The Great Below

Jul 15th, 2017 05:26 PM

At the first words that come out of Cynthia's mouth he'd blush...if he wasn't an animated corpse, that is. "You think so? Flattered as I am, let's just say that the Church has a mission and I help to fulfill it with the talents I picked up while alive. That's all there is to it." It's all very simple in his mind: there's an end and there are means to it. Everything else is just noise.

He listens intently when the other Haunt explains her artistic endeavors and nods at the possibility of being showed some of her work. "You do that" The Moore House still needs to be reestablished and it could always use some refinement. Then the subect changes to the woman's coterie and it certainly does raise a few questions for Longstreet. "You were a nomad then? An interesting choice... dangerous, too." The effective lack of haven or steady source of food, as well as the things lurking in the dark, just to name a few difficulties "Forgive the nosiness but were you the ones pursuing... or being pursued?"

What comes next strikes him with the force of a concrete slab. He wasn't asked about his hobbies or interests in... Let's face it, no one ever asked him about that. This is probably why he takes so long to answer. "I, uh... recently picked up some reading about how different cultures view - well, us. The dead. The afterlife. Didn't have much time to dig through it, though." There are about three seconds stretched to the size of half an eternity "I also collect music boxes. But it's a secret, and if you tell anyone I know where to find you." The faux threat tastes weird in the Bishop's mouth. Usually it's said in a much different tone and with different intent. "Anyway, have to say I was never much of a traveller myself. You must've seen a lot of interesting things." The question-as-statement went well enough last time, let's try that agian, shall we?

**Cynthia Weiss** · Jul 16th, 2017 02:24 PM

Cynthia quirked her eyebrow up. "What were you? A mobster or something?" She chuckled softly.

"Long, dangerous. Kinda fun sometimes." She explained with a shrug. Cynthia stood up, no longer finding any comfort from sitting on a box. "Not all nomads are criminals, exiles or on some 'quest' by their sires." Fingers twitched. She almost resisted air quotes that time. "We just didn't like the idea of spending eternity in the domains we were embraced in. Decided to just keep moving on 'till we found somewhere. Still looking myself." She listened to Longstreet, nodding as he spoke. "Always interesting to see what the living thinks of us...Most of the time." Even to this night the goth was not sure if she should laugh or cry at some of the books she had read. Surprise crossed her face when music boxes were brought up, but like many emotions tonight it vanished quickly."Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. Having something other than domain business is good way to keep one sane during these long nights." A small, satisfied smile emerged.

"I've seen a few things. No sewer gators though." Cynthia alluded to. The haunt suddenly sniffed the air and gagged. "Mind we move this somewhere else? This place is making me smell good."

Jul 17th, 2017 04:05 AM

The chuckle was duly noted. So that's how hurt pride feels like. "You're saying that like it's unbelievable. A mobster, yeah. An interrogator to be precise. You sent a guy, any guy, to me in the morning and receive whatever cooperation you wanted as a good-night present. Intel. Debts. Services." He takes a moment. "To my face, they called me an artist, with fear and pain as my tools. When they thought I didn't hear them, they called me a vicious motherfucker." He chuckles "I suppose there was some truth to that"

"So you're the pursuing party. Looking for a home, a place to fit in. How will you know you've found one when you do?" He asked curiously. He was spared the ourney for the most part, in both the physical and metaphysical sense, but wondered what it meant to others. "Indeed, intreresting. And useful. Saves you a lot of work to exploit the fears that are already there."

When the small smile on Cynthia's face vanishes and she briefly mentions her travels: "Did you look for them? I thought they were a myth - back when I was convinced vampires are, too. Now I'm not so sure" His Covenant's scholars spoke of alien things running around, but even their information was scarce. Big reptiles don't sound that strange in comparison.

The Artist is already standing, and finally Longstreet moves too. "Sure, let's go. A different room or were you thinking a walk topside?" He asks and follows whatever decision she announces.

**Cynthia Weiss** · Jul 17th, 2017 05:54 AM

The awkwardness of a joke falling flat enveloped Cynthia. She listened in silence as Longstreet explained what he did best. "Oh...I see." She could keenly feel Longstreets curse washing over her, the feeling of standing before a deplorable thug, a viscous killer. His explanation made that feeling far more pronounced to The Artist in that moment in time.

