L... eh ?

[Helen Kingsley]

A bunch of pretty nondescript apartment buildings in a quiet area of the city. Somewhat run-down, houses all looking the same, similar fences, similar doors, few if any green areas... The suburban nightmare objectified. The streetlights flicker and by looks, there are not many people to be seen outside, nor any stray pets. The address that Helen has provided leads to a corner that has few things to offer except one of the more erratic streetlights and a trashcan, filled way past its capacity with the surplus piling up underneath or next to it.

The corner is empty though, nobody's there.

[Marilyn]

The nightfall cast its shadows upon the suburban city streets as the night service bus, its weary engine still resonating in the background, disgorged a solitary figure. The doors hissed shut, and the vehicle swiftly retreated into the enveloping darkness, leaving the figure to navigate to the dimly lit corner. A tall, sylphlike woman, in her mid-twenties, emerged. Though attractive, her attire, an assemblage of worn garments acquired from secondhand sources, revealed a provocative fusion of black lingerie and leather, imparting an air of promiscuity associated with those laboring in the night's employ.

Yet Marylin's countenance betrayed an undercurrent of unease. While the contact had been relayed through a reliable source, she harbored an acute awareness that this encounter could very well be a snare, skillfully woven to capture her. The realm of Kindred, after all, thrived upon territoriality and inherent suspicion. With a swift glance at the converging suburban labyrinth, Marylin apprehended the perils that awaited her. Should trouble arise, escape would prove a formidable challenge, and refuge from both the piercing sun and potential assailants would be scarce. In this hour, she relied upon the network of Carthian intelligence, placing her trust in their web of interconnected sources and allies.

She looked around once more and dropped a simple text to the previous number.

“I’m here.”

[Helen Kingsley]

Soon, the guest can make out the sounds of steps approaching as another person comes into the light. or what passes for it in these circumstances. The woman is about 5'9, in her mid to late 30s, looka pretty flush and lively and has her hair in a ponytail. She wears jeans, trainers and a red t-shirt, the left hand in her pocket, the right fiddles with a phone and seems to type something, then Marilyn's phone buzzes to life again.

'Boo.'

Helen slides the phone back into her pocket and gives the other a once-over as she closes in before coming to a stop a close distance away.

"Damn, girl, I thought you said you're coming over from San Fernando, not from Reno." She holds her hand out to Marilyn. "So, you're Marilyn then. Nice to have some company again. How's the trip been ?"

[Marilyn]

Marilyn's phone vibrates, breaking the stillness with an urgent reply. Raising her eyes from the bright screen, she perceives the woman's advance. A kindred undoubtedly. The primal instincts within her discern this too, endeavoring to propel Marilyn towards aggression, yet she suppresses those tempestuous thoughts knowing fully well it could mean her end.

By now, she presumes the stranger to be Helen. In response to her host's geniality, Marilyn finds herself unable to contain a laugh, a respite from the weight of the world.

"A splendid corner of paradise you possess here to..." Marilyn's visage contorts, feigning a twisted grimace of playful affliction. The suburban nightmare.

Upon hearing the mention of companionship, she arches a serious eyebrow, prompting a pause. "Company?" she interjects. "We have yet to discuss rates..." playfully jabbing at the nascent acquaintance.

"This journey was a necessity," Marilyn eventually declares, adopting a more somber tone, the levity dissipating.

"I was unaware you were the only one of us around... Are we being chased here to?" The question hangs in the air expecting a reply from the Nosferatu.

[Helen Kingsley]

She grins.

"I know, right? Just like home, maybe better if you take a few stamps back and squint a little."

Helen starts digging in her pockets and inspects what comes up.

"I got twenty bucks, half a pack of cigarettes and you get your next two brothelizer tests for free. What's that gonna get me?"

She stuffs the stuff back into her pockets.

"Eh, that's never good. Think the reason for that might follow you here?" Helen shrugs. "It is what it is. We used to be two, but the other is a gyppo sort, likes to vanish and pop back up some time later, so right now, it's just me.

Naw, not enough of us to pose an issue and management is mostly reasonable. There's way bigger problems."

She turns and starts walking.

"Come on, kid! I've got some cute rabbits to show you."

[Marilyn]

"No, nothing like that," Marilyn replied with a delicate flutter of her lashes, as if casting off an inconsequential thought. Her voice, soft and laced with an ethereal charm, betrayed a sense of nonchalance.

