by Jak Snide » Fri Jun 28, 2002 5:01 pm
Detroit, Michigan. A highly unusual city, even for one in the know about the true machinations of the world. Hmm? Stupid childe, I refer to the existence of our race; the kindred. Why it is unusual? That's a question which requires more than a single sentence for a answer.
If I told you that Bennedict Landers held domain over this city as Prince, you'd nod, seeing nothing new with a Ventrue holding such a position. But Bennedict Landers isn't a Ventrue, nor one of the Toreador. Bennedict, or Belthorn rather, is a warlock, one of the Tremere, and one of their ilk holding the title of Prince is, by itself, highly unusual. But there is more to the city than an odd-ball of a Prince.
The city is divided in a schism, East and West different in so many ways you'd think the Black Hand and the Camerilla had struck a deal and split the city between them. Stop looking so horrified! Out of all the fledglings, you must be the only one who cringes at the mention of the Sabbat.
Now, as I was saying, the two sides of the city are quite different. The West side is what you'd expect from a bustling metropolis under the borders of the Camerilla. The bovine masses of the kine go about their daily business, while our kind stalk the night, unknown to them of course. The political intrigues, social affairs and nightly occurrences are almost stereotypical in the city, despite Bennedicts rule.
The East, on the other hand, is a fine portrayal of society, kine and cainite, gone wrong. This are of the city hosts the red light districts, the barrens, and other places where any self respecting and decent vampire wouldn't set foot. This is the land of angry street gangs, along with the more dedicated Anarchs, as well as the rest of the scum at the bottom of the picking order, such as the few independent (and even a few of the Sabbat) who slipped into the city and remained without detection, avoiding Raph in particular. Who's Raph you say? You'll learn soon, but until then, bother me with that name no more.
The city hosts a fine set of docks, which Bennedict was none to happy about being located right in the middle of the Western section. With no way of checking and policing the influx of kindred into his domain, overpopulation was looming in front of him, and the sheriff was bogged down with all sorts of problems. The sudden change of the Elysium location a few years ago served as a bleak indicator that the Prince was losing his grip on the city, and beginning to lose the confidence of the Primogen council. Fortunately for him, his main enemy in the Primogen, the Ventrue elder Helton Gale to be specific, happened to be sleeping late on the wrong day, and suffered the same fate as his firebombed suite. Blame for this fell on the small Sabbat presence in the city, although others argue over who the real culprit was. After all, a few other parties could be guilty.
But this is a prelude to the real story of Detroit. Bennedict needed help with the various problems in his city, and he was getting quite desperate. Unable to spare the more elderly, and experienced, kindred under his rule, and too busy dealing with the nighty occurrences himself, he selected his prize childe, some whelp named Tristan Burgan, to handle the negotiations for reinforcements in Lansing. Of course, he wasn't about to send a lone Apprentice out of his domain alone and unprotected. Fortunately, the childer of the city provided a good pool from which he could draw.
----
Two kindred sat alone outside the office of the Prince, located in the upper floors of the cities premiere library. They sat facing each other, avoiding eye contact so far, each a little worried about the situation.
The first of them, the Toreador Robert Wilson, was present due to forces beyond his control. His lineage had a tradition of enforcing a full blood bond from childe to sire, which in turn served as a means of keeping the lineage highly loyal to the Camerilla. He suspected why he was here; Bennedict knew that he had control over him ever since the incident with his sire and the Sabbat, and saw him as one of the more controllable members of the soon to be formed coterie.
Across from him sat a woman who was as different from the Toreador as could be. Her short and oddly cut hair was dyed blue, with two chest-length tendrils in front of her ears, the one to the left braided. Her clothes were gothic, black being the colour of choice, with a fishnet piece thrown in for good measures. Heavy black eyeliner surrounded her eyes, dribbling down each cheek in a parody of tears. To finish this off, her black lipstick was pencilled to look as if her lips turned slightly down, forming a perpetual frown. She was here for simpler reasons than Robert; she was the muscle of the group, those having encountered her sadistic nature first hand making sure to keep away from the burly Brujah, her already considerable strength enhanced with a good measure of Potence. And besides, her sire owed the Prince a boon for not staking him and his new childe out for the sun when he discovered that the Brujah was asking permission for the creation of a childe after he had already embraced her.
The third kindred supposed to be present was late, delayed by some reason or another. While others would scorn her for her disregard of schedule, her clanmates would call her "fashionably late."
And now, the fourth member of the soon to be formed coterie stepped out of the elevator down the hall, his attire composing simply of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. He peered down the hall at the two outside the office of his sire through the glasses that perched on his nose, and took a step towards them.
(OOC: ...and off we go. The prince is currently in discussion with some under his command, so you'll have to wait a little before the plot will move along. Until then, I'm sure you'll keep each other company. *smirks*)