(1206) Staleys Execution

[Asa]

Asa arrived early.

While some might think it was to see who attended, or who arrived in what order, or with whom, or to check up on Ricardo, it was none of those reasons. It was, simply, the reason of the Court itself.

For once, his genial expression was serious, and is clothing matched his expression. A simple black three piece, with a shirt that was dark enough to appear the same -- but actually a deep purple. He studied the tables for a moment, and then adjusted his lapel, removing the white rose that was pinned there.

His eyes lingered on the tables, remembering.

There was nothing pleasant about how Heathcliff Staley had come to Sacramento, and there would be nothing pleasant about the way he left it -- but for someone who seemed so innocuous and unassuming, he had left his mark.

He had enjoyed the immolation of Gabriel Marcus, the last Kindred Sacramento had condemned to the Final Death. He doubted he would enjoy this.

[Benji]

Blake Reese, possibly the freshest Ventrue in Sacramento, brushes away a few nonexistent wrinkles in his grey suit before steeling himself for the gauntlet of Beasts that was no doubt assembling itself this evening. Still new to the city, he had not met much of the city's population and that was perhaps a mixed blessing. This was going to be his first impression for essentially anyone of importance and it was imperative that he make the best of it.

He just had to hope that the fact his first impression was happening at an Execution wasn't an omen of some sort.

That delightful thought echoed in his head as he put on his best smile and flushed vitae through his body, enlivening it for the evening. He had made sure to hunt the night before in case his luck didn't hold out tonight, but the caution had been unnecessary. The city pulsed with life and a small tithe of that was his.

[Twist]

Though it wasn't unusual for Twist to play the 'fashionably late' card, she was clearly not planning on it tonight. Arriving early enough that she felt the press of only a few other beasts faintly through the doors, she was easily able to restrain hers. Knowing that it wouldn't stay that way for long though, she made effort to restrain it well enough for her to withstand the slow trickle that would become a flood of beasts soon enough.

To her right was Kalos, her personal ghoul, though he wouldn't be staying for much longer than it took to drop something off. He was dressed in black slacks, his long sleeve shirt an identical match in color. In his arms was a large bundle of wrapped in black cloth. Reaching up to insure that her mask was settled correctly one last time, Twist stepped into the courtroom proper, holding the door open so that Kalos could follow without bumping his package against the door. Her dress was simple enough at first glance, strapless and short it clung to her curves like a second skin, the tulle adding texture at top and bottom. A second, more careful look would show the roses covering the dress, carefully outlined in tulle. Her mask matched, simple and black, ruffles of tulle framing her eyes only.

Glancing around, she noted those present. Seeing Asa, she dropped a brief cursty from across the room. Though he stood alone for the moment, she did not go to see him, she had other matters to attend to first. Leading Kalos deeper, she found the place that had been described to her and working with Kalos they laid the bundle out. After insuring that it was secure she nodded at Kalos and with a brief dip of his head he left as unobtrusively as possible.

Idly Twist wondered how many kindred would wish they could too by night's end.

For her part she would stay for the entire evening.

Twist's dress

[Cameron]

Wearing one of his new double breasted suits, Nathaniel made his way into the Old Railyard. The everpresent itch tore at his mind, a sensation he knew would never fade regardless of how social he attempted to make himself. A Spider could never truly feel comfortable outside of his web.

His expression was somber, and his movements direct as he headed down the metal walkway into the courtyard beyond. He had no love for executions, his Sire had seen to that. Her taste for violence had boarded on gratuitous, and she had seen fit to turn all such events into an inhuman spectacle of might...and bloodshed. He loved her still, but over a century of watching her indulge in her vices had left a sour taste in his mouth.

He paused, letting his Beast acclimatise to those already present. It wanted nothing more than to rip, to tear and to feed. To turn this event into the orgy of violence it knew so well. He would not allow it. He bowed his head politely to the Prince, whom he recalled from the Heralds introduction at the prior court, but he could not put a name to the faces of those others already present.

As he unclenched his jaw and regained his composure, he found his gaze drifting to the tables, the flower arrangements in particular. He himself wore a white camellia on his lapel, as was his want. Basho's haiku drifted aimlessly around his consciousness, a fitting tribute to the purpose of this evening.

Falling upon earth,
Pure water spills from the cup
Of the camellia.

