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"Unfortunately, da Tzimisce is a no. She don' wanna 'elp neithah side on dis, not Anahch, not Independen', not Sabbat." Tony sighed, shaking his head.
"Well, that fuckin' sucks. Would've been real useful." Logan sighed right back, stretching his shoulders and legs, little runner's poses and yoga poses stirring dead limbs.
"Fuck ya doin'at foah? Ya ain't gonna pull no muscles. Ain' gotta go lookin' fer nuffin." Tony squinted at the Brujah, watching his athletics with some vague confusion.
"Well of course YOU won't, you don't look like you ran a day in your life," Logan snorted, a shit-eating grin rising over his face.
The three Ghouls looked between each other, then returned to eyeing the powder keg and the spark-prone outlet that seemed to be these two.
Baxter, a big motherfucker, made dangerous by being a fast motherfucker thanks to Velvet's Ghouling; He had been a footballer in high school, had never given it all up after an accident in college— An accident he'd gotten himself into, drunk as piss at a bar. He hefted a shotgun Tony had brought, tried to hold it like a pistol—
Gio stepped in, corrected his hold, brought it more properly in line and flicked his finger off the trigger. He was the second-tallest of the group, though a definite beanpole; His suit made him look larger, but clearly, he was a picky eater. Of the three ghouls, he was the oldest, as well as the longest-serving; young Baxter looked like he could be his son, perhaps, while the third could be a younger sister, mayhap.
And the third, Kayla, another of Velvet's, had her hair up in a tight, scrunched-in bun; Her trigger discipline was better, but her stance was poor. Gio did not touch her as he instructed her, a courtesy not given to Baxter; She still corrected herself as directed.
Whether Logan simply had no useful Ghouls, or was withholding them, Tony did not know, and did not care. He and the Brujah were… Well, familiar as any who had done the Camarilla song-and-dance could be— But they'd never really worked together before, not like this, where there was a whole lot more than a package on the line.
"I meant, we ain' gotta go lookin' foah where dey's at. Velvet's got a liaison, someone called Bahbra, 'pparently tawkin'a some Sabbat big man— Brutus, I fink?— but. Da big man's willin'a give dese fuckahs up if we kin take'em, back out'a dis fer a bit, call it even." Tony grinned, and began digging around in his unknown myriad of pockets— He would touch something, nod, and move to a different pocket as Logan watched.
"What, we're working WITH the Sabbat now?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"Naw, naw. We ain't. Bahbie is. We, hmm… We kin jus' expeck' dis ta be da end'a all da… Insurgency. Guaranteed, fer a few yeahs, at leas'." He sighed, and looked down the street. "From what I seen, too, dis Brutus guy's… Mh. Reasonable. Moah reasonable'n da fuckahs dat 'it New Yawk, an' most'a da ones I seen on da road. So I don' figyah 'e wants ta see Bahkley by givin' us shit."
"Something real special— Real Major, anything you want— All over a burnt-down dry cleaner, huh?" The Brujah chuckled, peeking out with Tony.
"All dis ovah a bunch'a too-zealous lil' crusadahs who took too long'a get da job done, if I's rememb'rin' da exack words." He ducked back behind the building, and adjusted his hat one last time. "An' da damn dry cleanah. I got suits need'a get blood outta 'em, dammit! Ain' no regulah one not askin' 'bout da stains, ya know?"
"Of course you do, you fuckin' walkin' stereotype. What, have to get lake muck off your trousers after sending a dumb motherfucker 'ta sleep wif da fishes'?" He said the last part in a mimicry of Tony's accent, and Tony raised an eyebrow at him.
"I mean, yah? Sometimes."
Logan broke out into a wheeze as he laughed. "Oh my God. No fucking way. You put their feet in concrete and shove 'em overboard? Is that what you fuckin' do? Holy shit I thought that was a joke."
"Eh, nah. Ya tie 'em real good up wif cindahblocks, duck tape 'n rope. Da concrete take too long, an' da mermaids don' like it. Cindahblocks an' rope dey can use in othah ways." He shrugged.
Logan stared at him. "You… You are serious. Dude that's straight fuckin' murder."
Tony stared back, his brows knitting together. "Uh… Again… Yah? We's fuckin' Kindred? When da fuck was you brought inna dis shit? Moidah's da name'a da game most'a da time. Does I needs'a teach ya 'ow ta kill a man?"
"No, no, I just… Man. Premeditated and everything. Sick son of a bitch. Man, maybe I can have ya teach…" Logan's growing grin betrayed that he rather approved of the thing, had some little plan for the future about it all, and Tony, eyeing him for a couple moments, shrugged.
"Eh, nex' time you gots a guy needs'a disappeah, I bettah 'ear you sayin' dat gladly." His own quirked smile grew a little wider.
"So what's the plan, fedora man?" Logan laughed, elbowing Tony lightly; The Ravnos looked at the group of four-plus-him, and chuckled.
"Scout da place tonight, I'll take care'a dat, you all watch my back in case dey's back b'fore we was 'specktin'. T'morrah, da Ghouls set up da firebombs we got, an' triggah it as soon as da two'a us is awake. We two stay in sunbags t'night, camp it in vans neahby, an' be 'ere in time ta catch any'a 'em dat manage ta get out." He checked his own sawed-off shotgun, and then tucked it under his coat; A special little harness, not unlike an underarm pistol-carrier, made it almost indiscernible beneath the thick wool.
