Bright Lights, Bloody Nights, Big City: Vampire Game Thread

[Cynical Cat]

The two men nodded to Cargo and let him into the hotel room. They were big men in pinstripped suits men who tore the dreams from other men and shattered their lives and bones. They were now slaves.

Cargo walked through the door and into the luxury suite. "I'm surprised to see you here," Cargo said.

"Why is that?" Samson replied.

"With Rossi getting the axe and a new Gangrel in town-"

"That you think I should be in the Elysium pressing the flesh. Nothing of importance requires my presence there."

"A surprising attitude."

"Black will rubber stamp his welcome. The archons will continue to hunt Rossi's killer. The Gangrel's position will be determined by the Gangrel, not by the Prince or the Primogen."

"I'm surprised you would admit to impotence."

"Either the Gangrel fight each other or they form a loose front. Neither decision is something I can influence. Now, what do you want you disgusting flesh peddler."

"Disgusting necessary flesh peddler."

"Don't push it," Samson warned.

"Sorry," Cargo responded. "Your boy Wright wants to move in on me. He's picked up some pieces of rubbish and is hanging around the Sabbat spy."

Samson shrugged. "Sounds like you have a problem."

"I have solutions. I just want to let you know I'm not trying to move on the unions. And remind you that Wright doesn't give a flying fuck about his fellow Brujah."

"Your message is recieved. I would suggest you make an example of any Caitiff or the antitribu before you do any permenent harm to a member of my clan. We have a short fuse, you understand. Losing two clan members could put some of our more excitable brethern over the edge."

"Understood."

"You are dismissed." Cargo turned and walked away. Samson waited until he was gone. He turned to one of his servants. "Phone the Elysium and Wright's place. Let him know that I wish to speak with him."

"Yes Samson."

[Josh]

He was busy making pretty and edging for the door when the message came in.

Samson wanted to talk to him? Fucking summons? Bullshit on that. He was half tempted to just head back to his haven and let the other Brujah stew. He really wasn't in the mood for whatever shit was going to come his way. (And to be sure, it was shit. It always was when one of the nominal elders of the area called in.)

But he needed some modicum of Samson's goodwill to stay operational and alive (undead).

He made his farewells and headed for the door, intent on catching a cab over to Samson's place.

[Cynical Cat]

The taxi delivered Wright to a nearby hotel decorated in the Art Deco style. Liveried men ushered him through the brass and glass front door to the foyer with its tiles arranged in a complicated abstract geometric pattern. An elevator took him to the upper stories and the row of suites that served Samson as his private domain.

Two pieces of mob muscle looked him over. One said, "go on in."

Wright entered through the door which revealed a lavishly decorated living room. A voluptious brunette was placing a caraff of blood on the table. Samson was staring out the window.

He was a man of a about average height. He wore loose, casual suits that were easy to move in. His light brown hair was neatly combed. Samson the Younger affected the air of a pater familias or a benevolent older uncle rather than the airs of an aristocrat that so many other elders favored.

[Josh]

"Samson!" he said, all bright and shiny enthusiasm, spreading his arms wide in greeting. "Missed you at the Elysium tonight."

[Cynical Cat]

Samson turned around. "I try to show up at the harpy convention only when my presence means something. I've heard you had a trying couple of nights. Will you sit down and make yourself comfortable?"

[Charon]

Marcus walked around elysium for a little while, trying to pick up on details like who seemed to be the most in tune with the mobs of the area, and least liked. Not necessarily together. As well as trying to pick up more information on Cargo.

[Cynical Cat]

Unfortunately, Cargo wasn't figuring in any discussions in the Elysium.

[Charon]

After maybe half an hour of trying to pick up little bits of information and rumors, Marcus left elysium and headed back to his haven to do some quick refresher on the local gangs, underbosses, soldiers, maybe some hanger-ons.

[Josh]

He nodded and settled into a chair. "Yeah, you heard about Rossi. Real fucking shame," he shook his head mournfully. "He was solid. I lead the Archons around to look for the bastard, but he slid out. Major bad news, some bastard called the 'Riddlemaster', goes around city to city pulling this kind of shit. Sabbat, I bet."

He figured that Samson was going to pump him for info on the Archons and Hans. That was the nature of the jyhad, with the elders digging for every little bit of dirt on their enemies and enemies-who-were-currently-masquerading-as-allies.

[Cynical Cat]

"The Riddlemaster?" said Samson. "So that's why the heat showed up. And no, he's not Sabbat." Samson walked over and sat down. "Cargo thinks you're going to make a move on him. He wanted me to stay out of it. He figured since I would be able to have someone else take over your union reigns and that you're a greedy, self-centered, piece of shit that I wouldn't miss you. He's right about that. He's not right about that I think I'm going to sell you out to a slaver piece of shit who happens to have powerful friends."

He paused for a moment. "He will probably strike at you trash hanger onners first. If you hit first, be thourough. He has "business investors" who can get messages to Alamut."

[Josh]

"What the fuck? I asked if he wanted to consider fucking mutual business prospects, and he's gonna try to whack me out?"

He let that little business about 'greedy, self-centered, piece of shit' go by. Those who had power could openly express such opinions, while the rest just thought it and figured on turning the tables someday.

