Summis desiderantes affectibus.

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[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - Quinn's faith was absolute, but he had enough self awareness to know that ranting about awaiting the Dark Father's judgement and believing himself an agent in a millennia old war. That he was an agent, he had sworn an oath that if it should cost him his life it was something he was prepared to face.

Quinn's not especially comfortable, but he has some practise, coming from a time of horses and the beginning of bicycles and motorised vehicles, the slow evolution of their passage. He's certainly not visible gripping for dear life, able to keep his attention straight on the trail.

He's attention is somewhat lapsed trailing on the golden glow, but he does give a nod to the suggestion of philosophy, he'd read it, not recently though. No doubt it had some revisions between the decades.

"At a better occasion I'd love to, haven't read it in a good little while. " Quinn offers friendly before he feels his black heart sink like a rock at the mention of old sabbat territory.

Dread showed on his face, a strange vulnerability, aware of what conclusions- speculations could so quickly bring his attempt at trying to sincerely help someone to a quick end. Was he repentant sabbat? No, not in the slightest, but he knew what reputation it carried, and some nights it weighed heavier in the presence of other kindred.

Before he can respond, auspex flares, and his expression goes grim, eyes wide as the sight takes him.

Old derelict buildings, dusty sprayed paint, tattered walls, doors closed. The faint glow of the trail blossoms even through the vision. He sees the trail of smeared blood- then he smells it, a strong tang that he briefly shudders. That old beast that fed on cainite beast wanted nothing more than to lose itself but he drags it, focusing elsewhere.

Honey, oh that poor girl. Bloodied and brused, broken down, with every surface reflecting the harm they have been forcing on her.

"What in Caine are they doing to her?" He speaks absently, vacant eyes staring at something no one but he perceives.

Leering above it all, is a cruel, bulk of a man, adorned with an open maw head of a wolf, somehow he knows he's a brujah. Quinn gives another shake to compose himself, tearing himself back to reality, exerting effort to silence the howl of voices that his overactive telepathy wanted to drag in. He gives a despairing look at the woman before he coaches his visage into a grim stillness.

"I can't make you trust me, but I can't let them hurt her like that." He gives a small massage of his temple, reminding himself sometimes auspex spoke of what was to come, the exact time was always itchy.

"I saw some man in a wolf mask, they're in that abandoned building. I don't know Honey well enough. Does this mean anything to you? There was a shattered mirror, she's hurt- badly. " Quinn did his best to explain, he wanted to share the vision, make her see, make her understand but he held back. You can't force people to accept help, you can't force them to see as you do, that you cannot force someone to see you as something different, you just wait.

He composes himself, taking on the expected calm of the ventrue, though concern is still in his eyes as they dart between Marissa and the upcoming building.

[summisdesiderantes]

Marissa's face remains stoic as she parks the motorcycle, far enough away from the building where its sound still blends in with the nearby road. That she doesn't quite trust Quinn is obvious, but she hasn't accused him of anything. In her eyes, there's still a good chance this is genuine—at the very least, if there was a trap, there's no way they could have known she'd be the one to walk into it. Realistically, she doesn't know what the Sabbat could expect if this was all within their plan. Take the girl, take whoever shows up for her, and pray they didn't smell something fishy about the emissary they sent in the guise of a concerned acquaintance? If this is a setup, it's a poor one. And if that display was a facade, he's a better actor than a farce like this deserves.

Besides, if this is an ambush, it likely won't be enough—the Sabbat shouldn't have reason to suspect anyone who comes looking for her to be as capable as she is. Not that anyone's strong enough to never have to fear; she treads carefully because she's well aware how even the oldest Methuselah can be laid low by someone beneath their standing. But it's not likely that they prepared enough firepower to deal with an experienced Mage, if all they were expecting was a couple of Hollywood Anarchs or a particularly competent ghoul. Worse comes to worst, she should be able to get out. The real issue, if anything were seen, would be eliminating survivors. She's far from backup, and she has no doubt that any of this man's fellows would be hard to find without Marrok's nose if any of them escaped her sight.

No, that isn't the concern—the concern is what to make of this situation if he's telling the truth.

