The First Council of Neonates

[Violet Clyntahn]

Violets eye widen at the loud crash that followed Lilliana's abrupt departure, did she fall? She quickly puts up her hood, sparing a second only to glare at Dorian before chasing after her friend. On her way down the rickerty staircase she realised she maybe should have put that extra second into fixing her hood better rather that wasting it on Dorian. The narrow stairway seemed far more treaturous with her sight mostly impared by the hood. Too late, just as she reached what she thought was the floor she notices a man rolling around craddling his arm. She tried her hardest to leap over him but couldnt quite manage it giving him a small kick on his way past. She winced as he let out another loud moan, but got quickly distracted by the chaos of the room she just tripped into.

Not for the first time tonight she let out a loud squeek as she soaked up the scene. This time she let the feelings of "I shouldnt be here" overwhelm her. She knew what Zhaspar would think, that she should do something, try to protect the masqurade. But Zhaspar was always so distracted by spouting ideas bigger than himself, he never considered how to actually do these things. She was only one person, she had already tried to help calm Lilliana, what more could she do now? No it was better just to leave, to finally give in and run, she needed to get home. She quickly pushes through people to get to the door, not sparing a glance for anyone further. She lets the door slam as she opens it, and doesnt stop to enjoy the relief of the cold air hitting her. She quickly walks in the direction she came previously that evening.

[Viktor]

“…twenty one…twenty two…twenty three...”

Tallow took a step to one side as a body staggered and nearly fell into him, crunching instead against the bar. He roughly shoved the semi-conscious individual back away from it and sent them sprawling onto the floor before stepping back to where he had been stood. The Blonde was still in the middle of things, the Doctor was over in a corner seeing to the barman, the Stray was making her way out of the bar, the Rebel was…the Rebel was the biggest problem. That left at least one of them still upstairs or hiding in the room somewhere.

He shook his head slightly before kicking James Turner sharply in the back of the knee. The strike dropped Turner down onto it and Tallow grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into the edge of a nearby table.

“Don’t be pulling a knife in a bar fight Jimmy.” Tallow growled in annoyance as he let go and kicked the blade across the room into a corner before turning to Jim’s potential victim. “Same goes for you lad.”

The young man nodded gratefully and then crashed into the same table as a stool was smashed across his back. Tallow sighed and went back to his place at the bar and continued to watch the fight and to count softly under his breath.

…thirty two…thirty three…thirty four…

[Dorian M. Black]

"It's a Brujah trait; a number of the Rabble are prone to such vicious reductions of self-control that their fists literally glow with the strength of their savagery. You might talk her down from it. Give it a try?" Dorian drawls.

"Wait - Williamson." As George passes on his way to the door, Dorian tilts his head very slightly, a consoling expression replacing the blank one. (By the forced look of it, he has little practice on it.) "The inferences hitherto drawn and only further corroborated by this kind of behaviour. We can use this, you know."

"Look, I have no confidence in small repeated bloodlettings; whence it follows that the mean period of relapse in temper's control is one and five minutes, perhaps the efficacy of excision - ah, I mean perhaps the kindest thing - is to loosen the valve enough on our first Tradition that the wider Court be made aware of the damage? They have ignored us before on the topic of these outbursts. If we are to clean up Clan Brujah's mess - every time - with no political power to do more than squash the symptoms while ignoring the root cause, perhaps it good that we do nothing once, and let the result speak for itself? Elder Viktor almost destroyed our network here in the city to appease the damage of that Clan."

With a tone as if to appeal, "Permit her behaviour be publicised to the court proper, that the Elders have visible justification to deal with it. The men downstairs are drunk, and chances are that this is no impossible matter to muddy in regards to the first Tradition. We'll get it cleared up. Just let her... blow off steam a little; afford us the proof we need of her actions. Especially if you go via the Ventrue Primogen - they haven't the best... relations with that Clan - we might put the last few escapees on the pyre they missed."

"Then we can - Spider? Where are you going?"

Dorian's attention swings to the door, where Malkavian has clearly vanished. An odd sound later, and Dorian has also left, an Obfuscate flying up as he takes the stairs.

[George Williamson]

Well, this was an opportunity. Maybe Dorian was right? She'd already caused so much damage, and this is her not losing it. His hatred didn't seem so misplaced after the literal fire George had seen. But was she even part of what caused the destruction before?

Didn't matter so much now; Dorian was leaving down the stairs following Spider. George did the same, donning the unnoticeability of Obfuscate. He'd figure out what to do then.

It was a madhouse.

'Oh god', his stomach twisted and pained him seeing Richy slumped in a chair as a makeshift Doctor's table. The cloaked bobbing head of Violet swiftly exiting. Lilliana still burning with rage.

The whitest hair darted through the crowd, straight and long hair flowing like rapids down a stream. In a gap of parted bodies, he saw her, Eevie. The mind has a wonderous ability for everything to slow in a moment of complete shock. The dancer's frame shoving off assailants. Why was she here? Why was she being attacked? It didn't matter. She was in danger.

'EEVIE,' echoed through the mindscape, "RUN!" shouted George as he came into conscious sight, barrelling through patrons towards the Starlight.

[rhiann90]

Chaos. Perfection. A man screaming threats while his arm is being sewn together by the doctor who forgets his footing. Stupid human. Kill him. Opponent. Blonde. Good hit. Williamson shows concern. Another Nosferatu? Fuck. You can take them all. Blonde. Where did Violet go? Probably running home to Daddy. Focus on fire. Alcohol burns. Burn them all. Kill them all.