Gio nodded; Baxter and Kayla nodded shortly after; Logan raised an eyebrow.
"You?" He chuckled, a wry and disbelieving smile twisting his lips nearly to a jeer. "Mr. Never Did Anything Active In His Life? You gonna hide behind the light poles, fatass? What, couldn't afford to get one of Barkley's Childer on this to sneak in?"
"Yah, me." He re-adjusted his hat, and smiled, though it had lost a lot of its mirth. "Fatasses is common nowadays, dey'll nevah suspeck' me. Tell ya what, I get da drop on you on da way back, you's payin' fer da Ghouls' drinks when dis is all ovah."
Logan squinted, and shrugged. "Fine. And you're buying if you don't."
"Deal." He held his hand out to shake, and the two Kindred did, in fact, shake hands.
"Now stay 'idden, allayous. I'll be back in an'aour oah so." With one more peek out to the street, he slipped out of the little alley and slunk to a row of condemned buildings.
He was quick as a cat up on those beams, shifting side-to-side as he got his balance under him. Silent and invisible, he took care to creep with the utmost care through the old building, as dilapidated and decrepit as the rest of Detroit was; His coat left no marks, for he did not permit it to so much as touch the beams. He stepped where the proper inhabitants had in their own investigation, likely when they were clearing the place for their own use, tip-toeing in those places where the dust-marks were thin and slight, where an additional week of dust gained or lost wouldn't be discerned casually, compared to the heaping years outside of their tracks.
He took out his polaroid from one of his many, many pockets, and began taking pictures.
This was a commercial building— One of the rare ones that didn't stack up against each other, here, almost house-like in its separation. They must have picked it for that isolation, preferring not to share a wall with Kine— But now, why, it would make the fire easy to contain to their building alone.
A heap in the corner there— A hole in the wall there— A broken window to the side there. Hole in the roof, too much trash in front of a door for anyone without Potence to get through, each entry and exit, each place to sneak in accelerants and ignition-points… Ways to get in and out, places to block, places to secure.
Click, click. He hopped over, took another picture. Click. Silence guarded his steps, invisibility guarded his shadow.
Click, click. He descended to the ground, pondered the sleeping places, took photographs. Four Kindred, possibly five, by his guess. It'd be hard, but if they could get these shovelheads more or less incinerated before the chase-down, well… It'd be a lot less hard.
They'd hit that damn dry-cleaner to take the feet out from under the new-risen Anarch domain, to try and make it harder to hide the evidence of the takeover. Gang warfare was an easy cover in Detroit, but this had been an unprecedented summer, and everything was unease through the whole damn city.
It was personal, for a fair few of the Kindred— All of the more social ones like him and Velvet, the ones who invested in their appearances and tried to make things sensible, the ones out there getting information and speaking to humans, networking and trying to stitch up the broken city into functionality again—
And now these Sabbat licks, too damn zealous and too damn aggressive and too damn late, were up on the chopping block for their misdeeds. He didn't want to know why Velvet had a ghoul that spoke with the Sabbat, and he didn't want to ever meet the guy in his own right. But the information had been good— One of those abandoned businesses off eighty-sixth— and while he'd not been given a number of Sabbat holed up here, he didn't need to worry as long as it was a firebombable place.
They started it, burning down the Kindred-friendly dry-cleaner of the city. He was going to finish it.
Valentyn claimed to be damn busy with the bigger brutes, Barkley was disappointingly leaving that to him since the takeover-war, Velvet and Jay were no fighters by any metric,and all of Fran's people were working on clearing out the Barony's borders instead— Well, fuck them all sideways, this is what they had. A Brujah, a 'Brujah', and three Ghouls. So they'd have to fox-strike it, fire-strike it, and make sure they eliminated all who survived the blaze with ruthlessness that'd make a Lasombra proud.
He sketched the area, paced it in his own steps, counted on each side as best as he could. He marked points of interest and entry, looked around a little for spots there may or may not be secret entrances or exits, so on— He found no additional ones, but seeing there were a few places they could be, he marked those too, a little differently.
No different from scouts having to guess up a house, and then plan the entry, just like we practiced back in Camp Upton all those years ago.
When he was certain as one could be about what they'd be facing— one Nos, by the purulent remnants smearing one blanket, and three or four unknowns— He crept his way out. It's not like he was invading their haven-haven, just a forward operating base. Still, it was a forward operating base they'd run to ground in after torching one of Velvet's businesses, and that meant it was their likely bolthole, and their likely daysleep location.
As he left, he saw the others watching in their various places— And, staying silent and invisible, snuck up behind Logan and tapped him on the shoulder, and gestured to come along.
Logan about jumped out of his boots, nearly swung on Tony— Tony tilted back out of his range as soon as he saw the flash of Brujah violence. Gio quirked a smile as he saw his brother flit back into visibility by tapping the Brujah, but kept his mouth shut about the trick. He laughed, and the other Ghouls, who had been looking elsewhere, chuckled a little too as Logan cursed at Tony.
"Still wonderin' 'ow I's gonna scout da shit?" He chuckled, eyes glinting darkly in the low light as he pulled out his sketch and pictures.