"Nay, don't mean nothin' to me. She's alive, though? Good. Not that I'm thrilled about this situation, but alive's a good start," she breathes. "Poor thing. I'll take her to my godkid when we get her back. Means I won't have room for another passenger, but I figure ye ain't too distraught about not gettin' another ride."

That it was vampires that took her was the obvious conclusion, but she was hoping it was a case of human crime. If they're Cainites, they know about her secret by now, if they didn't already. That's...bad, to say the least. She'd need to speak to Azrael, then. Rules be damned, this might be serious.

It's not that she doesn't care about Honey's condition. It's just that sympathy will occupy her only once safety is no longer the prime concern. If there's vampires out there that know her secret, and know her connection to the Baron, then things might get a lot more dangerous for her real soon. If she doesn't think about the possible ramifications, she might not act properly in the moment.

"Are we expectin' an army, or just the one? Trick question, we expect the worst no matter what, but I figure ye didn't spy any others," she sighs. "We'll Obfuscate, use the service entrance. Looks like less lines of sight there. I got the lock, ye keep lookin' wit' that Auspex o' yers. Ye know the drill. Stay quiet, stay low, don't reveal yerself 'til we got to. If possible, I'd like to stake that Brujah fer questionin'."

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - Quinn gave a knowing nod, inwardly biting his tongue, though he could feel the righteous fury burning at the very memory of what she spoke on. He had seen it, time and time again, it didn't matter how hard the people near the bottom writhed to make something change. It was a mere dent, quickly patched over.

Too little too late.

He remembered staring down that strategoi, urging action, urging something, trying to make all his years of prestige amount to something. What it was to stare down his sire- his prince, and realise he would do nothing but what was easy, he would not risk any of his standing to do what needed to be done. And it crumbled underneath them.

"It's one of the many reasons I ended up defecting. Did everything right, climbed the ladder, and all my hard work, all the centuries, were just a notch, to be forgotten on a whim if some bloated elder decided otherwise. The inaction, the slow response, the condolences, the consolation. A simple solution locked in bureaucratic gridlock." He responded thoughtfully, though there was a grave look barely hidden behind his eyes. The frustration was palpable, even with his efforts of composure.

But one couldn't fully explain that crack - that realisation, that for your best efforts they meant nothing, that years on years of hard work were just according to the whim of an elder in the grand scheme. Those bright eyes and hope to be 'different' to make the difference and fix it from the inside, in a broken system what change would they find? No need to continue the ramble though, Marissa seemed to know it well, preaching to a choir.

He gives a nod, climbing onto the seat behind her, not entirely dignifying but he bites it. Dignity is just a feeling and ultimately useless. Honey needed to be found.

"It is as you said, I won't pretend the Sabbat are some magnanimous paradise for duskborn, anyone who says that is looking to find some quick canon fodder. Not going to pretend my opinion is anything of regular praxis either." He gives a pause, staying alert on giving directions as the trail moved to vehicle, weaving through the streets of L.A. He wasn't familiar enough to give any concrete presumption.

"In the Camm, I didn't see the threat, felt it was senseless to cull people who couldn't fight back against the system. These nights, I see it as an inevitable, you'll forgive the spiritual talk. It was Caine's curse on the traitorous third generation, that the blood would thin." Quinn answers as earnestly possible, giving a calm smile, though eyes were still fixed on the trail, like a fox on the hunt.

"I suppose in some sick way I feel their rising presence is assuring, vindicating even. Proof that the world moves on, that hierarchy that was thought immovable, unbreakable, can come shattering. "

"Ultimately they're not my focus, I try and give them a wide breadth where I can."

[summisdesiderantes]

"Seems sensible to me," she calls out, just audible over the roar of the engine. "Not everythin' that matters is everyone's problem. Gotta pick yer battles. As for the rest, I don't got an opinion on that sort of thing. The religious matters, I mean. Ironic, from a woman o' the cloth, no? But I don't put stock in what I cannot verify for meself. The Antediluvians sleep, the blood thins. That much is plain to see. But I've never met Caine, to my knowledge. Figure he's not slummin' about the streets of Los Angeles, so I can't say I know what went on in his head."

