(2202) Formal Court

[Drakken]

Eternal Court

The Nox Populi is an upscale experience that will take Sacramento nightlife to a whole new level.

In the heart of downtown Sacramento there is a place of intrigue, excitement and entertainment. The modern flare of this venue is host to exclusive parties. The seduction of this establishment may take you away as you drink, dance and socialize. There are private services available upon request. The best DJ’s in town are in line to play a wide variety of music. Some of you may dine…as long as you have your VIP pass.

However the Kindred arrive they are discreetly met and led to the back of the club. The space downstairs is decorated in dark, rich woods and expensive furniture. There's a coat room that will also hold one's 'unmentionables'; namely, weapons, at the foot of the stairs. There are also private areas, dark, and furnished with soft couches, as well as meeting rooms with conference tables and chairs, and an area with several televisions. The Court area is decorated with long black and brown silken drapes cascading from floor to ceiling. Draped in elegant bunches and gathered into valances across door frames and between supporting pillars; the lighting is intentionally low, but without the pulse of the music from above, the place has the feel of a sepulchre.

The common area circles the Court proper, and it becomes apparent that this is not decorated for a single evening. Small symbols note areas for Kindred only that branch off of the Commons, which will be necessary once those Kine privileged enough to see behind the Masquerade filter in: ghouls, herd members, or even devotees. The furniture setting is familiar now: a set of elegant chairs, all dark wood and red leather, arranged in a circle. The baroque lighting leaves the corners of the Elysium commons in deep shadow.

Towards the center of the room, a table was placed and roped off that was decorated in similar black and gold runners. Upon it was a model ship, roughly two and a half feet long with two sets of oars on each side- a Bireme.

Another evening; another Danse. For some it will their first, for some it shall be their last. After all, this is the Prince's Elysium, and subject to the Laws of the Domain.

Formal Court has now begun...

Please remember that Predator's Taint is in effect and role-play is expected, or rolls will be asked for!

This is a great place to get Acknowledged


You now have 1 Week to enter Court before the Doors Close.

Formal Court a specific event. Announced to the Domain, you are expected to attend or you will find your Acknowledgement revoked. After 1 Week, the doors to Court close (no new entries into the thread). Once you have left Court, you are not permitted to return. Court is never truly empty: this can include 'faceless masses' of Kindred beneath notice, ghouls, herd members, devotees, or even officials in their offices.

[Connor OBrien]

The Haunt found himself at Nox once again. As he was led down the stairs toward the court proper, the raucous noise of music and intoxicated Kine faded to little more than an after thought. Instead, his mind was flooded with pulls of various beasts who would no doubt be among the nameless masses; nameless to him, at least. Kindred who, either through mistakes of the past or a sheer lack of ambition, find themselves doomed to a prolonged state of non-recognition. They were of no consequence to him, so his beasts calls for blood and carnage were silenced; pushed aside for clarity and control. He was the master of the Beast, not the other way around.

He stopped at the coat check and turned in his black pea coat and weapons, revealing the suit he'd chosen for today. It was an emerald green 3 piece suit, complete with a black shirt and tie. On his wrist he wore a silver and gold Rolex with a green watch face, and silver cufflinks with jade stones.

Unmentionables sufficiently stashed behind the coat check counter, he moved into the Elysium proper. Scanning the crowd for any other Kindred of interest to occupy his time before the true events of these formal meetings began.

[Milton]

Milton arrives shortly after Connor, looking rather drab by comparison in his three-piece suit. Grey upon grey, an appropriate palette for the bland Lord. The one spot of color is the purple clover pinned to his lapel. It holds many meanings, that single bloom, to those with the right kind of knowledge...

The faceless mass of Kindred buffet his Beast with winds of rage and fear, but Milton hardly misses a step as he descends into Court proper. The Monster will not take him this evening. Too much is at stake.

Keen, unblinking eyes, assess the disposition of forces. Not much of note at present, save for one...

After a beat, the Whip of Lords approaches the Whip of Haunts at a measured pace. He stops at a respectful distance and offers his greeting: a nod of respect. "Good evening, Whip O'Brien. I trust you are well?" Not coming any closer until it's clear the Nosferatu is open to accepting his company.