"We wouldn't even have to fuckin' burn them out if you'd just give them all heart attacks too," Logan grumbled, but there was a light appreciation for anyone who could get the drop on him that way— And a fair measure more caution than before, as well.
"Hah, if I coulds, I woulds." Tony gestured them to get walking, over towards their own little base of operations.
Swiftly, they made it to a nearby parking lot, huddled inside one of the vans, gathered around the lone light in the center. Tony spread the pictures and sketches out on the ground in something approximating the layout of the house, and began to point out what he'd seen, where he'd seen it; He answered questions, clearly and honestly, as they came back, from Ghoul or Kindred— As plainly and clearly as he could, gesturing freely and stacking coins to mark approximate heights, paths, piles.
Then, when questions were answered, and possibilities were discussed, plans and counter-plans proposed and argued over, they came to their final decision:
In the day, the Ghouls would pose as City inspection, rig the whole place to go up, proper arsonist style, covering all entrances and exits excepting the roof, as that was too risky to rig up with only a crew of three. They'd set everything to go ablaze when a single cell phone received a text; This text would be sent by Logan when he was ready to go.
Logan, after all, had the hardest position to cover— The roadway out West, where they seemed to be all coming from. It was where they'd likely to go ground if they were chased out of Detroit— And so he would hold that place.
Tony, meanwhile, would cover the opposite, the roadway deeper into the city, in case that's where they tried to run— Seeking to destroy as much of the Masquerade as they could before their inevitable demise.
Kayla would cover the hole in the east side, near enough to Tony, while Gio would watch the north exit, and Baxter would mind the south. All of them— Tony and Logan included— would be armed with dragon's breath shotguns. The Ghouls were given strict instruction not to hit friendlies with either— While Tony knew Gio was probably the best shot in the state, he didn't have much hope for the other two, given Gio's assessment.
"You 'it us, you's payin' da blood. If ya don' trust ya aim, t'row molotovs. If ya don' trust dat, we's got road-flares. If ya don' trust dat, jus' watch where dey go if'n dey's runnin'." His brown eyes glittered like iced clay as he stared at the two unknown ghouls, gesturing to the pre-prepared assembly of other incendiaries.
"We's got armour'll fit yous, but I don' know if it'll 'elp much," He began to warn, and Baxter snorted.
Logan and Tony looked at each other, and then shrugged. Most folks were happy for any protection they could get, dealing with something like this— Guess the footballer thought he was invincible with a little Vitae in his system. Damn fool, right there, by both Kindreds' assessments. Tony took the chance to finish out his little instructions.
"Wif any luck, dey all go up in da flames an' we ain' gotta do no fightin'. Wif our luck, we ain' gonna be lucky. Any questions b'fore we break fer day?"
The assembly murmured their no-s, and the group scattered before the Sabbat would arrive. Tony and Logan zipped up in their daybags, and Gio performed the light-inspection with them, blaring a high-intensity flashlight into the oiled tarp. When both Kindred were satisfied they wouldn't burn, the Ghouls swept them off in the vans, and caught a bit of shut-eye before their work-days would arrive.
Gio led the fire squad.
They crept around the outside of the building in the daytime— A bunch of blue-jeans, well-worn and paint- and dirt-smattered, some work boots, and some brightly coloured vests managed to make them utterly invisible to the eyes of uninformed and ununiformed man, especially as Kayla had her white hard-hat and her supervisor vest and her hearty dose of Toreador Presence. Two white work-vans crouched, parked a couple streets over, as the ghouls brought things in-and-out of the van in nondescript buckets, or little hard-cases, or miscellaneous jugs— An assortment of miscellany all made to be as dull and uninteresting to the average person as possible. 'Pest control', was the answer given to any fool curious enough to stick their nose where it didn't belong— And frankly, it wasn't even a lie.
It was amazing how well people ignored the mundanity of the world around them— Amazing how a little yellow tape and a little authority with a clipboard made one unquestionable. It was a ploy that had worked since the first days of construction crews, and would continue to work so long as everyone remained by and large too far in their own bubbles to really pay attention to what their fellow man did.
Gio hauled out a ladder, and Baxter held it firm as he clambered up. They placed little jars beneath the eaves, some jellylike mixtures of hydrocarbons wobbling within, laced between with metal and wire. Masses of wires and jury-rigged actuators were carefully strung along beneath the siding of the abandoned business, lost to urban blight ages ago. How many buildings here were condemned? How many people were there even frequenting this area to witness this preparation for destruction? The answers were probably in the same ballpark.
The ghouls did their dire work, and then retreated to their vans to wait out the remainder of their orders, to eat and sleep in the human ways their masters did not need to do. Gio cleaned the shotguns for the sixth time, counted out the shells, listened to the magnesium powder inside the plastic with the practiced ear of a real gun enthusiast, the sort of man who pocketed brass from the range just for the joy of reloading it to match his own preferences.
Tonight, well— Tonight, he knew, would be a daredevil sort of night. He didn't expect Tony to blow his cover like they were going to blow the building, but… Well. He'd have to see.
The last rays of the sun bled below the horizon, and Tony and Logan were out, bats from hell.
Each were up in stolen police body armour, ghoul and Kindred alike— Kindred just in case someone had a penchant for improvised stakes; anything poorly-crafted should break against the tough fabric. As for Ghouls, well, maybe it'd keep them alive long enough to make a difference.
