Josephine braces her fingers against the glass...
...and discovers it's locked.
It's not terribly surprising, given the low rent area and stack of past due invoices that are piling up...
Sterling Disjointed, Frenzied Rue
30591
THREADID
19
POSTS
11 - 19
DISPLAYED
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Josephine braces her fingers against the glass...
...and discovers it's locked.
It's not terribly surprising, given the low rent area and stack of past due invoices that are piling up...
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A thin sigh shook itself out of her chest cavity, but she did not despair. She had one last idea, one last trick to win her the blood that would be her salvation, one that was fitting for a scion of the unholy. Just as virtue and goodness were now sin, and sin was transformed into good works, so would her weakness be turned into strength. She would prey upon whatever good will was left within the woman, draw her closer, encourage an invitation beyond the glass, and then, just as pity would fill the woman's heart, her blood would fill Josephine's bowels. For few suspected the Victim of being dangerous, and the part of the Victim, though she was not an especially skilled actor, would suit her well now. Such a role would lower the woman's reservations and speak to the divine sense of righteousness in the kine's breast, and it would be that same sense which she would exploit if the woman were not worthy of better treatment.
Josephine raised herself up so that she was no longer crouched and, after a moment of fixing a wretched look upon her face, sent a palm slapping against the window's pane. "Help me," she cried, attempting to force further tears from her sockets. "Help me, please."
1 success!
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The woman starts, head darting from side to side for a moment. Slowly, she turns...
...and nearly spills out of her chair as she starts again at the sight in front of her.
A look of terror widens her eyes before she runs from the pale, bloody apparition at her window, disappearing into the depths of the small building.
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Dead, black eyes glared into the empty room, necromatically fueled neurons firing behind them.
Some night, when the woman was alone again, Josephine would return. Her cowardice was damning. It now mattered not if she wore a cross or muttered psalms beneath one. Judgement would come. Eventually, judgement would come.
For now, Josephine had her own well being to worry about. The woman was likely calling the authorities, and Josephine could not afford to deal with them. The Prince's damnable edicts made it too hazardous to risk. For now she must flee. Flee, and try another method.
She began to make her way back to the Moore House, trusting to shadow's rather then the time of night. Every dash across pavement was rife with the chance for discovery, but not all streets were well lit, and with the blessing of an objective mind, it was not hard to pierce darkness and find the truth of objective, material reality. Light, or the lack of it, did not change what was there, and such knowledge guided her home, once again, to the steps of the Moore House...
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Fortunately for Josephine, it's not far. Perhaps more importantly, her crystal clear memory of street signs and intersections allows her to take the most direct path back.
She has excellent timing. In the distance, she can hear the wail of a siren.
The Moore House.
Gate and door stand ajar, evidence of her earlier departure. The lights are still on, and the earlier smell of incense is faint and overlaid with the smell of burnt cloth. It's an old, stale smell -- there's no fire.
But there's something else...
...something tangy in the air. Something fresh, wet, and crimson that rouses the predator within. An image --a memory-- flashes through her thoughts; Galilei, on the ground, torn open.
Blood.
Everywhere.
She's...
...starving.
If Josephine is going to approach/see Thomas, she'll have to roll for Wassail.
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The gate was shut, as was the door, its bolt and chain soon following. Let the world outside content itself without her presence. She was done with it, for now. Her trial lay, not without, as she'd first thought, but within this sacred space. Her bounty was here. The dilemma, the true trial, here. The question was not whether she would be willing to take a life, or whether she could avoid doing so, or if she would show proper wisdom in choosing her victim. No, the dilemma was whether she was willing to partake of what was offered to her. Whether she was willing to submit, not just before the Lord, but before one of his agents upon the mortal plane.
And...such was not an easy decision.
Galilei had proven himself to be, in several respects, foolish. He did not guard his tongue, he did not guard his political interests, and most importantly, he did not guard himself, let alone her. To give him any amount of dominion over her? To make herself vulnerable, tying herself to his weaknesses, thus doubling her own? Was such a wise move? In many respects, no, she pondered, body quivering, tendons like taught spring steel beneath her skin.
