#Chip is a Ravnos

[buboloboogie]

INTRODUCING THE ALBISUCKERS!!! aka just if you put the riptide characters into Vampire The Masquerade setting -- I have thought a lot about this. BUT ANYWAY!! this is my piece for @foxhoarder13 for the @jrwi-art-exchange !!!!!!! was super fun to work on it, this is my first event so I am excited to do more !! :DD Hope you like it as much as I had fun working on it :33 posting a speed paint of this soon btw!! just gotta edit it eehehe

[maigawa]

no quería hablar al respecto, necesitaba al menos conseguirlo una vez. perturbar un poco a alguien más, divertirse con el tenebroso envilecimiento de la serenidad opuesta. más nada podía hacer cuando hatsune miku cantaba por cada esquina, los dijes brillaban, las máquinas una y otra, y otra vez con sus estruendosas melodías de ocho bits. era imposible poder concentrarse cuando la perturbación se le volvía en contra. "¿cosas buenas o cosas?" insiste en saber, nada más gustoso que tener información "tranquila, no soy ravnos, no iré a robarte nada de lo que tengas" tampoco le interesaría, el accionar delictivo propio iba por otro ámbito. además ¿qué clase de victoria sería el obtener un objeto de valor por el mero actuar de quitárselo a alguien más? una falta de respecto al orgullo propio. "ah, si tan sólo tuvieras algo que me interesara, sunmi" ladea la cabeza con dramatismo "un par de colmillos reales, uno falso" no teme esconderle a la opuesta, de recibir alguna compañía sospechoso, sabría que recaería en ella la responsabilidad. tanteando la confianza que podría considerar tenerle "¡deberíamos probar en otra esquina!" animada ahora cambia su chip para regresar al amigable estado "¿dónde has estado?" consulta para evitar esas zonas. @svnmih

la amenaza no pasa desapercibida, entrecerrando irises. ' si tuvieras algo de utilidad no dudes que eso estaría ahora en mis manos, mai ' vocablos son neutrales pero firmes a la vez, dejando claro que no le importaban los problemas. frunció su ceño ante el rotundo cambio de semblante y la concentración ahora empleada. a su vista era notorio que aquello no le estaba saliendo como quería, sus ojos rodando en primera respuesta. ' quieta. no querrás quedarte sin energía, ¿o si? ' es casi un consejo, soltando un suspiro cuando recuerda que todavía la noche es larga. ' podría decir que la suerte está de mi lado, he encontrado bastantes... cosas ' es algo reticente a compartir información completa. fémina le generaba cierta desconfianza, sin poder descifrar sus actitudes. ' ¿y tú? '

[gorgeousgarygolden]

☕️ the clans?

Banu Haqim: Never dealt with them. And I’d rather keep it that way. I’m perfectly fine dragging anything through the mud, but assassination is pretty much off the table. No self-respecting Nosferatu wouldn’t want a few of their secrets...but it comes at far too steep of a price. Brujah: Fun to set off and watch the explosion happen to someone else. Always have to watch out for that temper, because it seems to turn in an instant for even the most temperate Brujah. Gangrel: Always happy to do business with another “low clan”. Of all the other Camarilla clans, Gangrel are the closest I have to a “favorite”. They generally keep to themselves, and we generally keep to ourselves save for the constant spying, it’s the perfect friendship. And any of them that come to me do so in person, and without an ounce of complaining for the impossible maze of fetid tunnels along the way. Giovanni: There is no way to record my gagging noises in text, so just...substitute your own. Every vampire has skeletons in their closet, but the average Giovanni has an entire CATACOMBS worth of disgusting secrets best left buried, and that’s even BEFORE you touch the necromancy. I’m a professional, I’ll do business with them, but trust me when I say you have to REEK of shit for a Nosferatu to not want to dig further. Lasombra: My sire told me something important once: she told me that if you see one of those fuckers around, the shadows are no longer your friend; stick to the brightest spot possible, and better hope you weren’t spotted.  Even at their calmest, they are still Sabbat, and would probably drag you into the Abyss for one stale corn chip. Malkavian: I feel a bit sorry for Malkavians, to tell the truth. Has to hurt, to be the tragic Cassandra, spouting prophecy and warnings that go unheeded just because everyone thinks you’ve got a few screws loose. So I try to listen, to put it all together. Nosferatu: Best clan? Best clan. Of course I think of myself quite highly boss, and rightfully so. Completely invaluable to the Camarilla but also completely wretched to the core, so no matter how we act up they’ve -got- to keep us around. Setites: Never trust a snake, so why should you trust a Setite? I haven’t dealt with them much either, but I’m not much fond of cults, and as far as I can tell they are the world’s awfulest set of nesting dolls of cult within a cult within a cult. Toreador: Oh excuse me boss, I have to go VOMIT. UGH. I just want to take these claws to their pretty little faces, so they can shut up about how hard their unlife is because there is a single hair out of place on their pretty little heads. Trust me when I say it gets worse, boss. And if you don’t believe me, why you can pay old Gary a visit down here in the Warrens. I’ve got a bucket of primo sewer muck with your name on it. But I shouldn’t be -too- bitter, I suppose. Cursed with ennui, they are. Forever chasing some artistic (or sexual) highs that they’ll either never hit again or get so absorbed in it they die trying. Just wish it would happen a bit -faster- for the lot of them. Tzimisce: “If you see a disgusting abomination of nature capering in the shadows, that’s another Nosferatu. Go give them one of the hand signals, say hello.” “You see a disgusting abomination of nature capering in the streetlights, that’s a Tzimisce. Run like hell.” I look like this because of the clan curse, I can’t change this for anything. Tzimisce liquefy their own eyeballs or cover themselves in bone spikes for FUN. That’s just too much for me, boss. Nope. They can stay right over there with their other Sabbat flunkies. Tremere: Let’s be real here. Who with common sense DOESN’T hate the Tremere? I have to hand it to them for their skill at being underhanded at this  point, there isn’t a single thing the Tremere have that they did not steal, and even with the sheer amount of vampires just -aching- to give them some payback for it, they’ve held onto it all. Probably because they can boil every drop of your blood in your body by using their brain. Ventrue: Ah, the high and mighty Ventrue, masters of finance, forcing everyone to do exactly what they want with gross use of Dominate, and Microsoft Excel spreadsheets. Each one is sired with a clipboard in hand and a silver spoon jammed in their mouth, I’m sure. As much as I bellyache though, at least they do a good job at being the “public face” of the Camarilla. Because if you like getting punched so much, by all means, do it for me. I swear half of them only survive as long as they do BECAUSE they’re so good at taking a punch... Ravnos: Don’t see much of them anymore, boss. They’re all gone. Or is that what they -want- you to believe? Their ability with illusions is a hell of a discipline, and I’ve never seen one who doesn’t have their skillset tailored to the sharpest point possible to make the most use of it. I suppose they have to; they’re another clan almost universally despised.