Logan ran further— he was faster. What sort of Brujah doesn't pick up even a little Celerity?, he found himself wondering, as Tony hoofed it far more slowly to the near side of the building.
He saw Baxter and Gio settling quietly to the North and South of the building— Kayla must be sidling out by Tony. He breathed. He listened. All sides covered except the top.
He got a text.
'Movement inside' — from Tony. He must be seeing something from the out-and-out hole, rather than the closed doors and blocked-up windows.
He looked at the never-texted number, the readied message- A single letter. A. All it would take to set it all off would be anything, texted to that number.
Do or fucking die, baby. He hit send.
Logan and Tony could feel the fire-fear creeping into their blood. Pupils shrunk to pinpricks, they watched the building go up in a frenetic torrent of cherry and orange fire, the air stinking of gasoline and acetone, of roiling, burning plastic and garbage, of benzenes and asbestos never cleared. They willed themselves not to run, willed themselves to hold steady in the face of one of Kindred-kind's two great enemies, waiting for the prey to emerge. They could will themselves out of the terror only because they knew it was coming— But the immediate shrieking that came from inside indicated at least one of the Kindred occupants would not be in their clear mind.
The Ghouls, faces obscured by respirators, watched the exit points.
Gio was first to fire, lifting his shotgun and pointing it at a dark figure illuminated by the fire beneath it, a rat leaving a burning, sinking ship via the hole in the roof. Some wretched Quasimodo with a face like a toad drowned in pus managed to wrench itself out of the deliberate inferno beneath it, hissing and spitting and cursing and thin-throatedly crying. It landed on the roof, and looked for a way away, scrabbling as a frightened hare— Only to be met with a blast of ignited magnesium shavings to the side.
It screamed, and leapt again as it tried to get down the road, flailing and batting at the fire on it, in it. The stink of its decaying flesh burning added to the toxic miasma of the area. Without apparent sense on where it was, lost to Rotschreck and actively aflame, Tony finished what his brother started with another round to the back, his Obfuscate breaking as soon as he pulled the trigger.
The corpse smouldered as it fell away into black rot. Fresh. A real Shovelhead, alright. He backed into the lee of the building, hiding from all the others, and melted back into the shadow, out of sight.
Screaming inside was joined by angered shouting. A girl lunged out of the East hole towards Kayla, who fired; She grazed the creature, one limb blackened already by the creeping flames, and brought the second to burn as well.
The pale girl, enraged, grabbed the gun. Kayla's eyes went wide as the Kindred ripped it from her hands and slammed it into her chest like a bat, bending the barrel, shattering the stock, and sending her flying. The Sabbat lick then turned to Tony.
He raised his own shotgun and fired. This hit more center-mass, but not square enough to end the frenzied probable-Brujah— Something Tony discovered as they sent him, soon after, into and through the wall of a nearby building, with his Obfuscation broken by his own attack once more.
His head was spinning, his vision blurry for a moment— But he shook it off as best he could. Dust and brickwork and crumbling mortar rained down on him as he looked at the bent metal shelves that had caught him, at the hole in the brickwork where he had come from. In a moment, she had seen this motion, knew he wasn't so easily killed, wasn't a simple Ghoul like the other— She fixed her eyes hungrily on him and snarled.
Tony bared his fangs, blackened with Vitae, snarled right back at her as his eyes gleamed red in the reflected firelight. The attack had caved in his ribcage— But he didn't really need air, so it didn't matter too much. His irises wavered like a static-corrupted image, for just the faintest flash of a second. She rushed him again— And this time, suddenly, veered to the left and slammed into the dirt. Tony rolled, grabbed his gun, and brought it up. Damn that Celerity!
She leapt— He pulled the trigger—
She burbled into sludge and half-burnt bones that rained down atop him with the force of her leap; He had caught her when she couldn't course-correct, going straight for him in her rage. Such was the folly of blind rage— he wiped decay off his face, out of his eyes, as he scrambled out of the building he'd been thrown into, scanned the rest of the battlefield.
Baxter was scrabbling faintly at a Kindred with her fangs in his neck, half-scorched and clearly trying to restore herself on the blood of man. Logan was matching fist and fist with a— By the look of it, a Tzimisce— And the potential fifth was unknown, but Gio was— Well, the vibe off him was intensity, so he wasn't hurt and didn't need help; Perhaps there was no fifth, but they'd all need to keep an eye out.
He pushed a rally impulse to Gio, who hurried over— He didn't even need to direct Gio as soon as his brother saw Baxter fighting for his life. Gio took but a moment to line up his shot and then opened fire, peppering the unknown Kindred with flame and lightly grazing Baxter— But the poor fellow was probably already gone, anyway, so that was an unfortunate collateral. Tony took the moment where nobody was looking at him to hide for a third time in supernatural invisibility— And then ran, and circled the Kindred girl at a perpendicular, planning on forcing her back towards the burning building.
But she was not distracted— No, she saw him. Tony watched as the girl first looked up at Gio, and then turned her eyes to him as he ran to try and catch her in a pincer. She began to scream something in a language he didn't know— Or, maybe, it was just something said backwards, in English?— As he locked eyes with her and raised the shotgun.