[Connor OBrien]

The Nosferatu turned his head way from the crowd as he felt someone new approach. None other than the new Whip of Lords was the next Kindred of note to step into the proper, and he was a welcome presence when the faceless crowd proved less than entertaining. Milton's nod was returned with a smile that was never far from the Haunt's face. "Ah, Whip Northbridge. Please, allow me to offer my congratulations at the attainment of your new role. I would have done so when it was announced, but I unfortunately had other matters that were being attended to. I do apologize for the delay in that." The Haunt paused for a moment, emerald eyes attentive to the Lord's attire and mannerisms. Perhaps I'll gift him a new suit for the occasion. Something with a touch more color.The thought ran through his head even as he spoke. "I am as well as can be expected, and yourself?"

After an answer was or wasn't given, the Haunt took the necessary steps (including literal steps) to move the pair more toward the Bireme in the center of the room. "I believe I've overheard talk that you've made this, correct? It is a fine specimen of craftmanship, and I'm sure the smaller details were painstaking to get right."

[Milton]

"I appreciate your sentiment," Milton replies with that bland smile fixed to his bloodless features. One might be tempted to take him for an unexceptional figure if it weren't for the eyes. While their brown is unremarkable, the intensity and inquisitiveness of their gaze speak to an active and penetrating intelligence at odds with his overall presentation. Just now, they are scrutinizing the Haunt with something akin to hunger.

"And there's no need to apologize. We are all, each of us, beset by responsibility. I cannot fault you for tending to yours." His regard finally turns away from Connor to sweep the room. For the moment, they are the sole Kindred of consequence at the gathering. It is not a bad feeling.

"I am quite well, thank you for asking. Interested in what this night may bring," his smile becomes a touch less fraudulent as he finds Connor again with his gaze. "We are blessed with a stable home, but a little excitement from time to time is not to be discounted."

Milton follows in Connor's wake, already aware of their destination. The question is received with a humble nod, "You have been informed correctly, Whip O'Brien. This is, indeed, my handiwork. A gift for Her Grace, the Prince. I am honored that she chose to display it here, at court." Yes, there is a touch of pride in the way he looks at the vessel. "You are the first to ask me directly, believe it or not." There is a note of amusement in his voice. "It was quite the investment, but well worth the time. I find working with my hands to have a...calming effect."

He glances from the ship to the Haunt beside him, "I am curious, do you pursue any endeavors that provide such benefits?" Milton knows next to nothing about Connor. This is as good a place as any to start.

[Connor OBrien]

"I would have to agree with that sentiment, Mr. Northbridge." The Irishman says as they move toward the Bireme. "Complacency is a blessing and a curse for anyone, but especially amongst our kind. While her Grace's influence does indeed provide us with stability, I am thankful for the small breaks in routine to keep me on my toes."

Connor listens as Milton speaks on the man's own handiwork. So the Lord is capable of some joy, at least.He smiles and offers a nod now and again to show that he is listening and at least marginally interested in what the Lord has to say. "It is wonderfully crafted; it's no wonder you've been given the honor of having your work displayed for all to see." The truth is that had he not heard it from Milton's own mouth during a previous instance in court, the haunt most likely would not have assumed it had been the Lord's handiwork. "Kindred are surprising in that even the most unsuspecting of us are capable of works such as this. If I hadn't overheard a conversation about the ship's origin, I would have assumed it was a piece her grace had purchased for a change of scenery in the court proper."

Then Milton's question comes, a fair question of course, but not one that he has a definitive answer to. "Nothing quite so artful as this, Whip Northbridge. I took solace in the ring before my embrace, and I've found myself drawn back to it recently. Of course, due to my lineage, I've been trained in the barest form of ballroom dance, but it isn't quite the same."

[Milton]

"Ah, but it's a question of balance, isn't it?" Milton responds. "Too much complacency, or too much excitement, both prove a malign influence. Or so I would argue." The Lord is nothing if not measured, prudent. "Still these occasions are valuable, if only for the possibility of the unexpected." That's enough for him. After all, the unexpected is often messy and Milton hates a mess. Witness the punishment of Kowalsic.

"I thank you for the compliment," he replies, looking genuinely pleased at the praise. Though the appearance of gratitude is fleeting, quickly hidden behind that inoffensive mask. "Her Grace encouraged me to pursue such...occupations. After our meeting, I resolved to expand my crafting into larger examples of woodworking. Furniture, for instance..." Milton glances at the Haunt, wondering how he would take this glimpse into his unlife.

That bland smile becomes a touch wry, "I'm glad to have surprised you, Whip O'Brien. I wonder what you thought filled my nights..." He doesn't push, but can sense the underestimation lurking behind Connor's statement. Of course, he thinks you a dolt. A rube. You'll just have to continue surprising him...

