Haunting the Park

[Alice Hart]

Streetlamps gave the world a yellow glow, storefronts and and their neon signs trying as hard as they might to fight the ever encroaching darkness by forcing a daylit stain upon in.

It didn't work.

The Night was Dark and full of Terrors, and Alice Hart was one of them.

As was happening more and more often since her Family fractured, drifting off in the wind Alice was finding her own strength. This time last year the Blind Doll thought that she would be the silhouette in the background. No forward momentum, other then the physical, taken in her Requiem. Sacramento was a place that didn't exist on an immortal's time, instead everything here changed month to month, week to week, night to night. Those changes made the rest of the Domain change with it, or be cast adrift.

Against all hope or reason Alice thrived.

She knew Robert thought that when she wandered away from him on their hunting trip he thought she was off following someone to nom. Sometimes that was right, sometimes it was her needing the space to make sure she could still feed herself without him helping her.

But other nights it's like this, moving away from the glaring lights she can no longer see, folding cane out, leading her passed the concrete and the asphalt and on the distinct sound of grass underfoot. Walking until the cane met the sound of wood, a quick feel made sure it was a bench to sit on and not a trashcan to fall in.

The Blind Doll sat, skirt brushed out to sit flat under her, cane leaning against her leg as she listened to the night chorus rising up around her.

[Alice Hart]

Book Keeping~!

[unlimited sink]

Leisurely steps. The night is, indeed dark, and some terrors take their sweet time.

At his ease as always, Henri is out for an evening constitutional. He's in his shirt-sleeves, which are rolled up to the elbows, and dark blue slacks. His idea of casual attire. The cigarette that hangs, burning, from his lips is less a habit and more a trial. It must always be put to the test. Under one arm is a well-worn copy of Lacan's Seminaire le livre XX: Encore. He's hoping to find a peaceful corner of the night to maybe, once again, read through this text.

Florsheim's mark the cadence of his approach on the cement path, until Henri suddenly stops. He's spotted a familiar figure, an unforgettable figure, at rest on a nearby bench. Priscus Hart, why, what a nice surprise. The Daeva watches her for a long moment, his curiosity mounting. And what might we have to say for ourselves this evening?

With that, he drops the cigarette and grinds it out underfoot, before leaving the path and crossing the grass, his pace as unhurried as before. Again, he stops, at a respectful distance. Again, he takes a moment to admire the figure she cuts, sitting there, alone and untroubled by the terrible night arranged around her. Finally, he announces himself, "Miss Hart..." careful not to use titles in public. "What a pleasant turn of events to find you here." His tone makes the sentiment seem true enough, though who knows what the Succubus might really be thinking. "But, I should introduce myself again, we've only met in passing. I am Henri Michaud, we spoke briefly at the last...gathering."

[West]

Small Note for new people:
Court will begin tomorrow and be a Sticky, which means it will happen 'before' this thread. No bigs, just play/write accordingly. Apologies for all that already knew/realized, but just in case

...and obviously, try not to mess up getting Acknowledged in Court. Or Ashed.

[Alice Hart]

Footsteps the first, a Leisurely stride and a mewling Beast. The Wraith dismisses it with a flick of a tail. This mewling thing was no threat to her.

The sensual French accented English flowing from the Daeva spoke of who he was before he reintroduced himself. "Monsieur Michaud," she begins, her accent as rough as brittle broken glass, but the Doll tried, and hoped the Frenchman wouldn't be to offended. "It is a pleasant evening isn't it?"

Footsteps the second, aimless, then purposeful. An equal. A threat. The Wraith wakes, frozen and hissing. Demanding blood, and ash under her fingernails. A feminine voice remembered from their latest court. A name not given, and Alice frowns, without more to identify the women she'd rather not make a foll of herself and assume she was the newest female member of the domain. For all Alice knew, this wasn't the newest shadow, but another that she'd only heard speak briefly.

Footsteps the third, purposeful, demanding that that ground itself yield's itself to the walker. The Wraith's hissing demands grow, another equal, another threat. The Blind Doll surrounded by unknown threats it takes more effort then she'd had to expend in months to force the Wraith behind cold iron bars.

This new kindred, male by his voice, another who didn't give his name, leaving Alice in the same place as she is with the women. They both speak of how wonderful the night is.

A head nods, more controlled as the Blood flows through her, but still a jerking motion.

[unlimited sink]

The Marionette's attempt at his mother tongue draws a smirk from Henri, not that she can see it. He would appreciate her effort if it weren't for her appalling accent. Because a language is beautiful, everyone feels they own it. When he responds, however, whatever discontent he may feel is nowhere evident in his voice: "Well, it is a night like any other. The pleasant surprise I mentioned was you."

Before he can continue, however, It interrupts. The Fear shoots through him at the sound of another's approach. Turning, Henri spies none other than the newly arrived Mehket, Myriam. A Shadow out of the Dark, he thinks, doing his best to restrain Its tantrums.

"Ah, Le Révérend Père Riley," he says, greeting her with a smile, a joyful yet ambiguous twinkle in his eye. The archaic form of the title he's given her, and its masculine form, is a kind of private joke. God is always a man, and so are his disciples, no matter their genitalia. Blundering, stupid men, who do not see that they serve their own satisfaction under the cover of His Law. So be it then. "What brings you to the park this evening?"

But then It unleashes a second wave of Fear as yet another Kindred approaches, a new face once again. "And Mr. Matheson, correct?" He's almost certain that is the name he'd learned at the last Court. Discerning eyes drift from Myriam to William and back again, "Were the two of you planning to meet here, or is this all a happy accident?"

How curious, if they were. How curious, if they weren't.