She's a very careful driver, but careful is a relative term. She's not wary of sharp turns she knows she can handle. As the trail abruptly veers off the current drag, she makes a hard angle that jostles her passenger so as to not waste time. They're nowhere near top speed, but the cruising speed they're reaching still means the impulse from hard turns is enough to ruffle some feathers if someone's unaccustomed to it. At least there's handles on the back.

"'Course," she continues, "it's not possible to understand a faith as an outsider to it. What's rational and logical from one perspective may not be to another, wit'out the same experiences and perceptions. Otto wrote about that, called that essential experience the numinous. Alike as well wrote Kierkegaard in some other words, might've been a more popular reference, but I'm a fan o' the way Otto put it. 'The numinous is [...] felt as objective and outside the self,' an' one who knows no such thing could at best interpret it as a function o' social standards or primitive notions. I felt it in my faith, ye wit'out doubt felt it in yer own, an' ye must've had good reason to, as I did mine."

The path ahead turns straight for a while, and so the ride becomes easier. It also, however, means she can safely accelerate.

"I'd consider fetchin' the passage if ye've never read it, an' were interested, if we had more time. Remind me later, if ye'd like to speak more on it—right now, we got other concerns. Ye sure this trail leads this way? Mayhap I needn't let ye know, but this is headin' towards old Sabbat territory."

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - Quinn gives a small smile and a nod, almost fond of the memories. It was a split bag really, old world Ventrue found him to be a living non-breathing atrocity. Not just because he had a kill count in the triple digits. Good times, but not his focus. That petty crusade was something that put his self-control to the test.

It was deadly to assume all ventrue were like that, they were not, they just did not do anything about the ones that did feel that way.

"Mm, the old ones certainly, some of the younger are still idealistic, poor souls. They see me more as a 'fix it' project, that if they just make sure to have the right propaganda that will change my mind, bring me back into the fold." He laughs, a sincere one, shaking his head, before giving a pitying sigh.

"Not unique to the Camarilla though, when there are sects, enough are convinced that there's some magic truth that will awaken a person and get them to jump ship." He rambled, no need to pretend the Sabbat was immune to the thinking. It was not necessarily restricted to any, one age group either, but Quinn presumed Marissa had the wisdom and age to know that nuance without over explaining.

He shakes his head, he's not fond of motorcycles, especially backseat but now is not the time to get fussy.

"No, there's car tracks coming up." He confirms, giving a glance over.

"I would appreciate the lift, I'll direct you from there." He slowly approaches it, pointing the direction of where the car starts.

[summisdesiderantes]

"Ay. Speakin' in general, o' course," she says with a shrug. "No people's a monolith, is how the sayin' goes, an' I won't deny those who remain in the Camarilla the possibility that somethin' might change. But fer the time bein', their track record on evolvin' into the future's been spotty at best. The Tremere're still in shambles from the sackin' of Vienna. I'm sure there were elders what saw that comin', who tried to convince their fellows that the humans posed a real threat. But the bottom line is, whatever action needed to be taken didn't end up crystallizin'. Too little, too late. It's not a magic truth they need to get people back, it's evidence the future's safe in their hands. That's the promise o' the Ivory Tower, an' at the moment it's lookin' grim."

She hops on her bike, and waits for Quinn to get on. Her chatter pauses for a bit. She's curious about his opinion on something, so she might as well ask it to help clear some of the awkwardness from the current situation.

"'Course, there's the elephant in the room. An' the Sabbat's track record on it's not good, neither. The majority of embraces happenin' in the modern nights are makin' duskborn. Trend continues, they'll outnumber the rest soon enough. No amount o' cullin's gonna keep down those numbers, an' the young are quickly learnin' what sort of potential they can realize. Now, I don't know yer opinion on these matters on a personal level, but ye seem like a fellow wit' yer wits about ye. Surely, ye see the logistical issue here. An' I'm sure there's plenty o' ye who see it, too."

Once he's on, she gestures in the direction he pointed out. "Thattaway, ay? Won't move too fast, lest ye risk losin' the trail."

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - The antitribu ventrue was likewise on high alert, his movement is subtle, practised to exist within the grace of still holding conversation and not glancing over one's shoulder, but if one looks into his eyes, like a pinprick of ink, black converges over the pupil. A keen awareness and scan over that which may transpire around them, he's certainly not trying to advertise here. Silence of Blood, remained as consistent as it always had even if it had changed name upon his defection from the Camarilla.