Yes, the desire to simply give in, to sate her infernal hunger, to taste of Galilei's soul, it was simply abject, like all encounters with her true self were. What most called the "Beast", Josephine knew to simply be her. The manifestation of all her repressed evil and sin. It was not something to be feared. It was something to be embraced, but only sparingly, like a spoit child. In fact, the two were not dissimilar. The thought conjured up the image of a draugr in a girl's body, dress smeared with blood, much as her flesh was at that moment. It was a queer thought to have. Was it anything more than the wild meandering of a mind beset by it's base instincts or was there something more to it, something profound, something that had seeped down from on high?
Perhaps it was. What was she, alone, without companions or rivals, superiors or minions? What was a Sanctified without a flock to tend, or heathen to convert? Not that she was fond of the tending or the converting, but the point was still relevant. God had created Longinus to spread the Word among the civilized kindred, those who dwelt in the cities and shaped the society of the kine at large. Such was where the Sanctified belonged. Alone, she was but a paltry drop of oil amidst a vast lake. Among other she could do far more, and though she was a Lady, one gifted with the power to suborn Free Will itself, and yet it was hubris to think that she must bow before no one. Though she did the devil's work, she was not Satan, blinded by pride. There were times when one must have the strength to submit, the strength to weather what would come. It was the tall oak, strong and proud, that broke under the wrath of the storm. It was the blade of grass, willing to bend, willing to mesh its roots with others that would survive.
That's what she would do: mesh her roots. She'd promised as much, before, with her talk of a coterie. This, this was just more of the same. An act of faith, placing trust in another, just more a more binding promise. One which would exist, metaphysically, whereas words were just breath mingling with wind. Yes, she would accept this. She would give in, shed her ego, abolish her pride, bare herself before her new purpose, and in doing so, become one step closer to her brother. She would have to gift him the same opportunity when he awoke.
And so, her mental monologue complete, the Demon that was Josephine Sterling, Priscus of Lords and Ladies, descended into her most base desires, her lifeless body scurrying over hard wood floors to find bounty hidden in the bowels of the Moore House. Her tongue would lap, her teeth would work, her throat would drink, and salvation from the Sleep would be hers. Her brother had become her sacrifice, but unlike with Cain, Abel would rise again and join her in her Unholy Purpose.
So the woman would think, once the Beast had descended once more...
Eventually Josephine drinks dat blood. Because she wants to. So there!
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Josephine suckles at Thomas' corpse for nourishment, but finds none.
Thomas was at 0 Vitae in his pool at the end of combat. No Vitae gained.
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A laugh slipped from her, just as her fangs slipped from the Priest's cold flesh. How foolish she had been, so desperately trying to find the bounty hidden behind the trial, like some heathen brat upon Easter Sunday. Her concern should never be the bounties intended for her! God had already given her his gifts, given her a chance to become a part of His plan before her soul should find its way to hell. Such was a truth she knew, had always known, even though it had slumbered for a time behind her dead eyes. No, this was not what she had to prove this evening. That part of the message thrived within her being. It was the other part of the message, some might say the most important part, that she oft ignored: the part which spoke of spreading the message. Of encouraging all of the Damned to turn life upon earth into a living hell. And, how was tonight not the perfect opportunity to embrace that most hallowed clause?
Perhaps Thomas had not been felled just because of his folly. Perhaps he had been felled because, had he not been, she would not have had the need to embrace her calling. With perfect understanding of their true mission upon the earth he would have helped her bring torment to the living and thus he was not in need of hearing the message, and she would not have had the need to spread it. But, with him in Slumber, and his precious Blood spilled uselessly upon her flesh, she had need of help. Had need for making one of their kind glimpse the truth of their existence.
She had just the Kindred in mind.
So, with her goal perfectly in mind, shining like a beacon against the blackness of despair and uncertainty, she set her waxy flesh into motion. If her plan would work, she must become clean. A quick sojourn to the long disused bathroom of the House let her clean the Blood from her flesh. Then she went upstairs to where she had stashed a more appropriate set of clothes. She had not come to the Moore house in just a robe, after all. She had simply brought it along and changed into it once she was there.
Then, her appearance now suitable for the presence of Kine again, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number of Juan Cordoba.
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