[in-search-of-enoch]

*How many wights can an uppity Ravnos fit underneath a five mile wide property in Los Angeles?

Hundreds, apparently.

Beckett’s ammo ran out so he was forced to bludgeon two of the mindless blood suckers to Final Death before the weapon snapped like a twig. Then it was time to get his claws dirty.

The Noddist roared as he let his arms and upper chest shift and proceeded to tear through a trio vying for the prime position to bite Beckett’s throat. Like a hot knife through butter.

Whenever it seemed they were gaining the upper hand, there were always more of these damn things. The air was thick and heady with ash and blood. The Beast was begging him to allow it to take control, as Sascha’s battle fury was beginning to temper as the battle pressed on and Dolly had sustained a bad arm injury - or rather, a complete loss of an arm. She had severed it and thrown it to distract a group of swarming wights from dragging Strauss down. The fighting had not let up enough to allow the young Tzimisce to regrow it.

Suddenly, just when Beckett was seriously considering frenzying in the interest of allowing the others to escape, the screeching sound of tires and the blare of some sort of rock music was heard.

“Is that fuckin’ Halestorm I hear?” he heard Dolly ask from just to his left.

Then...

SMASH.

Rosie’s SUV, with some broken tree limbs on the hood and Leo sticking out through the sunroof firing an Uzi like a madman.

Anatole was in the passenger seat yelling “WEEEEEEE!” as it all transpired.

The vehicle did several doughnut spins, taking out a great number of the wights in the process. However, Beckett had been unlucky and not jumped clear in time, so he found himself being launched through the already cracked windshield. Leo caught him, or rather he crashed into Leo’s body.

“Oh dear, I wanted this to be the century where I didn’t hit with a speeding moving vehicle...” Anatole muttered sadly as he reached back to begin pulling glass and wood chips out of the Gangrel’s body.

Rosie instructed the others to cover them against the remaining wights and follow their tracks afterwards as she peeled back into the hallway and continued further down the tunnel system, a destination apparently in mind.

Beckett slumped against the caitiff and coughed up a bloody tooth - whether his own or another’s was unclear.*

Leo...for the love of Caine...hand me a blood bag from the cooler in the back...

@sascha-the-tremere

*The drive to Vaclàv’s is long and eerily quiet. Rosie drives in a car with Sascha and Max while Dolly drives for Anatole, Leo, and their self-appointed leader Beckett. The house sits on a dead end street, so there’s only one way to get there. They all get out a few blocks away - around the place where Nigel’s phone was last tracked. His car is gone, presumably towed by the Ravnos’ cronies already, but his phone is still under a tree stump.

On it is a note that reads “Vaclàv has Jain, against his will. Send help.”

Well that’s a bit redundant now, Rosie thought sourly. She was mad at her new friend for endangering himself like this. But…had the shoe been on the other foot…would she have done differently?

There was no time for hypotheticals right now though. This was the time for action. They had a werewolf and a ghoul to save.*

We need to create a barrier to lock everyone in place so he can’t call for backup. I can do one with marking the four cardinal directions around the house and then Max and Sascha can do one with blood to bolster it!

*As she’s speaking, Beckett and Leo are helping Anatole out of the car. He’s wrapped in a homemade quilt and shivering, despite not being able to feel cold. Rosie heart nearly rips in two and she can’t help but run up and hug the Malkavian fiercely.*

Oh Tole…we’re gonna make this right. Don’t worry!

@uselesscaitiff

@in-search-of-enoch

@sascha-the-tremere

@the-one-man-tower-of-babel

@laughing-crow

@radiatorchains