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Allison, even leaned up against a wall, far far away, cannot withstand the fear the fire invokes. Her motionless body bursts with movement as she heads quickly to the door, fully intent on running through anything and anyone that stands between her and escape.
Vitae flows into her muscles, granting her inhuman strength as her mind screams Go! Go! Go!
Fall to Fear (-1WP);Init=15;-1 Vitae (Vigor)
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Presence
Striking Looks
As Asa approached, Twist made way for him, stepping back to join the first line of Kindred.
Inside, her Beast coiled and hissed, not pleased with how little the distance was that Twist put between herself and the soon to be bonfire. Fire was not something that it was often tested against and it still recalled the last time it had faced this type of threat. And there had been a whole story between Twist and the traitor who would burn, not just a few feet. Twist ignored it though and focused on the actions of Asa.
The lighter was easy enough to handle with a little will, but the flames grew in the matter of moments to engulf the top of the podium and the figure who lay bound upon it. As the heat washed over Twist’s skin, her beast redoubled its efforts to force Twist to flee and she swallowed, her hands flexing slightly as she focused internally on controlling the Beast.
*He had tried to burn her theater down!*
It was all the incentive she needed and Twist’s beast retreated into the farthest corners of her mind as Twist’s anger rose, washing away any thoughts of fleeing. Opening eyes she hadn’t realized she had closed, she looked to the bonfire and smiled.
He deserved this.
Also then there was that whole bit about diablerie…
That was almost bad
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The Beast of a Gangrel in fear, is just as- if not more- dangerous than its anger. Because really, it's the same thing.
Ironically, the hellhound within Dillon Connery has no love for the blaze set before it. Hackles raise, three sets of grizzly teeth bare, all fangs and tusks. It throws itself against the back of Dillon's mind in a fit of desperate self-preservation, but the Master holds fast.
Instantly, iron will forces the creature to heel. They are not nearly as flammable as some gathered here, and Dillon feels the need to bear witness. Heathcliff Staley had once been a leader among his Covenant. He had claimed to serve the Purpose. And like Anton Flores, had fallen of of the path in his weakness, and into madness.
There is an anxious thought that tries to bubble up. That perhaps, the edict of the Lord given to Longinus for all of the Damned to follow might be too much. Too difficult. That they were all doomed to this end, in this world if not in the next.
Is this to be the end of the blood-soaked road for the loyal soldier standing solemnly before the pyre?
Not this night.
Turning to check the scene, and Martha's position, he catches her nod. The reach of her little hand. He calmly strides over and accepts the gesture. Not because he needs the comfort, or because he thinks she does. But it seems a rather fitting statement. She is the Prince's Herald. He is Sanctified. Together, they will watch Staley burn.
Dillon stands side by side and hand in hand with Martha; until he can spot someone who needs to be restrained and calmed down.
Like a Boss
Vigor and Resilience are active
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As the proceedings begun to unfold before her, Velma felt the tension increasing inside her. It was hard to remain indifferent towards such an event. The death of a kindred, sentenced to die by fire…
Inside her she knew what was to sentence another of her kin to die by flames… she had passed the same destiny to another who was closer to her by blood and by virtue of relationship. As the smell of the gasoline invaded her nostrils the Daeva propelled herself to take a few steps further in compromise between the wishes of the conscious mind and the fear of the mindless beast.
After the Prince lit the unliving torch to life her beast yelled for freedom and for the possibility to escape, but this time the desire to see another burn and turn to ash was stronger, for once the meek grip Velma usually kept on her beast proved that it could also be tight and ironclad... her eyes locked into the flames reflecting the red death in the deep cool ocean blue of premeditation.
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Roxie had been perched in the back corner, away from the door and fire. She smoked, so that really wasn't a big deal, but still that was a lot of fire. Roxie's beast stirred inside, the vicious one wanting to get the fuck out yet she remained calm. Her eyes looked to Conner Greyson , Asa , Dillon Connery and Twist at the ready if there was a call for help. The Leggacious Regent liked a good fight, but people losing their shit was a different story.
The Feisty Savage was really only concerned about one person and maybe the rest of her family. But she couldn't take her eyes of the ones headed to the door. Roxie fought the urge to force her blood in court. Till there was a call for it, it wasn't her place.
Fucking great. God I hope Dog doesn't freak the fuck out. Now, I really want a smoke. Damn it.
Rolls
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As the fire burns Erika watches the man go up in flames, that which lies within does not move... it just stares at the fire. Breaths it in. And just as it is about to burst loose, Erika smacks it with a metaphysical yardstick. "Hush" she says quietly to herself and that which lies within.
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Everything Gabriel does is amazingly beautiful. His walk alone should make your women murder there darlings to get close to him. Even when he... oh ... fire... thats right, this is an execution. Gabriel gives a beautiful tenor of a laugh as his beast attempts to do something stupid, like mess up his hair...
As Gabriel watches the others do something so uncouth as frenzy he just laughs a scoffing laugh...
Sister Christianne, sitting straight and tall in her chair, closed her eyes and faced where the kindred burned. She let the mayhem and hell of this evening pass over her, while she kept her beast in check. She tried to be a font of passive serenity, regal and proud. She wanted no one to see her any other way.
Heaven help us... We may catch our final death in here. In a lowly factory.*
*Note
Sidor stood close as the flames burst into life. It was his responsibility to do so. To watch Staley burn for the crimes he had committed against the city that he should have cared for like a parent. That he had failed to do so, and turned against it, and breached almost every one of the Traditions, first created as story held, by his own Covenant...
The Nosferatu Bishop felt no pity, or remorse.
The Beast boiled, blood-mad in fear of the flames, seeking a gap, an exit, a path-
He felt no fear himself. He simply repeated the same mantra that he always used, when he needed to regain any fraction of control.
My name is Sidor Rurikovitch Grigoriev. I am not undone.
Inside, the blood-red swarm beneath the ice of his will surged forwards, and he held it back with cold disinterest. He could feel the hands of the Man Within gripping him, trying to drag him down into that mad sea beneath.
He froze the world around him, in that plane, and surged back upwards.
Externally, beneath the shadows, one eyebrow twitched fractionally, and then settled back into place.
He would not shame his Clan and Covenant by showing weakness here. He was still their leader, and he bore the weight.
Doctor Powell's cold gaze slipped from the two Kindred she had been conversing with, and focused on the constructed stage several feet away. She watched carefully as the accelerant was poured all around him, preparing herself for what was to come. Her Beast growled, deep inside, in preparation for the flames. The good Doctor was a little too familiar with fire; but the blue flames of the torch, from the investigation into the asylum months before, would certainly pale in comparison to what Staley would now suffer.
She did not anticipate the moment exactly, although certainly there was desire to see justice finally given. Her expression was set hard, shoulders squared. The Haunt would not look away, and if she did draw shame on her Clan and Covenant by fleeing, there would be penitence later for such sickening weakness.
The fire caught on the liquid, flames licking at the body of the guilty man on stage. The Haunt could easily imagine the ferocity of the heat, the scorching pain as flesh was peeled away, blackened and scorched.
She stood her ground beside the Seneschal, shutting away the natural fear of the fire and the instinct to flee, resisting.
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