[Benji]

He takes his cues from the other Kindred as they make their way into the court, giving the confident man in the suit a respectful nod of acknowledgement.

As more enter the converted warehouse, his first instinct is to run. Or step aside and let his elders play their games while he hides, lest they notice him. He is a Lord, however. A Lord may kneel and he may retreat, but he never runs and he only hides when it brings him an advantage.

At the same time as one particular Beast is making his way to him, a smell that could make living eyes water assaults his nostrils. Blake's a smart lad, he figures it out quickly. He smiles and takes his cues from the Nosferatu, extending a hand in greeting only if it seems appropriate. He knows some have an aversion to touch for one reason or another. "Blake Reese, childe of Mother Sofia Godard, raised in the Domain of Los Angeles. At your service, Madam." He cuts his recitation of Lineage down to the bare minimum, while it was a Ventrue tradition and he made the assumption that it would fit well enough in an Invictus Court, he doubted that the names would mean anything to anyone in Sacramento. There was a sharp point where recitation moved from educational to desperate and he knew the difficulties of checking up on him from such a distance would make an extensive catalog of his ancestry and personal triumphs sound like empty boasting.

And that would be gauche.

[Martha Villiers]

Not wanting the condemned prisoner to be able to make a last minute daring escape for any want or negligence on her part as Keeper, Martha was completing the second of her careful patrols of the perimeter this evening to study for conspirators or anything she viewed might aid an audacious plan of rescue.

Seeing others begin to arrive Martha adjusted her top hat and straightened the long train of black silk that was tied to the torso of the hat in the manner of a Victorian undertaker and limped over to follow the Royal Archon into the Elysian Field.

Pausing to allow her time to control the demands of her Beast, Martha used her cane carefully and tried not to make too much noise on the metal walkway. Taking the time to watch Twist's legs at work before dipping a very modest curtsy to His Grace the Duke and then the Royal Archon when the first opportunity arises.

Taking care to have dressed in black this evening, tiny Martha wore a close fitting tunic coat which emphasized her slim waist, a matching black skirt that fell to mid calf, a sensible black Oxford pattern shoes and a black stocking on her flesh leg. Her C-Leg had been polished for the evening too and was likewise obvious. A heavy dose of lavender soap and minty toothpaste were also in evidence to anyone who got close. Her hair was back and tied into a careful twin tails tied with dark purple ribbon bows.

Wearing no obvious adornments Martha had added a discrete dab of red lipstick and black cotton gloves to complete her funereal look.

Tonight would be very different from the others.

Her usual jollity was very much absent as she rose from her proper curtsy to the Duke and Duchess.

[David Silver]

David Silver considers the robe folded in his hands. It powdered with ash and has glaring rips and tears, appropriate for the season of mourning and loss.
Inappropriate for an execution.
Placing the bundle to the side, he dresses simply, black pants, black shirt.

He arrives at Court somber. Walking about, he gives a bow to the Prince and the Archon, before walking about. He comes across a new beast, one that forces the usual terror of his own cowardly beast. He pushes though the terror, striding up to Nathaniel .
"Good evening. We have not met before. I am David Silver, Hierophant of the Circle." His tone is friendly, if a bit somber.

[wibblywobbly]

The Good Herald Keeper was not to be the only one dressing in Victorian garb this evening. Which he notices almost instantly upon entering the the old mill. Charles felt that it would an interesting touch to wear something from his own time to the execution. In fact the suit he wore was the very suit he died in. Despite it's age it was very well kept, Charles had made a point of keeping it clean and neat all theses years because of how important it was to him.

It seemed appropriate to wear for this occasion, first of all because for some reason Mortals and Neonates of this age seemed to view the mid to late 1800s as a very Macabre time. However and perhaps more importantly, in a strange way it felt almost symbolic for Charles to wear this suit of his beginning as a kindred to the ending of another's.

Charles kept his usual cheeriness at social gathering to a minimum this evening. He had a bit more of a thoughtful and determined look about him, for this was dirty business, and though it was unpleasant, it is necessary to keeping the domain at peace.

This all seemed so familiar to him, almost homey in a way. The building's style is very similar to one of the warehouses he used to own back in Erie. Ah yes...perhaps there was a greater metaphor work this this evening than anyone else realized. Only Charles could see how the fates had conspired to create the perfect setting for him.

This is the official ending of an old life and the beginning of a new one.

Charles is now working his way to the top, one glorious step at a time.