The Fifth Council of Neonates

[LittleBird]

Kira's post and centurion posture is a little distracted by this untoward show of mirth, not even flinching at the bang yet rather-somewhat guiltily-admiring of her joy, she tuts in a low voice, "Miss Clyntahn," yet there is a glitter to her eyes and like Clyntahns skip a similar jolt that litters her speech, "that moment of clumsiness clearly loosened it, I think you need to put it on, again, and mooore-" she flashes a quick blink and you'll miss it smile, "securely this time,"

[Christine Daye]

Christine looks puzzled for a moment.

"...um... I apologise if this is a stupid question... but why are you bothering with a gag when you can just slice through her vocal cords? They do heal... eventually... "

[Dorian M. Black]

"It's harder to pass off; we don't want to do anything that will, one, ruin or alter that dress, she needs to leave as she arrives - blood down the frock will ruin that - and two, that will cause her to need heal more after this. I have human blood on hand for a later transfer, but leave her in the condition you found her," Dorian tosses over his shoulder as he slides back the panel.

[Violet Clyntahn]

A giggle escapes Violets mouth at Kira's words. She grins widely and looks at her before looking back at the table, head tilted eyes squinting slightly. "Oh my! I think you're right. How terribly" she lifts the girls head again "clumsy!" She bangs it against the table a second time "of me! I really must learn to be more careful, awful kind of you to notice" she makes no effort to re-ajust the gag, and coughs in surprise at Christine's unexpected input.

[Dorian M. Black]

Dorian slides out a low wooden gurney that is host to an odd looking machine.

"Growing up, my uncle was obsessed with brass models of steam engines - had me fashion an electric motor for one once; the idea for this thing's schematics came from that."

"See the external battery?" Dorian's voice has become distant, low, with the lilting edge of story. He's busy setting the apparatus up beside the Tremere. "The voltaic pile was the first electrical battery that could continuously provide a current to a circuit. There's a small engine with brushes on. I'll open the mains up after Mayweather is gone, but effectively: within the box beside it is a little wire-wrapped electric motor that sits inside a large horseshoe magnet. That spins and drives a crank which is geared down to work a piston syphon system. You can prime the pile by pouring acid onto the sheets, given a voltaic pile is often wet. That's what the acid in the glass demijohn is for," he gestures. "While I'm doing this, Violet, could you wheel over the heavier bed on the opposite side of the divide? The one with the manacles on? We'll need it in a moment."

After which, Dorian busies himself with attaching to the box a glass pipe with rubber joints. On the end is a circular suction device with two metal hypodermic prongs.

"You can use thin copper pipe, but it's effectively..."

Abruptly, he stabs the prongs into her neck; "-a vampire bite in a machine."

"With the flick of a switch," Dorian purrs, one pianist finger beneath such a switch, his gloves now removed "It begins. The motor needs a little spin with a fingertip to start it going."

It's almost silent; the whirr of a well-fitted piston in a brass cylinder; the click of little valves.

"The hardest thing about the process is that a vacuum pump relies on a fairly rigid tube to resist atmospheric pressure, so that the blood running up is in the line of least resistance. A gravity-assisted transfusion is also possible, but I felt it poor to hang her from a meat hook on the ceiling. I usually don't do that unless there's no other alternative."

"In short: this will draw out her blood. Kira, could you watch it a moment? Don't turn it off."

Dorian leaves them briefly to head to the door and issue that same odd sound akin to what they heard earlier. (Although, perhaps slightly different to those observant.) More whirring, more scritching and scratching and high pitched little sounds, and then the door swings open.

"Constance?" Dorian asks at speaking volume. "Could you bring her in? Lunaris - or anyone, really - she'll need help with the coffin. Just pop outside - the back door - and help the dear nurse. Lunaris is the stronger of the lot, which is why I suggest him. But anyone fit to help carry a wooden box will do."

[Samuel Taylor]

Taylor nods his head

"I'll do it."

Turning his back on the Tremere he smiles at Christine as he heads out the back door. One of his hands in unconsciously clenching an unclenching, and his eyes are distant as he steps out into the cool night.

[Violet Clyntahn]

Violet looks up as Dorian starts to speak, satisfied smirk still on her face. She listens intently as he explains the device, before doing as he asks and going to get the table. She wheels the table around, lining it up next to the machine. She moves quickly not wanting to miss any part of Dorian's explanation.

Once in place she steps back to better see what was going on, fascinated by the machine and Dorian's explanation. She remains quiet but allows herself a broad grin as the device goes into the tremere’s neck.

[CFlaubert]

On stepping outside through the door indicated by Dorian, Taylor sees the nurse standing in a slightly awkward looking fashion, draped in a long and slightly over-dramatic billowing black cloak. Behind her, can be seen a large black carriage, with no windows, and an iron clasped door. The shutters are bound with iron clasps and no driver appears to be present.

The moment she spys Taylor, she reveals a chain around her neck on which is contained a key. Taylor would know this neck chain, as Constance has always worn it, as long as he has known her. Usually though, it contains a locket, on which he knows to be attached a picture of her beloved Pierre. No such locket is now attached, and it appears to have been replaced with this silver key. She turns towards the carriage and unlocks the heavy iron door. Once Taylor is positioned to take the front of the Coffin, she begins dragging out a wooden coffin which appears to have no adornment, and a few odd looking holes regularly placed along the top. The coffin makes a slow grating sound as it's base catches against the floor of the carriage.

"Dr Taylor" she acknowledges.

Once Taylor has taken the weight of the coffin, she takes the end herself as they walk together towards the lab. Constance's pace is irritatingly half a pace quicker than Taylor, and so she keeps shoving the coffin into his back. She appears oblivious to this though and they enter the lab.

Once they're inside, her eyes fall on the machine. They spring instantly back to Dorian. Her gaze fixes on him, her mouth slightly open, her pupils dilated, her expression one of intense arousal. "Where would you like this Doctor?" she says her stare not leaving his.

[LittleBird]

Kira's eyes have been on a constant to and fro from her charges body and the machine she has been told to keep on. She's deeply intrigued and ever impressed at their hosts inventions and ingenuity as always, yet also as always there are many questions on the tip of her tongue.

However it seems one sight does lure the young Roses eyes from the engines, joints, tubes and mimicked bite that's before her...she tilts her head at the expression worn by Nurse Flaubert-mainly drawn to attention at the title she had falsely given to him, yet her curious quirk of a smirk remains.

Tis funny, it's a more extreme version of several looks given to our host this evening...Kira returns to looking at the machine, though every so often gives the other guilty parties, including the one currently lying on a bench, a brief once over-wondering if they would act territorial anytime soon.

[Dorian M. Black]

"Over by the spare bed," Dorian answers without looking up.

Once he's turned off the switch the aristocrat tucks away his pocket-watch and walks quietly to the gestured table, unlatching the manacles on its surface.

"You can open it up," he murmurs. "Let's at least have the most incriminating aspect of the night gone before Mayweather wakes."

From the coffin it becomes obvious why the vents were required: inside is a mortal girl, perhaps twenty and two by age. Her aura is bright. Pretty with a long pale neck and chestnut hair, the light dusting of freckles scatters over a delicate nose. She looks heavily drugged, her jaw slack and pupils blown wide in the gaslamps, pale lime green irises barely a ring around them, totally unresponsive.

Dorian lifts her onto the table and begins strapping her down.