2026-03-17 8:44 - 22:51 PST
Introductions
Thalia arrived fashionably on her bike, and a ghoul valeted it to a parking spot.
A gala. In the back of her mind Thalia remembers galas her parents had dragged her to the she was little, usually against her will. This isn’t like any of these galas however- because this time- well actually it’s exactly like those galas because she’s coming in with a mission. Before that mission was skirt her parents gaze and duck off somewhere private, but now- now her aim is different. She’ll wine and dine with the people of course, but she has a secondary goal. One that she hopes will make a difference in the war effort. She pulls up on her bike- she polished it, of course, outfit on, ready for yet another battle of wits and wills.
The Jackal appeared, adorned in a black suit with a red vest and a crimson scarf, opaque red lenses blocking their eyes.
A mysterious Kindred arrives at the Gala, dressed strikingly. They move with the grace of a deadly animal on the prowl, wearing a black suit, open at the front to reveal a vest adorned with blood red floral patterns. Instead of a tie, their neck is wrapped with a crimson scarf. Their eyes are obscured behind a pair of Pince-Nez with opaque red lenses. Their arms are covered by the suit, but arcane tattoos are undeniably hidden underneath. Finally, their dark brown, almost black hair is braided into a bun which is pinned into place by two steel stilleto daggers.
They pass into the Gala’s crowd and suddenly all incongruities in their appearance cease to be. They’re simply meant to be here. Another face in the crowd.
Calimastia arrived with Barry and Johnny, with a necromantic gift for Ernesto.
*Calimastia steps out of the same car as Barry and Johnny, carrying a case locked by both mundane means and powerful wards. Her eyes survey the entrance as the ghoul that drove them departs to park. She and her Ventrue colleagues make their entrance into the gala, the overworked Giovanni using auspex to check for weapons failing to notice the knife hidden in her boot, tucked in the sieve.
Calimastia is wearing the finest of Don Valentin’s work. Chain mail, made of interlocking and gleaming metal links, draped across her body and glinting in the light. Central to it is the sigil of the Hound of the Sheriff. A pair of sabatons and pauldrons complete the look, borrowed from her sires personal stores. Her long hair has been cut slightly shorter for the night and is tied up in segments. More of her scarred face and neck is on display than usual, warped and burned flesh forming disconcerting shapes and patterns that shouldn’t find themselves on human adjacent flesh. A monstrous sight to behold. The only small embellishment is a necklace with a single crimson bead on a golden chain, hung around her neck.*
Barry Brickhouse is dressed like a 20s gangster. Johnny parks the car, and the Sheriff says quietly: “Idiots. They don’t pat down right.”
Someone New arrived.
A sleek black car pulls up to the Gala and lets out a figure dressed in an all black three piece suit with some floral designs on the vest and a pair of Onyx cuff links and a matching tie clip. They check a very old wrist watch similarly all black and smooth their hair over as the continue up to the front door. They almost seem to scoff at the patting down process and feeling of eyes on them as they enter. Standing at 5’10” is a lean man with tan skin, jet black hair, and vibrant green eyes. They’re all in all a very handsome individual with the appearance of someone who has been to a thousand of these and will be to a thousand more. They have the aura of confidence even in this unfamiliar place and smile at the Gala Hall, carefully looking around for faces they might recognize off reputation alone.
Thalia
Thalia went to meet with Kiri Sol, who was dressed in ripped jeans, a skull tanktop, spiked black boots, and freshly green-dyed hair.
After lobbing insults toward Reginald, Kiri looks to Thalia. “Hey niece! Decided to go with a last minute fit change. Don’t worry, the outfit’s gone to good use.” Across the room, Olive Cline sulks. He’s not wearing his typical sickly Victorian child getup, but rather the outfit Thalia gifted Kiri.
She told Kiri about her plot to have Roy steal some of Amalia’s blood, and how she needed Kiri to provide a distraction. Kiri agreed and went about step 2: ragebaiting Barry Brickhouse
Jackal
Jackal made their way to Olive Cline.
“Old friend,” They greet. “Care for a drink?”
Olive cracks a paltry smile, plucking a glass with their long, sharp fingers. “Jackal. I loathe these trivialities.”
After exchanging their pleasantries, they made their way toward one Calimastia Ayton.
”Vale”
Someone New recognized Luke Grayson, who made his way over to shake their hand.
With a hand extended and a warm smile on my lips I greet the man who called me to the city. “It’s good to see you Luke, I’m Vale any other name you’ve heard is not one I’d care to share in such a public setting. I do believe my arrival is well timed however, a Giovanni Gala my first night in town, Lady Luck must be shining on me eh?”
Luke smiles politely and grips Vale’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you in person, at last. How was your trip?”