A glimmer of Auspex, a gleam of Dominate.
He snarled, terror rising in his throat, and fired— And fired— And fired— And the gun clicked. Empty. Fucking Malkavian bitch. She crumbled to desiccated chunks, plenty of bone and a small heap of ash. He was open, visible, again— He ducked behind a car.
"Copritemi!" Cover me! He shouted to Gio, as he swapped in a new magazine. Dutifully, his brother dashed to the car, shotgun raised and aimed carefully at the building, waiting for someone else to pop out with murderous intentions. Then, when he had reloaded, he did just the same for Gio— Six rounds each, loaded full of Kindred-killing flame, once more.
Gio immediately resumed following Logan and the Tzimisce, tracking their motion with his shotgun, waiting for the two of them to separate enough he wouldn't quite literally friendly-fire; Logan was holding his own against the warp-bodied monster, but only just.
Logan swung wide, and the Tzimisce seemed to seize upon the opportunity, reaching a hand to the Brujah's chest—
The very edges of Tony's irises flickered once more— and the fleshcrafter's next swing seemed to knock them off-balance; It was enough that Logan was able to get a decisive blow in, slamming both hands down on the back of their head so they crumpled.
They hollered something as they dropped, and tried to drag Logan down with them, grabbing a leg and yanking— He was unbalanced by this, and toppled over on his front, scrabbling as the fleshcrafter grabbed his back and began to warp the ribs open. Logan screamed in agony. Tony rushed over, grabbed the Tzimisce's hands and pulled. He managed to get the claws out of Logan's flesh, but didn't have strength to yank the beastly thing entirely off; It still snapped and rounded on him, freeing their scaled hands from his grasp, grabbing his face and diverting its attention to the more-injured Kindred. He howled as he felt his bones begin to warp, painfully—
And then fire gouted between Logan and Tony, a concentrated, thin stream from exceedingly close range. Gio bared his own teeth at the Tzimisce as if he, himself, had fangs to intimidate with— Speaking nothing of the shotgun that smoked with magnesium and gunpowder. The Tzimisce, who due to the angle of where the two other Kindred were, had only been grazed, scrabbled to stand, to run from the fire-toting Ghoul—
Logan grabbed them just as they had grabbed him, slammed them into the ground, too angry to be afraid of the fire Gio brought to bear. The Brujah grabbed the Tzimisce's head, began slamming it repeatedly into the street, the asphalt cracking and breaking and adding one more pothole to Detroit. Tony settled back on his heels, vaguely saw this through a half-warped-shut eye, snarled as his body tried to fix the warping and just couldn't yet—
A fearful warning from Gio. He whipped around, hollered as a mountain lion slammed into him, gently flame-scorched but mostly unharmed; If it weren't for Gio's sense of warning, it would have had his spine in its jaws, but with the warning, he was only going to miss a fair bit of his neck and jaw.
Tony snarled, scrabbled at it, but couldn't see well— His gun was somewhere he couldn't find— The angle was damn awkward—
Logan finally splattered the Tzimisce's skull, ripped the cracked bones from the neck, a crude decapitation that turned it to bones and slime.
The Brujah snarled at Gio, eyeing the gun, before Tony's incessant cursing grabbed his attention instead— And there Tony was, kicking and shouting as cougar fangs dug into the gap of flesh on the underside of his jaw. His gun had been flung, and the— Certainly not a fucking Brujah, couldn't even fling a cat— mobster was digging in one of his pockets for something.
Logan pounced on the Gangrel like he, himself, was a great cat, and wrangled the thing off Tony. Tony hissed at the shredding injury in his neck and jaw, scrambled back with half his face ripped off and jaw hanging by the half still on, got something from his pocket—
The Gangrel twisted with feline dexterity, managed to get free of his hold, buried its teeth in Logan's arm, began jerking its head side-to-side to try and rip the damn thing off as it lashed out at the Brujah with its claws, getting him on the ground again—
Logan had dug a thumb into one eye, gouged it out, as its fangs tore out a good chunk of his arm, began punching the big cat's ribs—
Gio couldn't hit the writhing mass of catflesh without also tagging Logan, and he knew getting too close to plant barrel to flesh would just make him a snack like Baxter—
Tony cursed, and then looked into the fire for a moment, then behind him.
A mass of blue and red lights, the wailing scream of police sirens, blared down the street. The cat looked up, arm still in its maw, just in time to see an approaching fleet of police cars rounding the corner. In the span of the heartbeat it lacked, it decided to cut its losses, letting go of Logan and running with ungodly speed to the interstate— It might be able to take out the two battered Kindred, but not while getting shot by cops, too.
Its mistake was running.
Gio raised his shotgun, and, one-two, slammed two rounds into the catamount as it fled. It writhed as it burned, howling and shrieking, trying to wriggle the fire out of its pelt, shifting back to a man, and finally dissolving into sludge and dust.
Tony was— Drawn. Haggard. Hungry-looking, no less than Logan was. He held his hand out to the Brujah on the ground, helped pull him to his feet by his good arm. He appeared to attempt to smile, but with the fucked angle of his jaw, it certainly didn't land.
Gio pressed two fingers to the side of Baxter's neck, and then pulled back, shook his head. Dead.
He went to check on Kayla, and her crumpled form— breathing, but unconscious. More injured than he could do anything for.
