Got to- Andy?" One of them asks, stepping closer with a stiffness in his posture that has a point to prove as he looks the guy in the eye, darin' his ass to say that again.
Lucas' eyes widen and the cigarillo stops twirling between his fingers. Caught between watching Robert's escape and looking at his companion, he seems like some withered statue or pedestal about to fall over from decay. His eyes scan the face of the angry stranger and he takes a single step away from Elliot. The young ventrue brings the cigarillo to his lips. "Fuck it," he says. The butane lighter clicks and the blue jets turn the end into a single orange ember.
"Yeah, just like he got to you…" Elliot's voice gains an edge, "Why don't you tell me exactly what he's done to you people."
The man pauses. "Done? He's given us a cure," the man supposes, his ire cowed by Elliot's stare into a complacency. He backs up a step. Some of the other party goers are half listening, but they dismiss the distraction to their own hobnobbing in general when they are dissappointed that there isn't gonna be a fight. "Or he will, anyway. We work for him, we embetter ourselves, find our own places and get our lives together… Get our minds back together… Some of us are sick, or deformed or deranged from what we've been exposed to and how we've lived. He's promised us a cure and a better life! Don't you give me this bullshit about how he's a dick, he's helping us all."
"So what's the cure then? Has he given you anything already?" Elliot takes a few steps closer to the man, but his voice and mannerisms are gentle now.
Gabriel pages: YOu got it figured out?
Lucas puffs gently and repeatedly to get the flame going. "Fascinating," he says. He continues sitting against the wall, watching the crowd through the blue smoke and darkness.
The man shakes his head. "Haven't found it yet. We're getting his funding back up so we can pay for more research. Working alongside a few genetics and research companies and Magadon for a cure." He frowns at Lucas and Elliot. "Neither of you are very familiar."
Fake Maid sees Richard exit the apartment and decides to tag along after a bit. Ditching the cart, the cigarette, and his company, Frost creeps up. "So. How'd it go?"