After exchanging pleasantries, Luke brought up that the gala threatened to outshine their upcoming Enterprise Summit.
So About Thalia’s Ragebaiting…
Her face is a mask of confusion and innocence. “Wh- I just wanted to give you some friendly advice from- and perhaps i’m getting ahead of myself- your anarch rival? I aim only to help- that’s why I pulled you out of that burning car. I have no desire for you death- that’s why I am trying to help you improve from your previous failures.”
Barry picked Thalia up and threw her across the floor. Noticing this, Calimastia went into damage control mode.
The main event:
“…It’s not enough for you to steal the hard work from independent ghouls-!” She declares to the room, with vitriol, looking at Thalia. “But you have to mock our noble Sheriff about his dead comrades to boot, fledgeling?” She says, feining shock. “Can anyone be surprised that you’re treated poorly, when you have no respect?” “My apologies Sheriff, I couldn’t help but listen into your conversation with the art of auspex, and overhear these cruel provocations from this fledgeling.”
“…Why am I not surprised that the Camarilla protect their own, even when the Sheriff frenzies on a fledgling, who was trying to make amends?” Thalia pushes herself off the ground, shaking her head.
An aside from the crowd:
Vale goes to respond to Luke’s remark, but is enraptured by the scene not far away. He audibly laughs as it falls to chaos barely trying to hide it and raises his glass as he looks over at Luke. “I didn’t realize I’d be getting dinner and a show. You’re absolutely right they do know how to throw a party.”
Luke seems less amused. “Our showman is the Prince’s laughable excuse of a Sheriff. I’ve been petitioning for him to consider a more suitable replacement for some time. Perhaps he’ll now consider my petitions.”
Then, Fiora Milliner appeared and dismissed Barry. Thalia offered to take full responsibility for the disruption, and Calimastia immediately pounced.
“And of course, you’ll pay a major boon to the Sheriff and our host for provoking such a thing.” Calimastia interjects. “Otherwise, myself, and any Camarilla member in good standing would be forced to presume you have no remorse at all.”
“A major of course to you Miss Fiora, for the trouble, and a major to Mr. Ernesto. If the Sheriff wishes to take his revenge right here right now, I will accept it. I think he would like that more right now.”
“Anziani Ernesto, please.”
“He is welcome to use the major boon you should offer him to do so. Your refusal and disrespect is worth another minor boon I should think.” She pressures, trying to draw Camarilla eyes.
“My sincerest apologies. Anziani Ernesto. A minor to him for the mistake.”
Barry jabs a finger at Thalia. “You and me will finish this, soon. No claws. That’s the boon.”
“If that is what the Sheriff wishes.”
“…If you wish to ignore you bosses no boon stipulation you may, but I feel as if that is unwise…?”
“Let it be known that Thalia Kairos has paid the Sheriff a Major boon, without stipulations, that he has called in for a bout at a time of his choosing, without any use of the discipline of protean. Let it also be known that Thalia Kairos refuses to apologize for any disrespect to the Sheriff, or the rule of law.” She makes eye contact with Joey.
Joey, looking annoyed as she’s dragged into this, says in a monotone voice. “I observe and record this boon.”
“Are you hard of hearing, Miss Kairos? He very clearly accepted.”
“Accepted what? A boon I didn’t offer?” “Also, I would be in your debt if you could record my boons to the hosts as well, Harpy.”
Joey makes the same repetition. Fiora interrupts. “Enough of this bickering. Your Sheriff is expelled from this gala. And there will be no further altercations. You are standing on neutral ground, and you would best behave as such. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course.” Thalia will slink off. Or try to.
“As you wish, madame. Anyone seeking the Sheriff’s office may find me at your leisure, in light of this.”
Meanwhile, Luke and Vale continued to speak. He asked about Thalia.
“That fledgeling, I believe, is one Thalia Kairos, a rising star Brujah in this city. Quite the visionary, though the brightest candle burns the fastest.”
He kept an eye on her as she walked away.
Thalia spotted Roy in the crowd trying to get her attention, and Javier applauded her for sticking it to Barry as he shamefully left the estate. When she went over to Roy she explained they wouldn’t be getting into any more trouble for a while, but when Kiri made a distraction, that’s when he’d strike.
Gabriela
Eventually, Gabriela arrived and set out to find Francecsca Pisanob, whose sister she’d risked her life to save the other night1.
Gabriela is directed to a tall, standoffish woman with an elegant black dress that reveals her thighs. A stream of graphic and striking tattoos descends from her thighs to her legs. She has black painted nails, lipstick, and mascara. Francesca Pisanob gives Gabriela a strange look. “You are?”
She introduced herself and asked about Marta.