"I guess they would have bigger fish to fry," she continued, her thin shoulders rising in a expressive shrug, "and I suppose I am but a small fish in this vast and deep ocean." A fleeting smile played upon her lips, revealing a hint of mystery beneath her irreverent facade.

"So, no one is coming here just for the privilege of having a lap dance from moi..." With a delicate step, she followed Helen, her eyes alight with curiosity, unsure of the path that lay ahead – but never trusting.

As they ventured forth, the Shadow began to weave a tapestry of her reasons for finding her feet in Sacramento. "San Fernando, well … the ship is sinking..." she explained, her words purposefully vague. "And I guess I’m one of the rats abandoning it before it goes Titanic deep into the frozen water."

At the mention of "bigger problems," an undeniable curiosity sparked. Marilyn turned her gaze towards Helen: “Bigger problems?”

[Helen Kingsley]

"Aw, well, too bad, I guess."

Helen leads Marilyn along the street.

"Some folks go after every fish, big or small. Matter of principle or something like that... What got the ship to sink ? Shiotty captain, shitty crew or some bunch of wannabe pirates ?" Helen laughs. "No shame in picking your fights and recognizing when the situation goes beyond saving, as long as you don't jump ship way too early." Not there aren't enough folks who do exactly that, of course. You want to see some real shit shows like that, go try the MidWest."

She shrugs and walks along a row of houses, passing a bench and another litterbox, digging for something in her pocket.

"Upper crust's pretty sensible here. means we don't have to go against them tooth and nail, also means they're already sitting in some places we normally have. The fun in this place is finding a way to be relevant, I guess. All in all, the usual stuff is among the smallest issues we have here."

She guides the latest guest towards one of the non-descript houses that looks about the same as the 4 houses around it, and unlocks the door. The straircase has seen better days, still, they don't take the way up, but down, past a few boxes with unclear content somebody put on the side against th spottily painted wall and a kids bicycle that looks like it has seen quite some use.

The small corridor downstairs holds only two doors, a blue metal door at the end and a bit before that, another that looks like cheap wood furnish. A slightly sticky looking light switch and a doorbell simply labelled 'Kingsley' complete the ensemble. Key in hand, Helen moves towards the lock, yet pases and turns around.

"All in all, there's some weird shit going on in town, like always, so yeah, folks here don't bore easily."

[Marilyn]

Marilyn, with a keen ear and a sharp eye, listened intently to Helen's words, attuned to the subtleties or lack thereof woven within the Nosferatu’s discourse. Every inflection, every gesture, held significance, and Marilyn was adept at deciphering the myriad nuances concealed therein. As Helen expounded upon the intricacies of the city and its denizens, Marilyn absorbed the torrent of information, her mind becoming a vessel brimming with possibilities.

The Shadow, with a playful yet purposeful air, began to enumerate her observations, raising her slender fingers one by one to emphasize each point with a playful and mirthful smile.

"First," she commenced, "it appears that the powers-that-be to be a bunch of uptight assholes." Her index finger stood upright, an accusatory gesture punctuating her assertion.

"Secondly," she continued, her middle finger joining its companion in the dance of enumeration, "I must discover a way to become relevant, particularly with the previously mentioned uptight assholes."

And then, her third finger ventured forth, adding depth to the tableau she had meticulously constructed. "Thirdly," Marilyn declared, a hint of intrigue lingering in her voice, "weird shit going on in town?"

Marylin, ruminative and contemplative, allowed herself a moment of introspection as Helen unlocked the door and ascended the staircase, leading the way into the apartment. Questions swirled within Marylin's mind, a whirlwind of curiosity and wonder.

"In truth," she spoke softly, her voice a mere whisper to the walls that surrounded them, “… but, what do you mean precisely by 'weird shit'? Would I be able to find a way to be useful there?? Would it be useful to be useful there? I mean, dealing with weird shit is not exactly my strong suit but I've dealt with weird shit... depending on what weird shit we are talking about of course..." The verbose delivery is finally punctuated as they arrive at the locked door.

[Helen Kingsley]

Helen opens the door and enters, leaving the door open for Marilyn while getting off her shoes and placing them at the side of the door, next to a pair of Army boots under three coat hooks, one currently occupied by what looks like a leather jacket, another has a gun holster hanging from it with the bitt of a revolver sticking out of it, the third one is currently unoccupied.

"Leave the shoes at the door."