The two Kindred looked at each other, and laughed faintly.
Logan was down an arm, had his ribs fleschcraft-fucked into a perfect hole to access his heart, and was peppered with an assembly of minor injuries from claw and fist.
Tony's chest was caved in like he'd been hit by a car, was missing the left half of his neck, and had his face seemingly smeared by a massive hand, on top of how his jaw dangled off his face.
"Careful, Tony, better get Valentyn to fix that or folks'll think you're a Nozzie," Logan began to cackle, revealing brawl-battered teeth. He spat one out as it fell from loosened sockets.
Tony grabbed his jaw, wedged it into place, willed up his blood— Enough flesh coiled to reconnect that he could at least talk, though the tooth-shredded lips were clumsy, the gaps in cheek whistling softly.
"Ey, y'watsh yershelf naw, oah Velvih'll t'ink dat 'eart's fer'er," Tony jabbed right back, grumbling and clicking his jaw, irritated at the injuries that held back his return-quips.
The two Kindred recovered as much of themselves as they could, until the threat of turning on each other from hunger overruled the concerns of a Masquerade breach from their bloodless wounds. Gio busied himself flinging bones into the raging inferno of the house-fire.
Tony soon helped with bone cleanup duty, and Logan shortly after, leaving only a few errant shards out of the all-consuming fire; Next, the two suited men began gathering up the plastic shotgun shells, hiding them in pockets, while Logan gathered the pieces of the broken gun. There was little they could do about the hole in the wall, so Gio made the decision to line some acetone to the shelves where Tony had crashed, light it up, connect it carefully to the main fire, so it'd at least be harder to figure out. The three of them pricked their ears up when they heard the faint wail of sirens, and Tony looked over to Logan.
"M'ey, kin y'elp me gih da bawdy beck t'Velvih?" It was a question, but not really— Couldn't have this breaking cover, after all.
Logan grunted, took a moment to decipher what Tony had said, and nodded. The two of them carted the corpse to the work-van; Gio wordlessly picked up Kayla, carted her into the van shortly behind, and sat with her as Tony drove them, circuitously, back to Velvet's up-and-coming nightclub.
"Sho whah wash yer reashn'er doin'is?" Tony asked, to make conversation as they drove.
"Mm, that's a bit personal, bud." Logan replied, shaking his hand, thumb-and-pinky, in a so-so gesture.
"Ah, shorryh." A simple reply, with no malice.
The van was quiet— Gio softly counting breaths and pulses in the back, getting out little flashlights and peering into eyes.
"I think she's got a concussion," Gio offered, quietly.
"No shih, Shehlohk," — "No shit, Sherlock," the two Kindred immediately replied, in time with each other.
They looked back and forth— And both broke into a relentless cackle.
"You ain't too bad, Tony," Logan sighed, grinning wide and wiping at a faint laughter-tear.
"Yhu ain' eishah," Tony chuckled, and pulled around back of Miss Velvet's nightclub.
Velvet reclined on the ruby-red couch that made up her own personal VIP room, smiled and clapped her hands together as Logan and Tony walked in.
His chest was still warped from the Tzimisce, but the little snack he'd been able to get off one of the blood dolls had done him a world of good; He settled into the armchair as Velvet brought herself to a sit, and not a half-lay, flashing her long legs at him in a way that almost seemed to ask if he was interested. Tony, similarly, had at least been able to fix his jaw off a different blood-doll, so he wasn't pulling a New Yorker Sean Connery impression anymore. Tony preferred to perch upon a stool, an arm resting on a knee, the other drumming on his thigh.
"So, Tony, tell me how it went. I see Baxter is dead, and Kayla might be," She began, somewhat tersely. Logan bristled at being denied his own exposition, but Tony was technically his elder, and so he did technically get the rights to tell the story first.
"Yez ma'am. Well, see, it wen' like dis…"
I scouted da place da night befoah— Y'know how it goes. Bahbara's lead was good— Commercial place off eighty-sixth. It was da disconnected mix'a cornah-store and liquah-store, the one dat used to be a garage?
Well, I come back from da scout, we all work on a plan. Fire on all entrances an' exits except da roof, an' surround the place— See, dere was a truck entrance at da north-back, Glasses watched dat, a 'ole in da East dat Kayla and I watched, a West ramp dat'd lead up to da freeway dat Logan was on, an' a South customer entrance, Baxter was dere.
Ghouls do their jobs proper, set it up right, night falls, we gets dere and sen' da building t' Hell, and watch and wait. Logan spots a Nossie coming out da top by da North, Glasses sends 'em off quick as can be. A Brujah bitch comes barreling outta da hole— Kayla and I shoot her, but she manages ta'it a home run on Kayla an' sends me t'rough da wall. We duke it out a bit, I manage ta drop 'er when she runs inna my gun.
I run out, Baxtah's down and there's a Malk eatin' him, poor fuck probably got Dominated or some shit. Glasses minds Kayla while I finish da Malk— She was half-burned already, and it's just a Malk lick, anyway, not p'ticularly 'ard.