“She’s recovering, and she mentioned you. On her behalf, I will repay the favor you showed.”
Then, they spoke of the thing they saw at the chapel.
“Someone frightening enough for the Anziani to send every family member, eager to prove themselves, looking for him. Someone older than the family itself, if my assumption is correct.”
She hadn’t been able to inform Ernesto yet, and because she and Fiora (who was the Giovanni’s equivalent of a harpy) weren’t on speaking terms, it fell to Gabriela to inform her.
Kaveh
Kaveh, Jensen, and Ember arrived in a borrowed car.
kaveh, jensen and ember arrive at the gala, borrowing a car from a friend of falcron, ember parks, they walk up towards the steps, jensen wears a suit and tie, the suit has a logo of a Falcon holding a flower on its right brest area, he wears a coat over it with the same logo and the same pattern as his suit, he wears leather gloves and an Irish cap(also with the logo) , ember wears a Gothic Lolita outfit, with puffy cuffs and corset long skirt, lastly kaveh wears a very elegant almost royal looking outfit, he wears a suit embroidered with falcons and flame imagery with a cape on his back, he wears white gloves and the outfit makes kaveh look like a prince, its clear that ember went over the top to make kaveh look as professional as she could make him due to the mention of meeting with Ernesto giovanni (where should I post the images of what the outfits look like?)
A Thousand 9/11s
At this moment, many eyes fall upon two particular arriving guests. The first with silver hair, a plucky grin, and an unsettling aura. The second, standing at over 7 feet tall, with deep ebony horns and dagger-like nails.
Irene and Marouth to those who knew them.
About That Dance…
Jackal had offered a dance to Calimastia, and after their brief interruption, she said she was owed far more than a dance.
“I believe I owe you more then a dance now, scoundrel. A trivial boon for my distraction.” She’ll offer her gauntlet anew.
They offered a drink and took the Hound to the dance floor. The accompanying music was a slow Italian waltz. They whispered to her that they looked familiar, and asked who they were.
The waltz proceeds. Jackal picks up the steps rather quickly, their natural grace and tendency towards precision favoring them as they led Calimastia.
During a moment when Calimastia’s head is close to Jackal and there are no dancers close nearby, they whisper: “Your face is familiar to me for reasons I cannot place. Just who exactly are you?”
*She’s behind but not by much. Her damnable armor wasn’t doing her any favors but by letting Jackal lead she made it look pretty good.
She studied their face. She’d forget it by the end of the night, not that she knew. The eyes were covered, but…
She hides most of the emotion that comes over her.
Her face hardens.*
“You. It’s you. I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t know you. But now…I see you.”
“And who is it you see, Usurper.” The Jackal growls one of the names of the least favorable names of the Clan Tremere in a manner not unlike their canid namesake. “Because your face is familiar to me. And something inside of me shivers with fear. But I do not know why. After all, what is a Hound to a Jackal?”
The dance increases in tempo, prompting swifter movements from the pair should they not do away with the facade of performance entirely. An ironic mirror to the sudden increase in tension between the pair.
“I see a caitiff. A pander. Childer of Kellan. The destroyer.”
She says, with increasing intensity. Swifter tempo made for more focused footwork, but Calimastia was nothing if good at multitasking. She kept her eyes firmly on Jackal.
“You still bear that name? Bold. Foolish. Your designs have long been dashed.”
Jackal recoils as Calimasta says these things, they almost miss a step but continue onward with the dance, briefly spinning Calimasta and using that as a window of opportunity to assess as they dip the Warlock.
“I do not know those names or any of what you speak,” They growl as they raise her up once more. “That name is all I have left. Save for a mask which I do not currently wear. That in itself is a blessing. I intend to shed no blood this night. That is why speak now and instead after I have arranged our conversation from behind a rifle’s scope.”
*Calimastia is about to respond. She knows more, Jackal can tell. More clues to spill from the firm line that is her lips. More secrets.
She comes up from the dip, and then…*
She looks at Jackal. Her eyes narrow. For a moment, the two are suspended there, in the gap in the music, and in the patriarch’s greetings.
*Loose end after loose end. No small part of Calimastia sought to boil this Jackal’s blood and leave it for the sun like roadkill.
Instead, she simply gracefully bowed out of the dance.*
“Thank you for your time, scoundrel. I will have to visit you again before our night slinks away. But for now, I have business. I bid you ado.”
She walks away, weaving through the crowd in search of the case. But she’ll no doubt be delayed by a dozen frivolities, giving others the chance to have the elder’s ear.
The Jackal watches as the Hound slinks away, this bout without an ending. They turn, looking for Irene’s face within the crowd. They seek to make eye contact with the Kindred. Long enough to tell if she had been paying attention. And then the Jackal slips back into the crowd and becomes just another face.