Eyes glaze over. Red is all Lilliana sees now. Rage is all that fuels her. She has lost her control. If only the girl hadn't stopped her. A frenzy has taken her. She is lost. Someone will die tonight.

A devilish howl can be heard from within The Respite. Lilliana finds the nearest person, an intoxicated but innocent bystander, and hurls him towards the windows near the main entrance. He flies past the now deer-like frozen statue that is Violet, leaving him unconscious in the street. His leg twitches and a groan can be heard. The serenade between life and death. It is not clear where this man lay.

One of the working girls screams, "David! No! You bitch! You killed my David!" A thin framed, scantily dressed woman comes towards the flaming fury. Her gangly arms attempt to assault. She runs and hits the beasts chest. Worst mistake of her poor, miserable, pittance of a life.

Focused now, flames flooding her hands, Lilliana grabs the sobbing wench and punches right through her chest. A heart, still beating, can be seen. Flames engulf it, turning it to charcoal. She pierces the skin with her fangs, draining the last few drops. The body collapses onto the brawny arms of the barmaid. It is then torn in two. Pieces of flesh are ripped from the corpse. An arm is chucked in the direction of Ricky. The beast's sense of humour satisfied, it looks for another to fight.
She stands up. Lilliana's dishevelled hair falls on her face, where a fang-bearing monster can be seen.

The Nosferatu are known among the clans for deformity, but tonight, Lilliana would make even the most hideous appear like a Toreadore's prized possession.

The rage has consumed her. Something needs to happen. Quickly.

[Viktor]

Tallow didn't pay much attention to Lilliana beyond noticing the initial frothing lunacy that had grabbed the Brujah. Instead he calmly pushed himself away from his position at the bar and made his way quickly through the growing surprise and terror in the establishment. He wasn't kind or gentle to those in his way but he also wasn't unduly violent and very displeased look appeared on his features at the barmaids sobbing turning into her death screams. He briefly grabs and pulls Rebeka's arm in his direction as he moves past her but almost instantly lets go of it and carries on out as if he didn't know her.

[Rebeka]

She could hear raised voices, objects being hurled and broken. It sounded like people throwing furniture around.

A fraught moment as a man went sailing past her, and then everything happened in crystal slowness when all it took was seconds for the Neonate to rip out the girl's heart.

For a second no one moved. The immediate crowd around her was in shock from the violence that had just exploded in it.

Partly, Rebeka could sense, because she was ragged with newness and too much too soon and exhaustion and grime and fear, fear, fear -

and partly because the stink of blood was coupled by the sight of the Neonate literally sinking her mouth into the open organ as it gave its last helpless shrug and trembled in the woman's hand -

Rebeka fainted.

[Storyteller]

"Blimme. Down the throat? Right you are!" said Froghill, a little too eagerly.

Were it not alcohol, Richy may have put up more of a fight; as it was the barkeep's frown tightened in suspicion. However he accepted the throaty libation, and spluttered indignantly as Taylor touched his arm. ("Gerroff! M'fine.")

"And what do yer mean, won't wanna be conscious? God's blood, doctor. What the fuckit are yer doing with that - hey! That's my arm! Aagh, mother a' mercy!"

Apparently with more mirth once liberally doused, Richy was still in no way "dozy" after only those few minutes.

As such, when Taylor began his verbal assessment, and then mentioned setting bones, Richy began struggling. Then he began shouting, and swearing and screaming quite loudly.

"No you feckin will not! I heard that kills! Lor' take ye- why the bleedin feck did you bring me into the fucking bar fight you stuffed up idiot - what was wrong with upstairs!? God's teeth! Gerroff!"

*

Meanwhile, and very abruptly, several female voices exploded in horror, and screams joined the clamour of noise.

[George Williamson]

Eevie hadn't even noticed George yet, she was staring from where the flying man came from. Tallow was moving towards the front exit, but she was standing there. So much horror. So much fear. Then she fell.

George rushed to catch her crumpled form. "Eevie, wake up!" She was so helpless, they couldn't stay here, maybe Tallow hadn't even noticed that she wasn't following? George looked round to see the situation.

Liliana was not herself, and it was scary.

Getting Eevie away was the first priority, but Tallow was moving towards the entrance. George would have just run as fast as possible from Liliana if he could. Fire was a fearsome thing. They had to move, quickly. He picked her up and moved as fast as he could to the bar, specifically behind it. George had seen Richy go round the back many times, but he'd never asked what was actually back there. Presumably a kitchen, and hopefully a back exit.

The Respite could wait.

[Samuel Taylor]

I need you now My Fair Lady like never before. My Lady, My Lady! MY LADY!

Screaming into the network Taylor rose, ignoring the bellowing Richie the Doctor's arm rose and viciously chopped down on the broken limb. The pain overcame the Barman and he slumped to the ground with eyes rolling up into his head.

His face set into a look of raw determination as George fled with the girl, Taylor squared up to the raging Brujah. Setting himself into a braced stance he knew he had to draw her attention before she killed any more innocents.

His voice cracked through the cacophony like a whip

"Ms Crow, you should have burned with the rest of your kind. Why don't you fight someone your own power."

Taylor's eyes flare with his own passion as he bellows

"FIGHT ME! HIT ME! COME AND DANCE!"