The fragrance of something that feintly smells of bread and a good dose of incense greet Marilyn as she enters. The room they enter is dominated by a table, that has a small stack of newspapers and magazines on it, a smaller box holds a ball of wool and what looks like two-thirds of a dark grey sock, knitting needles still stuck in the work, pinning the sock to the ball. A few towels cover what looks like a hotplate section next to a sink, the other side occupied by a water heater, a microwave and a coffee machine. A cupboard next to a door in the other wall holds all sorts of bags and boxes. The shelves on the wall hold a radio, a stack of music tapes and some CDs. A Seattle Seahawks cap and scarf are also hanging from one of the shelves.

On the far left wall, a red lamp hangs from the ceiling and shines down onto a small table in the corner. It holds three very worn books, a scraped and dented metal coffee box that has clearly seen better times, two small bottles made of glass and an ornate pot on a pedestal looking thingy plugged into a wall socket. The only four pictures in the room are hanging above the red-lighted table and are looking straight at the guest.

saint-olga-nesterov-type-J4H3FB.jpg 205px-SoftenerofHearts.jpeg Panteleimon.jpg shepherd-icon-18.jpg

Helen flips on the water heater and makes her way over to the small fridge, starting rummaging around in it.

"If you feel like puking your guts out later, I got tea, coffee, milk or juice. Want anything ? Pick any chair you want." She makes an indifferent waving motion towards the table over her shoulder, her back still turned to Marilyn. After some time, she puts a mug next to the water heater, fiddling around with some stuff in it, before turning around and leaning against the counter with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Yah, it's Invictus country we're in, but as I said, they're mostly sensible. As long as we're not stirring up trouble, they leave us alone. With them like that, it's a bit harder to find and fill some spot to make the Movement relevant, though. Way I heard it, most folks before us burned out pretty quickly trying to move against domain leadership and dissolved. Repeatedly. There will be none of that shit on my watch. Second, now that's a good point. Become relevant mostly means getting involved. Look into things people need looking into, keep the bad shit contained or stop dangerous going-ons, that sort of stuff."

The water heater clicks off with the sound of boiling water from within. Helen turns a little, fills some hot water into the mug and stirs the contents a few times.

"So what it comes down to is what are you good at and what do you suck at. Might want to interview with the Sheriff, help's always appreciated. So, anything you are good or bad at, like in 'Hey I'm no dead weight with this stuff, I can do this easy.' or 'Don't assign that sort of shit to me unless you want a natural disaster...'. Also kinda depends what sort of plans you got for town and what you decide to do in your spare time. When you're not doing underwear modeling, I mean.

Yuh, weird shit. I've been asked to look into some guys who've been killing people used as snacks by out folks by way of some sort of cryptid." Helen frowns. "Means occult animal thingy, like a witch's cat or raven, if you know the stories. We're suspecting there might be some sort of mage or whatever they call male witches in town with some disciples. Also had to deal with trespassers from another domain and had a few Brood in town a bit ago." She spits into the sink in disgust. "Oh and we got some guy who was too egocentric for the Lancea killing some folks in the Industrial District. Got him some time ago, though."

[Marilyn]

Marilyn lingered outside the door for a moment, contemplating whether it was appropriate to follow Helen. Seeking assurance, she took her time before venturing forth, even looking backwards. When the request to remove her knee-high boots came, she complied, yet not without first ascertaining the absence of any immediate peril. The Mekhet leisurely untied the shoe laces, budging her feet a few times, before finally removing the weighty boots and placing them as directed by her host.

Once unburdened, Marilyn proceeded to absorb every detail within her surroundings: the gun holster, the revolver, the leather jacket, the stack of newspapers, the ball of wool and accompanying socks, the cupboard and its contents, even the Seahawks cap and scarf, and the religious figurines. Briefly tempted to comment on the socks and knitting, she ultimately refrained, recognizing that her acquaintance with Helen remained insufficient to warrant such familiarity, despite the comfortable tone that had been adopted by her fellow Carthian.

The entire space evoked memories of Marilyn's short time spent with her devout and more humble grandparents, a stark contrast to her own atheist parents, more preoccupied with the mundane pursuits of the rat race. Immersed in this nostalgia, she politely declined the invitation for food and drink with a mere shake of her head. Nonetheless, she resolved to accept the offered seat, attentively listening to Helen's lucid explanation of the city's political landscape and current affairs.

Certain aspects of Helen's discourse though caused Marilyn to pause, particularly the mention of resistance against domain leadership. Perhaps this was a topic to explore or uncover at a later date.

"I suppose an interview with the sheriff would be nice," she responded.

"I can always serve as a vigilant pair of eyes and ears and ask questions or search for answers." There was a light shrug, unclear if it was implying the simplicity of the task or that it was one possibility among many others.