L... eh ?

[Helen Kingsley]

"I guess." Helen agrees and takes a sip from the cup after putting away the spoon. She makes a face and pours something into the cup that looks like sugar. "What do you figure that interview would look like ?" As Marilyn mentions what she could do, Helen grins. "Can you keep someone off your neck long enough to shake them off or you any good at blending in or shadowing folks ?" She sits down. "Because lets be frank here, getting involve might mean sticking your neck out. Some people don't like whats coming for them as soon as they do that."

[Marilyn]

"The interview? Fuck me if I know!" she exclaimed, her words tinged with a sense of crass exasperation and rebelliousness. With an indifferent shrug, she continued, focusing again and giving it a second try "I don’t know the Sheriff so it would be difficult to get an angle... maybe you could help?" Marilyn's tone shifted, assuming a more earnest demeanor as she sought to contribute something potentially valuable to their collective deliberation.

"Sticking my neck out is what I do every night… it’s not like I’ve been living within walking distance of the rack," the Shadow remarked, her gaze wandering once again, meticulously observing the particulars of Helen's apartment. Her attention then turned to the presence of a gun holster at the entrance, and she ventured, "It seems you don’t have it easy either. The holster caught my eye – going to the next NRA conference?" She chuckled lightly at her own joke. Although she acknowledged that pistols held limited efficacy against kindred, either that or Helen had a pack of dragon breath rounds in one of her pockets – she had heard all the stories circulating.

"Now, listen. If I need to pursue someone, ask around discreetly, and gather information, I am confident in my ability to do it. I may not be a private investigator or a paparazzo, but I have my own methods" she declared, her words carrying an undercurrent of subtle innuendo, reminding her of a series of recordings she had made in seedy motels. They provided interesting blackmail material. "I assure you, I am no delicate princess, and I can tell you I know more than one way of fucking someone…" Not a warning, not bravado, it was just the way things went in the school of hard knocks.

[Helen Kingsley]

"One, folks upstairs prefer it being called 'Reeve'. Invictus term for it, the usual nitpicking." Helen shrugs. "Two... Sure I can, what do you want to know ?"

She puts down the cup and leans back a little. "Didn't say you did, just that there's some pretty bad shit running around from time to time. Pays to be extra careful these days, is all." Her eyes follow Marilyn's to the gun hanging from the hook. "Entrance fee isn't that much and the buffet kinda holds up. What more do you want ? If you can drone out numbnuts jacking off to the second amendment, there's worse ways to spend a weekend." She chuckles. "Nah, it's pretty useful for scaring off idiots I don't want to beat to paste, also last time I brought fists to a gunfight wasn't that hot, never really liked getting shot. All in all, easy's overrated. Everybody can do easy, really, where's the fun in that ?"

Helen laughs.

"That's my kind of answer ! Good to hear." After a while she continues. "So let's get down to the really interesting stuff that might become important later, eh ?"

She leans forward towards Marilyn and looks straight at her.

"What brought you into the Movement ? What does it mean to you and what do you want out of it ?"

[Marilyn]

"Reeve!?" Marilyn echoed, her voice tinged with surprise. The utterance possessed a certain antiquated and pompous air, resonating with the spirit of Invictus.

"Understood," she affirmed, assessing her fellow Carthian. She detected a sense that Helen had learned the art of navigating within the established order, and that was precisely how she had managed to survive all this while. By keeping her head down and nibbling at the ankles of the behemoth, perhaps it would stumble and collapse under its own weight, breaking its neck in the process...

The conversation meandered and eventually veered toward the subject of Marilyn's affiliation with the Movement. A brief, audible sigh escaped her lips—not out of surprise at the inquiry, but due to the countless times she had been confronted with this very question in recent months. She was certainly not the most zealous adherent, nor a charismatic firebrand or profound thinker. However, her commitment remained steadfast; she had endured trials and tribulations to prove her earnestness. Perhaps she had the right to feel defensive about it? Yet, such defensiveness would likely yield naught. Moreover, having a fellow Carthian on her side was of paramount importance.