Alamut... fucking assassins. Great.

His mind whirled. Suddenly he was pressed on two sides- the Mick and whoever was pulling his strings, and this asshole Cargo, who was going to be one dead motherfucker.

Time to get down to business.

"You're officially stepping aside on this, right? It's me, Fuckface, and whoever his backers are?"

He was already figuring out what to do. He had the perfect weapon here- get Chicken Boy all nice and morally lathered up, and turn him loose to see if his sword was good for anything.

If the backers were smart, he could get this slaving action going on himself, assuming he got Cargo out of the way.

[Cynical Cat]

"For me to step in would involve what would seem to be a Brujah consolodation of power over the unions and the railyards. That will involve . . . . others. Risk. Expenditure. Are you willing to share the spoils with your clan mates?" said Samson mildly.

[Josh]

He shrugged. "I'm a greedy, self-centered piece of shit. Why would I wanna share fuck-all with my clanmates?"

He paused, then grinned.

"You seriously talking coordinated move here? Let's talk."

Win or lose, it'd be worth it just watching a bunch of his fellow clan assholes trying to work together. He knew damned good and well that once things were underway, Samson would have more and bigger headaches than one Wright, who could slide in and secure his extra chunk of turf while the rest squabbled over every little scrap and every little slight, real or imagined.

Brujah were fucking stupid that way, at least the ones who played politics were.

[Cynical Cat]

"Cargo does all sorts of useful business. Business we Brujah also provide. The Toreodor and Ventrue will care if we threaten to consolidate power in this area. If you get backing for other Brujah, we threaten a war. No one is going to go to war for crumbs. Not for you. So, are you willing to give up the lion's share to others and be satisfied with a modest piece of the action?"

[Josh]

He shrugged again. "Anybody tries to use this to slide into what I've already got, I'll settle them. I want at least a 51 share in Cargo's meat-moving operations, if his backers are smart and decide to do business, rest to be divvied as you decide. If not, then our people can move in and set up shop. At which point I'll want a twenty share for opening the stake. Plus a domain expansion out to 51st street and clear run to the river on the other side of my current turf."

He'd surrender the stake out to 51st as needed, because he really wanted that wharf access more.

[Cynical Cat]

"You have your union business because I allow you to Wright. Because I defend it and every other piece of Brujah turf of any value. If you think a dozen odd Brujah are going to fight to get whatever is left of 49 percent after I get my cut, then think again. The problem isn't Cargo. Fuck, you don't need my help killing Cargo. The problem is what happens after. The Toreodor and the Ventrue won't like it and it'll take a lot of effort to hold it. And then there's his backers."

[Josh]

He grimaced theatrically.

"Hey, I'm the one who's got the most action at stake here, and the most to lose. I could chop to... forty percent." he allowed, looking as if the concession was being torn from him along with his fingernails and toenails.

[Cynical Cat]

"You've got a piece of the union action. Including me, that makes four Brujah who have a part. If this goes all out war, the Ventrue will try to break all of us. Everyone's at risk and we need a large chunk of the spoils as an incentive for our brothers and sisters. The lion's share to the lion."

[Josh]

He got an incredulous look on his face. "And? You don't win fights by looking not to get hit, you win fights by hitting. If it goes to war, we fucking kick their asses and all get a major payoff on it. Samson, this isn't about what we can lose, it's about what we can gain."

It was an appallingly sincere statement, one that he didn't consider, plot, or weigh. It was exactly what he thought and felt.

[Cynical Cat]

"Exactly. And we need to reward those who kick ass and take names with a big share. Otherwise we fall to the Brujah curse and start fighting among ourselves before we win. We carve the pie after the fight, not before."

[Josh]

He paused.

That was... sensible.

He'd just have to arrange it in such a fashion so as to get credit for big, heroic-type shit, probably on the back of Chicken Boy and Blue Eyes, or...

Well, things could happen to competition, too.

"Okay, I'm good with that," he said, nodding. "Let's do this thing."

[Cynical Cat]

"All right. I'll get Karen to find where he's hanging out and who is buying from him currently. You assemble the hit squad. I'll arrange things with the Tremere to try to keep them uninvolved. If the Toreodor or Ventrue take a hit, it will be harder to keep the regent from becoming Primogen. I'll also move to keep the cops and firemen busy, since sicking them on us is probably going to be the Blue Bloods first move. Maybe have some of them go harass Torrio."

"The Gangrel and Nosferatu are going to be a bitch. I don't know what kind of moves Haakon is making and the Nosferatu make a lot of use of Cargo's services and the Ventrue and the Toreodors have a lot to offer. Plus Broken Stick is a nasty piece of work."

[Josh]

"I... might be able to have a word with Haakon. We got this thing, he and I, kinda... thing, y'know."

He paused.

"But not faggy or nothin'. Just, we get along is all."

[Cynical Cat]

Samson raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's excellent. When you deal with him, remember he is more like a Ventrue than he appears. Cunning, trade and treachery were well known in the Old North and he was good enough at it to be chosen when he was alive for the Embrace and to keep his head after another thousand years."

[Josh]

Thousand years? He blinked. That was fucking old.

But the guy did go on about his boat and shit.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," he said.