I looks over, Logan's brawling wif a Tzimisce! Some lizardy looking ass'ole. I goes over ta 'elp, Lizardman decides ta fight dirty and melts my face— da fuckah. Logan gets da guy on da ground an' starts bashin' 'is 'ead in, pops it right off after a bit— Turns out da guy had already played dirty like dat on Logan, tried ta make a 'ole in 'is ribs oah somet'ing, real nasty, an' apparently I was exactly da distraction Logan needed ta kick 'im off-balance and fuckin' kill 'im. Shit could'a been on EWW, know what I mean? I'd'a paid ta see it.
We figyah it's over, an' Glasses shouts— A fuckin' cat, half-scorched by da damn building fire, comes by an' tries ta neck me! Logan just picked it right off an' flung it some ways up da street, took out that one, too. Sneaky fuckin' City Gangrels. This fuck took half my jaw with it, but eh.
Den it's jus' a mattah'a gettin' da bones t'rown in da fiyah, coverin' up what we can'a any Breaches, 'n get everyone outta dere. Din' know if you'd want Baxtah for anyt'ing, but still can't 'ave a corpse 'roun', so 'ere we is.
Velvet sat back and listened to Tony speak, nodded as she pondered things in her mind.
Logan's brow furrowed as Tony kept speaking— So much of that was wrong, whole things left out— But he'd gotten a lot more credit than he expected, two of the three tough kills.
"Is this right, Logan?" Velvet asked, tilting her head his way.
"Uh— Yeah, more or less. Leaving out the gory details, but that's the most of it." Tony's shoulders, slightly stiff, seemed to relax a little as Logan agreed with his version of events.
"Oh, that's wonderful. Well, as soon as I hear back that things do seem to be how you say, and that those were, in fact, the correct fellows, we'll discuss payments. Until then, treat yourselves to what's in the club, and I'll hope to call you shortly." She smiled wide, and the two Kindred nodded, thanked her, and slipped out into the club.
The two of them lounged around the bowling alley. Tony and Logan had picked up another set of snacks out of the club, had their light damages healed and their Beasts quieted, and each of them felt a little better, with that dirty business cleared.
"You're a hell of a firebug," Logan started, slowly.
"Jus' got a good 'old'a myself," Tony huffed, waving it off. "Anyone kin do it if dey's willin'a focus."
"If you say do. Still, thanks for mindin' me. You and your ghoul… Are a hell of a team." The Brujah chuckled. "Wouldn't want to get on your bad side and wake up to find this place ash."
Tony rolled his eyes, opened up a cigar-case, pulled one out, trimmed it, and offered it to Logan. "If yous on my team, yous minded like youse my own. Easy as. Don' leave nobody behind, or one day youse gonna be da one cut out. None'a yous is in any kinda'a dangah if you ain't Sabbat."
Logan nodded to the cigar, took it and lit it with a match— Who the hell carried an actual match nowadays?— Tony handed to him. He puffed until the coal gleamed cherry, and then brought it away as Tony trimmed and lit his own cigar.
"Well, awfully… Considerate of you, anyway. And you gave me equal credit, to Velvet? What's up with that?" There was a canniness in his eyes, something Tony caught and appreciated the wiseness of.
One didn't make it this long without a bit of a sense of when something was up.
"Ah, well, yah. If you weren't dere t'distract 'em, I'd'a been dust." He quirked a smile, and Logan snorted.
"No, meat-shields aren't good enough to warrant equal credit, and you saved my ass first. What's your aim, Tony? What do you want out of me?" He scanned the man's face, and Tony smiled around the cigar.
"Mh, not a lot, awnes'ly. Ah'm shure you noticed, I ain' exackly… Well… Your cousin." His eyes were narrow, watching Logan with the same wariness Logan regarded him.
"Mh-hm." Logan pulled the cigar from his mouth, pondered the little contained fire in it, shook off some ash. "So you want me to keep that a secret."
"I'd 'preciate it, fer shure." Puff, puff, the cigar, vanilla and coffee and hay and brown sugar, went, burning its life away a drag at a time.
"But that's not— That's not Major. And Velvet's offer was anything you like. And… Well, there's only one Major." The canny remained, and Tony's eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Y'feelin' like ya owin' me somet'in?" The mobster chuckled, and rubbed his still-warped face. Neither of them were quite out of the woods on their fleshcrafting yet, but surely it would go away, with blood and time, like all things did.
Logan snorted. "She sure seemed to appreciate your input, so… Suppose so, if I get that Major. What do I owe you, exactly, Tony, you goddamn businessman?"
"Well," He said, settling back into his seat and watching the smoke coil around the fluorescent lights. "It'd be a lot hahder t'say I'm not a Brujah if y'appened'a, say… Teach me just a bit'a Celerity," He began, with the smile not leaving his face. "An' in exchange, Ah'll be a credit t'yer clan. Y'seen me keep my Beast leashed, dat's a good t'ing'a 'ave fer any Clan, much less da Rebels. An' we'll count it even, businesslike." He kept that smile up, that damn coyote-smile, all length and no teeth.
"So… All you want me to do… Is teach you the very first step of Celerity. And keep my mouth shut about… Knowing it isn't in your blood." Logan began to list, as Tony maintained his placid smile, and nodded.
"And in exchange, you've already given me half of the credit— Got me a solid chance at that Major… And you'll be a good, upstanding, well-mannered Brujah who only occasionally drops people over the side of boats." The nod came through again, and Tony puffed out a perfect ring of smoke before he once more spoke.