"Sorry, listen, you can’t guess how many times this question has been thrown my way in the last few nights..." she responded, her tone tinged with exasperation. The move to a new city had required interaction with a host of unfamiliar comrades.

"The simple answer is this: I hate bullies, maybe I take pleasure in paying them back their dues, and maybe a bit more... I find all the other covenants just aren't made for this century - it's too medieval and just a way for the elders to control us." And there it was—the fire ablaze in her eyes. She possessed it within her as well. And an exceptional insight into her personality.

" You can ask around, the people that know, they know I’m serious." She paused, locking her gaze with Helen's, as if to substantiate her point.

"I am neither a foolish neonate with a death wish, nor a philosopher, nor a charismatic leader who rallies others to our cause." That summed it up pretty nicely.

"I’m just someone with a beef against bullies, as simple as that. But that won’t be a problem, because I know how to bid my time, I know my place, and I know revenge is a dish best served cold." Her words resurrected memories of her childhood, of growing up in isolation, being picked aside, of eking out a living in the boulevard of broken dreams.

"And you? Damaged goods to?"

[Helen Kingsley]

"Reeve." Helen confirms. "It's one of the things, they're pretty insistent on some of the terminology. Like, do yourself a favour and don't call this domain an Invictus domain. I mean it is a domain ruled by Invictus, but they take that as meaning the bad kind of Invictus rule of a domain. They'll know what you mean alright, but some really like correcting people on that. If you don't feel like some lecture, better step around the point."

Her tone betrays easily she thinks it's at least a little ridiculous, but the shrug also says its the way it is.

"'bout 37 times ?" she offers. At least marilyn makes it sound like she can handle herself. Well, they'll see in the coming weeks if she'll stick around or not. "Bullies are a pest as much as they're a fact of life. Especially this one. Trick is to figure what fights are worth getting into and which ones ain't." She's pretty sure she's preaching to the choir here, but sometimes hearing stuff helps keeping it relevant. The other stuffs ? Well, they'll see about that as well.

"Me, I come from the faith clubs. None of those really likes folks who turn away from orthodoxy for some 'Come back to Jesus' moment, as literal or figrative as you want." She nods over to the picture with the man and the sheep. "I decided I'm not going back to those. So it was either Movement or Management." She shrugs. "I'm good with orders, hierarchy and discipline. Could've made it in there, I guess and people wouldn't piss on my political orientation as much as they do in the Movement. But frankly, I've spent a third of my life in places like that and I'll be damned if I waste my last years on that sort of stuff on a nightly basis. That and I don't like the way they go about some things, really.

So, you born into the movement or some fellow stray they picked up along the way ?"

[Marilyn]

Lance.

Marylin found herself drawn to the conspicuous decoration that adorned the apartment, bathed in the soft glow of the red lamp casting its eerie light upon the images of the Virgin Mary. It was a curious sight, and in her discerning eyes, and in retrospect, it revealed more than a mere religious devotion.

"I suppose the Mary gave it away," she mused, her gaze fixed upon the far left corner of the room. Her voice carried a tinge of amusement, tinged with a hint of skepticism.

As her words hung in the air, a plainness emerged in her demeanor, as if she were detached from the religiosity that surrounded her. "It's not really my thing," she remarked matter-of-factly, her tone unyielding.

“I’m more the stray dog that found her way into the Movement”, unaligned, clueless, and starving, welcomed into the warmth of the collective. Rather than aligning herself with any particular devotion. Yet, she sensed there was much more to be said, and those thoughts lingered but remained untold, to be shared at a later date.

"So," she ventured, shifting the subject gently, "aside from chasing the chupacabra, what’s a girl to do at night in this city?" The question hung delicately in the air, like a fragile web woven between them.

[Helen Kingsley]

"If it's really Mary and not a really sneaky Livia." Helen leans back. "It's Mary, though. Just don't go and spread that stuff. Not a lot of folks in the domain know that and I'd like to keep it that way. As long as you're not playing Jehovah's witness and go proselytizing all around the blocs and as long as it doesn't fuck with the Movement's position, I don't care what you believe in or if you do at all."