If Milton's efforts surprised Connor, the Haunt's admission to a preoccupation with boxing fits so perfectly it barely registers with the Lord. "A pugilist, yes? What, may I ask, is the appeal? And, if you don't mind me prying, what has driven you back?" Milton asks, watching his interlocutor closely.

At the mention of his lineage, Milton merely lifts a brow, silently indicating his interest. Connor will either divulge more or demure. The Lord is comfortable pressing the matter of boxing directly. O'Brien's Blood is another matter.

[Connor OBrien]

"I suppose you're correct about that, Whip Northbridge." The Haunt replies, a small laugh escaping his lips. These mild discussions have their merits every now and again. "Though the possibility of the unexpected should always be... well... expected. One would be remiss to not prepare for those moments even with the level of stability we enjoy in Her Grace's Domain, which is not to say that Her Grace is doing poorly, she's exemplary in everything she does for the Domain. I simply mean to say that even with one such as Her Grace in power, there will always be those who foolishly believe they can challenge her. Kindred are not immune to hubris, after all."

"There are no thanks necessary," he starts, his gaze still on the Bireme, "Her Grace was wise to encourage such occupations. There are timeless crafts that we as Kindred are afforded the time to learn, and should the expansion of your skills prove fruitful, as I am sure they will, I would be honored to be granted the privilege to even purchase some of your works." He speaks, sincerity in his voice. There was something about handmade works that always outshined the mass produced items of today's market.

The Haunt casts a sidelong look toward the Lord as he speaks. "I honestly believed you would view the creation of a work such as this as frivolous. Some Kindred are all work and no play, and your demeanor when we have the chance to interact led me to believe that you were among them. It's refreshing to know that even The Whip of Lords, Mister Milton Northbridge, finds solace in something other than the thrill of a well negotiated deal or the rush of shutting out a competitor."

Of course Milton doesn't understand the appeal of feeling your target's bones shatter under your fist, or the joy that comes from knowing that you've achieved total dominance over an individual through sheer strength alone. He seemed the type of Lord who preferred to attain dominance through business deals and social maneuvering, which certainly had its place. "It calls back memories from my mortal life, I suppose. Call me a nostalgic fool if you wish, but it does the mind good to remember where we came from every now and again. It also offers me an opportunity to focus my baser emotions onto something that won't result in a problem for my fellow Kindred. An outlet, if you will." He ignores the second half of the question, his problems with Quinn are no one's business but the Reeve's and his alone.

Then the look from Milton brings a wry smile to the Haunt's lips. "I suppose it isn't a secret anymore, really. It isn't especially prestigious, but it my Sire did hold some sway and title back in New York. I am the Childe of The Good Alder Lucien LaChance, Viscount of New York City, Steward of the First Estate, and Priscus of Nosferatu. I had wanted to forge my own path without following on the coattails of my sire, but the nature of the First Estate has a way of drawing those details out, whether you want them known or not." His voice holds no malice, for he truly holds none toward the First Estate.

[Jennifer Hazelton]

Jennifer stepped into the building, her ghoul walking slightly behind her. A moment's pause as Liam deposited the black leather backpack that had become a staple. The Nosferatu and her ghoul strode down the stairs and into Elysium proper. Possessing lady - like grace and confidence, Jennifer surveyed the Court. She wore a custom couture gown with dramatic cutouts over a skin tone modesty sheeth. Silk of the same material was elegantly tied over one shoulder and wrapped around her neck, a tail styled to elegantly fall over her left shoulder.

Auturmn dark brown eyes find the two men conversing. Whip O'Brien recieves a nod befitting his station as whip. Mr. Northbridge recieves a nod slightly more shallow. The Nosferaty Priscus drew near to the two men.

"Whip O'Brien. Mr. Northbridge." She greets in her Cursed voice, that slithers over crumbling autumn leaves.

[R Quartermain]

The soldier stepped into the room quietly, his expression clouded and distant. It was another court night, and he steeled himself mentally. The month had passed in relative silence – the quiet of his small, cramped, apostate’s cell surrounding him like bars to a cage. The Invitation from Conner had sat on his desk for a few nights while he pondered the various implications of the thing before finally deciding to go.

He paused, looking over the room before nodding quietly to Hazelton, Milton, and then Conner – in that order. The elder stood for a moment, debating on joining the conversation before he went to one side, finding a seat that offered him a good view of the room and the bireme at its center.