Gently he loops the ribbon, allowing it to hang loose enough on his arm as he retrieves a match, an old but well-loved match box in his pocket. He can feel his beast itching at the very idea, but he coaches through it.

Matches struck on the aged box, and he sets it to the fine ribbon, gradually unloosing from his arm, the acrid scent of burnt fabric is unpleasant but bearable. The shudder is minute, hidden within carefully contained composure as he waves the match flame off into smoke, allowing the white satin to fully burn. Vitae ripples quietly under his skin and his eyes adjust to the gleaming prints

Footsteps, his eyes squint as the trail goes around the block, glowing visibly to only him. Before he starts, he gives a nod of his head for the woman to follow as he begins on the trail. He'll use auspex in a moment, see if there's any extra hints on Honey's whereabouts and health. Hopefully nothing odious, it's always a mixed bag.

"Apocalyptic death cult of trained killers, we've got to keep an allure of secrecy." Quinn poked with a grin. He dusts himself of any lingering ash.

"Mmh, yes I'm rather fond of them. I'm a ventrue though. On paper anyway, Ivory tower usually just say we're caitliff to wash their hands." He continues, may as well make conversation, this was likely to be awkward in several ways, may as well fill the air with light chatter.

[summisdesiderantes]

Not quite what she was expecting. She's seen Sabbat rituals. They tend to be gruesome affairs, from her experience. Of course, her experience with the Sabbat was hardly with the day-to-day. Those were times of war, of great strife. By comparison, that was kind of cute. Fancy little trick, they got.

"Nay, wouldn't imagine the crown princes o' the Camarilla would want to associate wit' their antitribu," she replies, with a thin smile. "Bad for their image, or somethin'. 'Course, they don't quite realize few people nowadays care much 'bout that image but them. But that's been the Ivory Tower's way, hasn't it? Slow to adapt."

She nods, and then pauses. She gestures to her motorcycle, a matte black sportbike with a rear seat. "We know she's not in Hollywood, thanks to my godkid's searchin'. I doubt she walked that full way. Now, I made the machine as quiet as it can get, but there's only so much ye can do to a bike. If travelin' on wheels would make too much noise, I'll leave it parked 'til the trail ends."

She waits a beat.

"Ye gonna need a lift, or ye got yer own?"

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - Quinn's gut instinct was to say no to this whole thing. Who was he kidding? Even if he wanted to help he risked putting so much pointless red tape. Times like this he really cursed being Sabbat, if nothing else but for making it an absolute pain in the rear for trying to do the most mundane actions.

Now they were not entirely wrong for the assumption, but Caine if it wasn't a pain sometimes.

There was still an itch of regret, need to turn back but he forced himself out, taking to obfuscate, surprisingly agile on the rooftops, he was dressed well enough but not restricting. Never wise, especially given he knew near nothing but speculation over this Marissa.

Great set for a trap. The idea gnawed at him, torn between fighting the idealistic fool in his mind that knew he could help. Quinn was a trained assassin in an insane death cult, he wanted to find someone he had seven ways to make sure there was no where they could hide.

So it was a little odd using it for a missing person in good will.

He waits in the shadows, ritual items in his coat. A little comical, having white satin ribbons. But it was one of the cheaper ways short of dipping into more profane bloodmagic and scrying.

When the whistle sounds, he moves over, unseen before standing from the shadows. Damn useful discipline. Fortitude prepares itself out of reflex, auspex at the ready. One could describe him as paranoid, expecting hit men everytime he showed his face, but it was not entirely unrealistic with his history.

"Marissa. Pleasure." He greets, voice is friendly and warm, hiding the fine needle readiness that was fully prepared to jump into a fight then and there, carefully concealed beneath a well practised veneer.

"Hopefully just the one ritual will cover it. It will give me a literal illuminated trail to follow regardless of vehicles and other passage, right to her." Quinn informs, withdrawing a strange white satin ribbon from his coat. He had a few on hand, useful little things, definitely cheaper than some ritae. But this was plan a.If it worked, fantastic, if not he had plenty of backups. Blackhand training went deep, always be prepared for your mission to go awry, plan for it.