"Feeling like the Caldarium personally." She said with confidence. A small mental reminder that his was not the worst curse she had experienced. She jerked her head towards the Trash Pit's entrance and started making her way out. "Don't know what I'm looking for exactly to be honest. I always figured its one of those 'you'll know it when you see it' sort of things." She explained, her boots echoing through the twisting tunnels.

"I did look around a bit when I could. Heard stories that some haunts take them from swamps or zoos, ghoul them and keep them around as body guards and pets. Considering what The blood does to the average animal, I'm kinda glad I actually never found one." And the moment she finished that sentence they entered the soft light of the Caldarium. The calming feeling entered the goth and it seemed the smell of Arsenic and gasoline seemed a little more tolerable. Hm, no one else is here still...

The artist turned back to Longstreet. "I've collected a few stories over the years. Some of its the standard stuff like Lupines. Other things I'm not sure are real or not."

Jul 17th, 2017 02:38 PM

Cynthia appears to be intimidated, maybe even a little scared by his confession. He didn't plan it this way, but could see it coming, really. After all, not many people, not even those sharing the Lonely Curse like to hear about that sort of thing... or the feeling of imagination running wild that comes with it. So Longstreet raises his right hand and points a finger at the Artist as if to underline his point: "You must think I'm some kind of a sociopath, a butcher eating infants for breakfast" He makes a stop there, choosing and speaking his words carefully. "I assure you, I take no pride and certainly no joy in what I do. Not now, anyway. I know full well that I'll answer for all of it one night, and have a pretty strong hunch about how the judgement will go." There is another pause "But it has to be done. When I was alive, I did it for money. Now I serve a higher cause" His voice is gray and bitter like ash.

On her cue, Longstreet starts to walk beside Cynthia, sending waves of sound from under his heavy boots. A stray rat scurried away, drowning in the darkness of the corridor they had just passed. He frowns when the other Haunt admits obliviousness as to her goal. "It never works like that. I knew a guy, once, Wyatt. One day he decides to rob the San Diego Museum of Art for his boss, it was back when it hosted an exhibition of Assyrian ancient artifacts or some shit like that" The briefest of pauses "Thing is, Wyatt, unlike his boss, knew nothing about ancient art. We said to him 'Wyatt, how are you gonna know what to take?' and he told us that he'll just take something that looks old. So he breaks in, takes the first clay vase he can find and runs away, offers it to the boss. The boss looks at it, pulls out his gun and shoots Wyatt in the face" He treasured that story, partly because it takes such an unexpected turn.

"Turns out, the vase was a fake. Wyatt died because he didn't know what he was looking for. Ignored dozens of priceless things and went for the shiniest prize... to his demise." He finishes, and falls silent until they reach the Caldarium. The serenity smooths both their Curses, and Cynthia's words echo clearly in the dimly lit room. Alligators as ghouled pets? Disquietingly easy to believe. Not like what she says next, though.

"Lupines? You mean the furry balls of teeth and rage that stalk forests? Kinda glad I never met one, heard they're worse than the Gangrel. And let me tell you, if that's standard to you then you're either extremely knowledgeable or extremely dangerous. Or both." The statement was intended as a compliment, but doesn't quite go like that, much to Longstreet's dismay. Oh well, artists are supposed to be the tolerant folks, aren't they?

**Cynthia Weiss** · Jul 18th, 2017 06:30 AM

Cynthia remained stone faced as Longstreet spoke. "I'll keep that in mind." Cynthia replied with a nod and an attempt to sound diplomatic. She was not sure he was truthful. But maybe that was his curse clouding her judgement. Perhaps she was wrong.

Then he mentioned someone getting a bullet in the face and she could not help but frown.

"Its...not like that exactly. Really." The artist began to explain. "I know on some level what I am looking for. I'm not searching for someone else. I'm looking for a place I feel like I belong." She jabbed her chest, like this was something that mattered deep within. "Its part of the reason I have not bent knee to one of the Big five in all of these years."

She started at him for a moment. Realisation hit her. "Oh. I meant I literally collect stories. From other nomads and the domains. I never seen one of those things myself." A pause and a thoughtful look wiped away the confusion. "Although Sebastian said he did see some big wolves stalking us around Montana. Of course he was the sort to bullshit us so...." She shrugged. Fact and fiction blended together for the Haunt to the point she was not sure what to believe.

Jul 18th, 2017 04:08 PM

The Artist's face moves only to let out a short sentence, and Longstreet feels it's all he can count on at this time. As he looked at the marble mask she wore, he wondered if he misstepped. Perhaps he could route the conversation differently, make himself appear more pleasant.

