(1102) Red & White Court

[Ajax]

Ajax

Ajax hears something familiar, feels something on his back, a hand, the familiar sound was Jillian's voice. He doesn't completely understand all the words but the tone, the tone is that of the Jillian he knows and most others never got to meet. Not the RIOT GRRRL bitch, not the Priscus, the fun loving girl from Hell's Kitchen. He composes himself and is able to speak in order to convey the simplistic but scattered thoughts. "Need permission to take her back to her home, I can't let her be thrown in a closet. I need permission to stay with her while she's out, she has tenancy, I'm going to stay by her, protect her." He looks at Jillian now, his eyes determined, his own voice in his head repeating what he'd said to Katrina that night. "I promised her I would watch over her and keep her safe if this ever happened."

[Mykel]

Max

*The thin Mekhet is rather surprised by the Prince's offer; deciding that this would be an interesting way to test his own progress in the physical arena. He begins to walk toward the cabinet and the attending Ghoul.

Then he sees Jillian. And the thin, wicked claws that slip from her hands, slicing effortlessly through the former Seneshal. Max quickly decides there are safer ways to test his progress. An open door MMA competition with ex-convicts for insistence.

He instead decides the other side of the club would be a safe place to watch the shows; Max giving a slow, deep bow to the Royal Family as he walks; giving slight pause to his movement as he does.*

Ciara

*Ciara turns from Argent, intent on greeting the Prince and his companions when the Prince makes his announcement about the duels. She watches as Jillian is one of the first to volunteer, a move that did not surprise Ciara. She was pretty sure the Gangrel would be the first to walk over hot coals if it offered some kind of reward.

Her interest peaked even more when her partner is announced. Ciara finds herself drawn to the match, moving closer to watch the two combatants. A victory by the newest Carthian would be doubly sweet now...

Until the Claws slip out. Then Ciara can only shake her head at the Gangrel's foolishness. Turning a simple competition into a potentially fatal confrontation. While she wouldn't mind seeing the former Seneshal once and truly gone, Jillian could end up just as easily killed, or at the very least severely hurt for weeks to come.

Jillian manages to get a few good hits in, but in the end Staley forces the Gangrel off the catwalk. Ciara watches as Jillian joins the other Ganrel, wondering if the ex-seneshal had learned a few tricks of Ventrue blood...

[Martha Villiers]

Couch? Martha blinks...but...she's wounded... Limping heavily and skipping inelegantly through the slippery trails of blood and gore over the floor to Jillian's side as best she can (sneaking a wary look to the blood spattered Ajax) Martha makes urgent, if friendly, hand gestures...to try to pause them from moving or lifting Kat any more than they have to. "Oh! Oh! If you wish to heft her to a couch, ma'am...please wait a moment, please, and I shall get her some covers, blankets and bandages...and then help you...if you wish...I can at least bind her wounds..." her voice trails away, looking wide eyed to the trio. Her tongue licks involuntarily at her lips - the blood reeking heavy in the air, Martha grips Kat's handbag tight to her modest chest.

Looking briefly over to Dirge...wondering perhaps she'll need some attention too?

There were others too...the carnage...terrible.

[Lesingnon]

Blades blurred through the air as a series of swift blows were exchanged. Wilhelm's mind moved just as quickly as that steel. And in the end the conclusion was a fairly simple one. As tempting a prize as a Regency was; at this point, it wasn't worth the risk.

"Do keep it in the family."

There is a brief flourish as he disengages, and quicksteps his way off the catwalk.

Wilhelm uses his move action from the first turn to leave the catwalk.

[Lesingnon]

Wilhelm's eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at the young upstart. And the decision to quite simply sheathe his blade in the fool's flesh and silence his flapping mouth permanently was certainly a tempting one. He could hear his beast clamoring for it, suffusing his mind with whispered urges and sanguine crimson. However, apparently unlike his disappointing clan-mate, Wilhelm was fully in control of his baser urges. No whispered voices in the back of his mind would dictate his actions.

Instead he lifts his dress shirt and suit coat from the chair, slipping them back on as he makes his way to the cabinet of weaponry. "Have you now, Mr. Greyson." And though his voice remained low and even, there was an undeniable undercurrent disapproval. "And you think you could do better, who so recently professed to be a Neonate whose youth leads him to stupidity? You, who mistake temperance for weakness? Do you even realize that knowing when to fight is infinitely more important than knowing how?"

"Have you stopped to consider that there is more to being Priscus, and obtaining the position, than brute force of arms; especially in our clan of shadows and secrecy? This is how you throw down the gauntlet, disrupting the Prince's Court during the Prince's entertainment? Did the thought of discretion even cross your mind, did you not think that it would perhaps be wise to wait until after I had relinquished my weapons in case I acted rashly? Have you even bothered attempting to discern if any other Mekhet agree with your assessment, or would even support you as Priscus? Because no measure of skill with the blade will allow you to stand at the head of a clan that does not wish you to be there."

" Did you even think to consult your Sponsor in the First Estate before moving so recklessly in such a setting as this?"