[summisdesiderantes]

Marissa's demeanor is akin to the sort of tense relaxed posture you see from soldiers in warzones. There's something about her that always looks like she's expecting danger around every corner, though in this case it might be forgiven. Cooperation between Anarch and Sabbat isn't entirely unheard of. Though the organization's changed since the uprising that marked its inception, she remembers the first of the kindred who would one day become the Sabbat. They even stylized themselves as Anarchs at the time before the formation of the Camarilla put an end to their revolt. Different solutions to the same problem. That's all this is, and all it's ever been. Doesn't mean they're friends—in the realms of human politics, liberals and communists occasionally have a lot they agree on, too. But there's been a lot of blood there, and there'll be a lot of blood here, too.

But not today, if she can help it. She's not a bloodthirsty sort. She's seen enough to fill a ocean, a lot more than most people alive today have ever witnessed. It didn't do a lick of good then, and she's got no reason to believe it'll be different now. Picking a fight with one soldier in one legion won't do any good. Especially when she doesn't know how the dominoes will fall when this new Free State is really tested. If need be, San Fernando will outlive the Anarchs. It'll need to figure out a new place in the world, should that come to pass.

"Quinn. Good to see ye."

Her voice is more casual than her body language would suggest. If she was surprised by his emergence, she's doing a good job of keeping a poker face. She doesn't look straight at him, keeping him just in her periphery as her eyes scan the shadows around them. After a few moments, she seems satisfied with her search, and her eyes flick towards him for the first time.

"I trust ye know what ye're doin'," she says with a deferential nod. "Certainly seems more elegant than some of our methods back home. 'Course, I can't be surprised ye have some nifty tricks. Reckon there's a lot ye folk have that ye'd rather keep under wraps, if ye could. The Lasombra have always been a resourceful lot."

[summisdesiderantes]

The motorcycle grinds to a stop in Park Mesa Heights. It's a thirty minute ride from San Fernando, but she started it the moment Quinn gave his assent. The area isn't exactly one with the most booming nightlife, so there shouldn't be a problem with meeting him here. The chances of her being recognized are slim-to-none.

Despite the change in clothes, a faint smell of vitae-rich blood still clings to Marissa. A few droplets must have made their way to her skin in her careless hurry. She would have liked to shower after tonight's hunt, but decided against it in the end. There may not be much time left to waste, and her own duties as Reeve tied her up long enough already.

It shouldn't matter much. Her companion gave her a taste before she left von Arkham's residence tonight—just enough to rouse some of the power that had been dormant within, and reawaken those Disciplines the Malkavian blood lends itself to. If need be, she can burn some of it to mask her—but she moves quickly enough that it shouldn't matter in the first place.

Might be a bad first impression, though, if this Quinn fellow has a good nose. He hasn't yet revealed to her just how he intends to track Honey. She suspects some form of Sabbat trickery, which she's had some passing experience with, but she can't claim to be all too knowledgeable of the exact mechanism by which it works.

She whistles when she arrives near the scene of her disappearance, according to Kitty, a sharp noise cutting through the air. Downtown's closer to this place than San Fernando; there's a good shot he's already here.

@viaregalis

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - If you need me to get another permit slip, just say so, I will oblige.

I can. Name a location, we'll meet there, last known location is best but not required. If you have any objections to being seen with me I will come unseen.

[summisdesiderantes]

[ Private ]

I'll take ye at yer word. It'd be a bad lie, if it were the case. Might follow up wit' the Baron's men after, we'll see. Anyhow, for much of this I suspect we'll both be unseen. I'm an uninvited guest in Hollywood as well, ye see. Fer an official of San Fernando to be present in another Baron's domain unannounced is a faux pas at best, one that mayhap Azrael wouldn't appreciate. I'd prefer to get this business done wit'out his knowin', seein' as it's a personal matter an' we can't afford to waste more time gettin' things done the right way.

Meet me at Park Mesa Heights, near where the trail started. I'll whistle fer ye.

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - A pleasure. Quinn.

I'm in L.A under the Downtown Baron's grace and permission. Ventured into Hollywood under Honey's supervision and invitation and left after it concluded.