No. Fuck that. The ugly truth must surface, and the choice Cynthia might make one night must be an informed one.

She attempts to explain her previous words, uninterrupted by the Bishop. "That's exactly what Wyatt had said. But at the end of the road, the feelings we supposedly harbor for places, things or persons are rooted in the very concrete traits they have, traits we value more than others. I understand if you don't want to tell me or even don't know them yourself, but the fact is that if you don't wanna end up alone, you have to figure it out." That last bit might sound a little patronizing, against the Haunt's intent. Once more it became apparent that he's not used to conveying his beliefs to others.

"You collect stories? Write them down or something?" He wonders if he has a bag full of notebooks or CDs stored somewhere "That like a pastime to you? Or is there some deeper meaning to it?" Only then did he realize that if someone collects stories, they might create them ust as well. Which means if Cynthia ever leaves the Domain, she might place Longstreet in one of them.

He's not sure if it's vanity or fear that just fluttered inside of him.

**Cynthia Weiss** · Jul 18th, 2017 10:48 PM

The mask fell away from the artist, long enough to reveal what she felt. Disappointment. "What I'm looking for is not quite as tangible as you make it out to be. If it was the things all kindred were looking for, I probably would have stayed in San Fran." Some small part of her had hoped he would have understood as a man of faith. Guess I was wrong. The mask was back on and she gave the Bishop a casual shrug. "Eh. Guess it doesn't matter really. I'll find it one of these nights. I'm sure of it." She turned and started heading for the stone benches closest to the shimmering water.

"Some I wrote down. Others we used as ideas for songs. And a few are still knocking around in my head" Cynthia explained as she sat down once more. The bag holding some of her belongings next to her feet, which she kicked back just out of sight. There was the subtle worry in the back of her mind it was ruining the atmosphere of the Caldarium. "I'd say a mix of a side hobby and currency. News about your neighbours and other places is always valuable. Especially when you don't know how to get word from another Domain."

Jul 19th, 2017 03:41 AM

Was that...disappointment on Cynthia's face? "I said 'concrete', not 'tangible'. For people like the Reeve it's duty. For... others it's love or friendship or any number of different things. Blood and money and power are all nice to have, but they're the engine, not the road and certainly not the goal" The sudden surge of poetic comparison surprised Longstreet, to the point when he had to make and extended pause to catch his thoughts. "But you make it sound like you know what you're looking for, at least to some extent"

They then sit in the Caldarium. He's got half a mind to sit beside the artistically inclined Haunt, but decides otherwise, painfully aware of the number of wrong messages this would send. Instead, he took a place directly in front of her, easily able to study her face - and for her to study his.

"Do you have them with you? The stories? And the songs - were they like campfire songs, ballads or something else?" Too late does he realize singing around campfires is out of the question for most of their kind, so a weak smile attempts to conceal it as a bad joke. "You were like spies, then? Keeping your ear to the ground, selling whatever came up at your next stop?" The question marks were legitimate this time, meaning he was genuinely interested if he didn't misinterpret something. "Speaking of which: you said you posed as a band? You had a name? Any chance I can find your CDs at music stores?" He asks, lightening up. It'd be weird, but funny as hell, too - at least as far as the Haunt's unrefined sense of humor is concerned.

**Cynthia Weiss** · Jul 20th, 2017 08:46 AM

The sides of Cynthias mouth twitched a bit. Looks like he got most of it after all. The artist was starting to wander just how much of a communication problem was between them. "I don't know. But I know. You know?"

There was a moment when silence fell on the Cardium when Robert asked his question. The Artist just stared at him, confused. Baffled. Then she covered her mouth and could not stop herself from laughing. “Oh god. Now I’m thinking Death Traps and Bloody Martinis.” She struggled to say. It took her a second to calm down and get a hold of herself. ”Sorry. Closest to spying we got into was scouting out Domains to see if the local custom to Nomads isn’t ‘Stake ‘n Bake.’ Playing courier for some helped give us an in.”

And then came the typical questions about Them. This was probably the first to ask in depth since she arrived in the River City she noted. “We changed names quite a few times. We settled on Lunar Moth when we recorded a few things. Naturally we had to be a bit selective with what we used as inspiration.” She explained calmly, the last line sounding like something she had to say many times before in the past. She looked down at her bag, lost in thought. “I think I still have one of our old cassettes. We stuck to the underground so distribution was… Limited.” As it was for the best in hindsight.

The Great Below

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