"'Ell, Logan, I ain' even askin' ya ta out-n-out lie foah me. Jus' don' deny it. Da rumour's already out dere." He puffed out a second ring that rolled into the first, grabbed through the smoke, catching the two rings around his fingers.
"An' I'm right shure you'll get dat Major. I kin make it 'appen." The ring spun apart into spiderwebs, five connectors between two rings, and spiraled away from Tony. He watched it wisp apart.
The two looked sidelong at each other, and Logan finally sighed, and nodded.
"Great! Well, lez get a time all set up ta—" Tony began—
"One question, and then I'll agree," Logan interrupted, and Tony's eyes flicked across Logan with all the icy chill of any reptile.
"No questions direckly 'armful ta me," Tony countered, and Logan nodded.
"Den axe away."
"Where'd those cop cars come from? And where'd they go?" Came the Brujah's question-pair, and Tony puffed out another breath of smoke, and inhaled, as he thought of how to answer the question.
"Yer imagination," He ended up replying— And there was a ring of truth to it.
"Wh— That can't be true, you fuck—" Logan began, and Tony quirked an eyebrow.
"You axed me two questions, not one. I gotta 'ave a answah dat covahs both'a em. So dat's da answah you get." Tony grinned wide, and Logan slammed his hand down on the table, cursing himself.
"Alright, you pedantic motherfucker, fine. If I get that ask-anything Major, I'll teach you how to be less of a fucking slow-ass fatass."
"Aw, my own poisonal trainah. I feels like a 'Ollywood stah."
Tony stepped into Velvet's VIP room, and sat before her.
She smiled winsomely at him, and opened her arms.
"Tony! Wonderful. I wanted to thank you for all your help on this, getting people together and everything. So, I have decided— The Major boon is yours, and the Minor shall be Logan's."
Tony held up a hand, and dipped his head slightly in apology and askance. Velvet closed her mouth and raised an eyebrow.
"Logan 'n I 'ave tawked, an' I t'ink 'e deserves da Major."
Velvet blinked in surprise. "You're not the sort of man to give up a boon so easily, Tony. What's your aim?"
He smiled brightly. "See, all I really wan'ed was ta be shure I could keep da boon I 'ad from— Well, yeahs an' yeahs ago. Technically, it's boon-debt from da priah Prince, jus' needs'a be confirmed. An' seein as yous 'n Bahkley 'n Valentyn is da bosses now…"
Velvet pursed her lips. It was a fair ask, and technically, he didn't actually need to do anything in exchange for the boon-debt— This was just a sweetened deal, a show of kindness and goodwill. He seemed to know it, too— But she'd gladly take some services for cheaper than his usual rate.
"Very well," She said, with a sigh. "Your petition is heard. What were you owed by the dead?"
"A Minor from da Prince, an' I gots one Childe-rights. I s'pose dat translates t'a Minor from between da three'a yous, an' confirmation on da last?" He tilted his head a little, clearly unsure how to assign the singular boons onto a triumvirate.
"Accepted, but we three all get to know what you want when you ask, so as to best decide who can repay the debt," She parried.
"Dat's only fair. I agree t'da terms." He nodded.
Velvet sighed. It was going to be a Minor given to whoever didn't get the Major, anyway— So really, all she'd done was confirm the hundred-year-old Kindred was permitted, someday, to Embrace someone. She'd have liked to know who he had his eye on— If it was boon-debt from the priors, who knew how long he'd held on to that…
"I suppose I'll send for Logan, now," She said, sitting.
"Very well, Miz Velvet, it's been jus' lovely doin' business wif ya." He stood, and leaned down to kiss the back of her hand. "Ah'll go get da fella."
"Very sweet of you, Tony," She returned, narrowing her eyes as he left.
Logan appeared a couple minutes later, knocking and then entering.
Velvet once more smiled at him, and opened her arms.
"Logan! Wonderful. You know, I think for all your hard work— And especially for managing to take down both a Tzimisce and a Gangrel more or less bare-handed— I have decided to award you the Major Boon, and Tony the Minor."
Logan paused for a moment, and then nodded, sitting in the chair across from Velvet. He couldn't keep a smile from breaking out across his face— The son of a bitch had really done it, goddamn.
"I know what I want, Miss Velvet," He said, to her apparent surprise.
"Oh? Well, what is it?" She raised her eyebrows, blinked her long lashes prettily.
"Childe rights. I— I think, since we took out five Sabbat, and with everyone gone after the takeover— I'm not taxing the city or anything." He puffed his chest out a little, and raised his chin high.
Velvet regarded him cooly, and after a moment, nodded.
"Granted. You may pick one Kine to Embrace. Just remember to present them to me when they're released, alright? I can't wait to see who you'd choose, you valiant rebel, you." Her smile curled up a little, and Logan shivered faintly under his skin.
Fuckin' freak.
"Absolutely. Well!" he stood, clapped his hands, dipped his head a little.
"Yes, yes, you are free to leave if you so choose," Velvet sighed, and waved him off.
Logan did exactly that.
Velvet put her cheek in her hand, and sighed. She wasn't exactly looking forward to when there would be two new, rambunctious Brujah gallivanting about on the streets, but at least those two worked well enough together, and weren't so out-of-control, that she probably needed to worry about it.