(Skeleton Keys) Skeletons in the Closet

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Kenneth let David work on getting the black powder. He needed to get the paper towels ready. The gun powder couldn't be below or it might just blow out the paper like wadding.

Stuffing them down far enough to press against the body was accomplished by unscrewing the Windex cap and using the pipe, after shaking it dry of course. If it wasn't enough then he could use his shirt to stuff it down further and then pull out the shirt. If that wasn't enough then he'd probably have to break off a chair or table leg.

"What's a Fang Key?" he asked as he worked. They didn't sound very pleasant.

Once everything is set then it's time add the gun powder and light it. Time to see if the Beast would force another one of them to go into frenzy.

[Hildegarde Bingen]

Hildegarde drifts back to the others, her search for flammables exhausted.

"Ah! I see you have a solution?" The Lord murmurs when she catches sight of the cockroach Haunt, busy at work with towels, Windex and gunpowder. "Will that be enough?" She queried. She might have added something more, but Gilroy had already set his crude charges.

Wisely, the Dragon takes the lead of the Grand Wyrm and withdraws once more. She feels the pang of Hunger now and knows that this will only stir her aggravated Beast further; it had already shook its gilded cage once already that night and the Castellan did not want to encourage it further without need.

[Twist]

Twist watches the scurry around the glass enclosed figure with cold eyes, not so much for those moving but for the figure within. In her hands, the knife twisted in a rhythmic pattern. Blinking as she is addressed she hesitates for a moment, clearly not wanting to leave the room to wake Rina.

It wasn't that she didn't want to retrieve the small fighter... it was simply that she had priorities.

Namely, insuring Straiphen was fully destroyed.

[West]

The flame is set, and burns slowly down the make-shift paper towel wicks.

Most people are surprised at just how slowly 'loose' gunpowder burns.

White and gold flashes flare through the glass prison; for a moment, the body looks almost... angelic. Flames flicker and surge, catching on the other agents Kenneth has loaded and soft whistles of air can be heard though the holes in the glass.

The corpse's eyes open.

Cold, and hateful, they slide around the room. Fangs bear in derision, or what might be fangs were they not missing. It's a sight that could jar most Kindred: mutilated to the core of their very identity, and subjected to fire so often it had become blase.

The fire continues to catch and move; here and there, flaring on piles of powder, igniting clothing. Reason and understanding seep into hate, and hate begins to become fear. Eyes fix on each Kindred -- the eyes of a centuries old Lord. They consume and fix on each like the prey they are, hypnotizing them with a void of purpose waiting to be filled.

The rictus moves, shouts buried and silenced by feet of glass. The whispers of sound that escape, distorted by the tubes and rising on smoke, tickle at the senses. They are what the void within waits for, and it's all one can do not to lean forward -- to let the Words take hold.

Glass fills with smoke and flame -- and cracks. Fresh spider-webs splinter out from appendages as the once-Prince and tyrant is consumed.

The burning takes minutes. The collapsing body in Final Death takes moments.

Feel free to post any reaction or post mortem. We'll keep it brief and hand-wave the leave-taking and return to topside.

Nice work, and thank you all for your patience.

[Josephine Sterling]

In the depths of the hidden bathroom, another Ventrue was locked in fierce battle, limbs bent against the fierce nemesis of the bathroom sink's plumbing. A pair of handcuffs played referree and the lavatory tile rebounded the noise of the struggle like a crowd cheering a famous combat on...

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Kenneth watches analytically as the Prince burns. A small part of him wonders if he's made some great mistake. All he had was hersay and rumors. The man in the burning glass could have been a saint for all Gilroy really knew. It was too late for second thoughts now though.

A larger part shrieked to run. Flee the flames that flickered in the tubes as they consumed the Lordly corpse inside. Kenneth squashed the instincts and kept staring. Respect, curiosity, guilt. Something held his gaze. And then the Ventrue's eyes fixed on Kenneth's. The hate, warped through the glass, was still impossible not to recognize. The dominating gaze fascinated Gilroy, even if he didn't fully comprehend what that meant. Kenneth watched as the fear began to show and the twisted voice shouted in whispers through the glass. It was somehow... pleasant.

Whether Straiphen was able to see and understand what was happening was uncertain. As Kenneth held the commanding stare, the former Prince of the domain would see the lowly snake whose fiery venom was now turning him to ash. And the vermin was smiling at him.

[Hildegarde Bingen]

Hildegarde waited on the Grand Wyrm while she carefully turned her head so she could just catch the flash and flicker of the igniting gunpower illuminate the gloom.

"So it is done, then?" The Lord inquired. "Perhaps then we should retire? This was a hard enough place to find and we still have to escape the sewers. And one of our number may not have calmed down."

Patient, passive, Hildegarde waited for a response.