Irene has been staring the whole time at Calimastia and Jackal. She strikes Jackal’s mind with strange blend of terror and intrigue.
Fiora
Kaveh, Jensen, and Ember caught up with Fiora exchanging pleasantries before Gabriela approached and informed her of who she was and why they needed to speak.
“Correct. Who are you, and what have you come to ask me for?”
“Gabriela Ortega. Last night I was with Marta Pisanob when she was attacked and nearly killed by the target of a blood hunt put out, I believe, by your Anziani.”
Fiora freezes. “He must know, right away.”
Kaveh asked if it was related to a Banu Haqim thing from the other night2 and Gabriela shot him a dirty look.
Ernesto
Finally, the Anziani made his appearance.
The tension between Calimastia and Jackal receives no allieviation, their conversation cut short. A set of twin stairs spiral up towards a central fenced balcony, overlooking the ballroom. The music silences as a man steps out from a hallway, pushing past a set of velvet curtains. The man rests his hands, each finger adorned with silver rings, on the balcony fence. Ernesto Giovanni, Elder of the Giovanni clan, Anziani of the entire California family, clears his throat. His greying hair is neatly slicked back with oil. Deep wrinkles set into his forehead and cheeks. He wears an ash-grey suit with a black tie, with a folded cream handkerchief in his right chest pocket. Ernesto addresses the crowd, his voice gravelly and without warmth. “Welcome, Kindred of Sacramento. Thank you for attending our humble gala, and for respecting the sanctity of my home. I am Ernesto Giovanni, your host. I hope you are enjoying the music, the drinks, and the company. Dinner, for those who wish to partake, will be served shortly. And any with the grace of my family, who might seek my ear, may find it now. Welcome, and enjoy your time here.”
Fiora took Gabriela, Jensen, and Kaveh to meet with Ernesto3
Jackal, again. And Vale
Jackal found themselves with a Giovanni and engaged in conversation. They freely admitted to being an Anarch sniper, but one that wasn’t particularly moved by the sect war. They were much more interested in picking Ernesto’s brain about Gehenna.
“You might get along with Ernesto, with all that talk of Gehenna. He’s a paranoid bugger. But if you’re trying to sway me to praise the Anarchs, you’re wasting your time.”
After concluding their conversation on friendly terms, they spied a couple of suspicious characters walking around unattended. They followed and confronted them. They learned they were Ravnos, trying to stir some trouble. Their plan didn’t seem particularly well-thought out as they hadn’t really accounted for ghosts. After directing them to a bathroom, they ran into Vale on their way back toward the festivities.
Thalia, again
Thalia enacted her plan with Roy and Kiri4.
Kingsnake
Kingsnake arrived, dressed exactly as Neres had arranged and met up with Thalia. They returned to the party, where they’d be accompanied by Luke Grayson for the rest of the evening. At some point, Luke offered to bribe Thalia into fucking off somewhere else. She did not take this bribe, but they would meet at The Ziggurat, alone, to discuss.
Simon
Simon arrived, met with Calimastia and shortly thereafter they headed into a meeting with Ernesto Giovanni5.
Jensen
Jensen went back to Ember who had immediately gotten insanely sloshed. They almost got into trouble with Fiora for recording something on Ember’s phone, then after everything began to calm, Jensen wondered if Father Bernard might be present.
Father Bernard
*Jensen first catches a glimpse of a tall, middle aged man wearing standard formal attire: a blazer, a white shirt, and a neck tie. Nothing extravagant. *
After a millisecond, it registers to him that the man has a slim, rectangular face with distinctly thick eyebrows and a mustache, but with thin hair. He wears a pair of small rectangular glasses, resting on the bridge of a very prominent nose. He talks to someone in a very hushed manner.
Is…is that…is that him?
Jensen saw his sire, and sneaked a little closer to try and eavesdrop.
It’s hard for Jensen to get close and eavesdrop, but he gets a couple words before he would capture Bernard’s attention. “-a young Kindred, who now lives in these parts?” Neres pauses. “Yes, I believe I do know where you might find him. Perhaps he might be attending this gala.” “Thank you, Neres. It’s important that I find him, now.”
A Final Arrival
The Jackal disappears into a suddenly parting crowd. The Hound finishes briefing the Prince on her latest victory, her voice the last of a silenced crowd. The blacksmith takes the hand of the curator, only for her to look frightened at the door before their dance can begin.
The man with the clay colored toga steps through the front doors. His thin, curly hair is grey at the roots. His hands are discolored and emaciated. Across his face is a red mask, made of cheap plastic, and his black eyes reflect no light. The doors close on their own, behind him. He coughs and speaks up in a raspy voice:
“A gala. How lovely.”