Out in North Sacramento the city grew more worn down as the community became poorer. The level of disrepair grew; sidewalks became increasingly buckled and cracked; the frequency of abandoned or derelict lots grew. During the day this may have lent the area a certain aesthetic quality but the night tore away even this. Urban decay was here and it was real.
Amid the neglect stood a brick building. An overgrown hedge and garden wrestled with the buckling unvarnished fence. Behind the building, the lot had been reduced to gravel, dirt and muddy puddles. Yet the buildings doors and windows looked freshly reinforced and painted an uninviting black. Discreet cameras, secure in their housings, watched the approaches.
This was the lair of Marvyn Stax, who had chosen his urban fastness and fortified it against the city, the Kine, and even his fellow Kindred.
Stax walked within his haven, checking the setting and his chosen accoutrements with a practiced eye. Black lacquer and red leather for furnishings: a combination of rich carving and harsh minimalist lines; drapery imitated that found at Elysium; lush carpet muffled his foot steps. Here in his sanctum he was not Blushed; the tasteful lighting reflecting off his unnaturally pale skin; dead eyes glittered.
He was awaiting guests and he had a proposal for them.
MARVYN STAX
Librettist of Clan Ventrue
BP 1
Over to you Macavity Peter Byrne zapero12 Robert Cross @Unlimitedsink . There is one (1) slot open to any other player. First come first served.