There are many ways in which a Kindred may hunt. One might haunt the shadowy places and dim alleyways of the city, waiting for a lonely kine, lost or taking a short cut, to cross one's path. One might draw the prey close by making the environment attractive and conducive to the prey's sensibilities and strike while their guard is down. Or one might counsel patience, and wait at a watering hole for a likely target to present itself... follow it away from the herd and strike it when it is alone and exposed.
The Zebra Club certainly fitted the last of those three strategies. It was a vanilla club, catering to all tastes and none. It was neutral ground. Safe. A group of rough looking men played pool while a group of nerds and geeks clustered around the arcade machines. In a corner, a group of working men celebrated a mile stone of some sort in a round of drinks. A dangerous looking man with a tattoo covering one eye claimed a chunk of the bar as his own and drank in silence. Two lovers claimed a table... and were disturbed a two friends.
The Zebra Club boasted a kitchen that operated till 1AM and could linger open for a few more hours after that. In the lean summer, when the night was short and hunting opportunities few, this waterhole might be the only chance for an evening meal. It was the way of things. The cycle of the seasons. Time, of which the Kindred were no longer a part, but still inextricably chained to.
Unless one decided to arbitrarily shift the shape of the hunt from food to something else? Harken to yonder table where the college freaks have brokered a fragile alliance with the college jocks. Words thicken the fumes of alcohol, hormones, and tribal posturing.
"I know right? The old house near Sacramento International Airport? The house Old Man Chambers lived in..."
"Its on Pritchard Avenue, dufus!"
"Yeah. I know. Right next to the airport... d'uh! Anyway! Like, its been abandoned for years, right? No one goes there..."
"Except the cultists..."
"Yeah..."
"... No one except the cultists goes there. Yeah. 'Cos that place is haunted or some shit. Thats crap. Probably just got some of Old Man Chambers shit there... Now I bet Peg Leg Jonas knew that when he dumped his stash there. For hard times, you know... when his schemes went south. House with that rep... no one is going to think to look there..."
"Peg Leg Jonas?"
"Small time hood. Big ideas. Got caught. It was in the local news... You do read? Not everything is about Dark Gods and sex orgy rituals..."
"I'm offended by that..."
"I'll give you that. It would be a good spot to hide a stash."
"So what? We, like, blood siblings because we tracked some stuff down in the library? Please!"
"Yeah..."
"Hell no! I don't want anything to do with your shit. But I gotta plan! We want the same thing, right? How about we team up? It'll be easier to get into that place together than if we both go separately. You want to do some magic thing..."
"Its an invocation!"
"Whatev's. You want to do some mumbo jumbo shit. We want to go treasure hunting. Look, I'm offering you guys some... moral support here. Its a big old house at the end - okay, okay... middle! - of the road. We're big strong guys so we can break in for you and you won't have to break a nail - yah. I'm a quarterback and you... you're a random... witch... girl. Goths are so dated, yah - and if there is like, some smelly perv hiding out there, we chase 'em off for you. You get an upper floor or whatever for your... use the force! You know... We get to search for Peg Leg Jonas stash."
"You really think this guy would bury..."
"They say Jonas invested in diamonds..."
"Gold."
"Since he's in the slammer, he don't need it any more does he?"
An abandoned place. A mystery. A taboo. And those willing to break it. Who needs vulgar flesh and blood when a mythic food such as this is laid out?