Fellow stray, then. That could get interesting, but at least those are less of a pain in the ass than the prodigies. As a general rule, that is.

"All the fun stuff." Helen grins. "Once you're acknowledged, find a place. Court's at Nox downtown, if you want to mingle. Just make sure you don't disrespect the wrong people by accident. Every three months, Court's mandatory, everyone who doesn't show loses acknowledgement. You just missed that one, so technically, you could just kick back two months until its that time again. There's also Lotus, place belongs to the Seneschal, some salon she uses for artsy and intellectual stuff. Some of the sports bars in town aren't all that bad, if you're into sports. Some people get a job to get familiar with the city or to do what they always do.

Dunno, what do you do for fun ?"

[Marilyn]

"Sure, no proselytizing," Marilyn retorted, her words dripping with a wry amusement that danced on the edges of mockery. “No spreading rumors,” She acknowledged the necessity of reminding someone else not to indulge in the spreading of rumors about her fellow Carthians, as if such a reminder were essential in navigating their intricate social landscape.

"You can hold me to those," the Shadow declared, her tone tinged with a subtle blend of nonchalance and sincerity. She understood the weight of her promise, even as it floated through the air with a certain detachment.

And so, as the conversation veered towards more mundane matters, Marilyn's enthusiasm found its voice. With a spark in her eyes and a flicker of excitement, she shared her secret pleasure.

"Yeah, when I have time I like to go to the club. Hit the dancefloor! Just partying all night," The Mekhet confessed, her words imbued with a hint of mischief. "I surrender myself to the rhythm, to the dance floor, and I enjoy myself, no limits, no thinking of consequences, just me, the music, and maybe some pills..." Raising her arms in the air as if in the club. Slowly licking her lips. There was a sense of liberation in her confession, a longing to escape the confines of intellectual discourse and embrace the hedonistic pleasure of pure abandon.

"Ah, the artsy and intellectual," she mused, a tinge of irony seeping into her words as she came back from her brief reverie. "It's not exactly my crowd, if you catch my drift. However, I’ll pay a visit to this Nox and this Lotus."

Sporting a playful smirk, Marilyn sought a common ground, a momentary bridge between her world and that of this eccentric god-fearing Carthian. "You more into sports bars? Go Seahawks?!" With a flourish, the Shadow clenched her flimsy fist and raised it high in the air, an act of playful mockery that mirrored the irony that underscored their conversation.

[Helen Kingsley]

Helen nods. She's not as much of a party type, but then, maybe it's one of those kiddie things. She decides not to go into the whole pill thing, they're all adults, after all.

"Yeap. I think I get you, I'm not into art that much from some educated point of view at least... Nox and Lotus are good ideas though." She muses. "Soccer, mostly. Some folks tried to get me into Football, gshing about how tactical and all that stuff it is. For me, it's two teams moving their start line over a field at a snail's pace. And the commercials are fucking annoying.The stuff is a remnant of my days trying to get Football, really. Baseball is kinda okay, too. You into any kind of sports ?" She decides not to touch the music thing too much. She knows she's got a pretty antique sense of music, she doesn'tneed that sort of discussion again.

[Marilyn]

"Ufff! I don’t really waste my time with those!" Marilyn interjects, her tone weighted with exaggerated exasperation when discussing the realm of sports and commercials echoing a bit of the sentiment.

"I prefer something a bit more immediate and joyful," she continues, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia, "I must confess, I’m not a big fan of sports but back in the day I used to hit the gym once in a while..." The words escaped her lips as if recounting a distant memory, a lifetime ago.

"Dancing, is more my thing..." The Shadow chimes in mischievously, blending a touch of playfulness into the conversation.

"Here's an idea," the daring proposal hangs in the air momentarily, as if awaiting judgment. Marilyn narrows her eyes, deliberating, before finally delivering,

"Next time we meet, let us go to one of the nightclubs, see who is the first one to get a decent meal for the other…" the Mekhet challenges with a wink of her eye. Then, with a flicker of amusement in her eyes, she adds,

"The victor gets a minor!" A wager of minor consequence, a moment of connection between Carthians, and the promise of feeding. What could one possibly find fault with?