Due to a perhaps understandable lack of trust, while I can say we have no active interest, it means very little. Words are just words. I came here on to nudge a visiting bird off its perch, which I have done.

But I will speak plainly, you don't have to trust me. What matters is that I can help, what you do with the information I dig up- is in your capable hands, and I will be out of your hair. I can find her, track her active movement and I'm not asking for payment, given I do consider her to be an acquaintance.

[summisdesiderantes]

[ Private ]

It shouldn't come as a surprise that said girl doesn't have the authority to do such a thing. Given Azrael's bleedin' heart, I reckon she wouldn't be punished too hard would he find out. Not that I'll be the one to tell him. Again, not my business—if the Downtown Baron thinks it a fine idea, who am I to question it?

That I don't trust ye goes without sayin', I'd be a fool to trust a stranger at his word regardless of his allegiances. Still, I'm also not the sort to believe allegiances mean much. I see no reason to be more wary of ye than I would be one of Voerman's or Sun's men. There are snakes among our temporary allies, an' fine men among the enemy. I've yet to make a judgment of ye. If I had, yer words would mean nothin', an' I wouldn't ask ye for 'em.

If ye can find her, ye have my blessin'. I'll shadow ye. We can talk more then, if ye wish. Let me know where ye aim to begin, and I'll be there shortly.

[viaregalis-deactivated20230729]

♚ - I suppose that is fair. I would appreciate it if you indulged me some questions in turn, I would like to know who you are, and your relation to this? Thankyou.

Ask away .

[summisdesiderantes]

[Private]

O' course. The name's Marissa. Fer the purpose of transparency, I'll inform ye of what ye may have been able to figure out on yer own if ye did some lookin'. I'm a ghoul, workin' fer the Baron of San Fernando as his domain's Reeve.

Now, I wouldn't exactly call Honey family myself. I've hardly spoken wit' the girl. But she means somethin' to someone closer to me, who's all distraught right about now, an' I've been asked to look into it.

What brings ye to Los Angeles? Yer kind cleared out of here some time ago, and as laissez-faire as the Baron of Hollywood may be, I doubt he'd take kindly to Sabbat on his territory. Now, I'm not about to police another domain. But, ye understand, if the Sabbat were interested in reclaimin' some of that old stompin' grounds, that'd be a bit of a security issue. So while I'd hate to risk hostilities 'tween us, seein' as we're lookin' fer the same thing, I do have to be wary of yer intentions as a precaution.

[mothedmanhandholder]

do you guys have any idea where she might be??? still in california? still in the states???

[summisdesiderantes]

Unknown, as of yet. We're explorin' our options. Things get complicated when city politics get involved. Some of us wouldn't be welcome guests in the other baronies. I can visit Hollywood if I pass a message to Azrael, but ain't much I can do to get into Little Asia wit'out raisin' alarm bells.

[summisdesiderantes]

Listen up.

I've news for the lot of ye.

My goddaughter's returned to me wit' some troublin' information. The missin' girl isn't in Hollywood anymore. Poor lass spent all her blood searchin', only to come up empty. Were it not fer her friend who spent all night runnin' about to try an' contact anyone who could locate her, we wouldn't even have this much.

I've made some efforts to contact some of those lookin', but if ye have any leads, I'd appreciate if ye let me know. Likewise, if ye'd like to remain appraised of new details so ye can search yerself, I'll cooperate wit' ye to the best of my ability.

[summisdesiderantes]

[Private]

@viaregalis. Good evenin' to ye. I believe yer the one trespassin' on Azrael's territory, is that right? It's come to my attention you're searchin' for some missing girl. Quite a convenient time ye've arrived, but I'd be remiss to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I'd like to ask ye a few questions, if ye'd be kind enough to answer 'em. See, I'm lookin' for the girl myself.

[summisdesiderantes]

There's something afoot. Marissa doesn't quite know what, but it's gotten close enough to home to get to the bottom of it.

There's too many unknown variables. She shouldn't let herself be seen outside of San Fernando. To enter a Baron's territory unannounced is a faux pas in the best circumstances. For a dignitary to be spotted, when the Baron's family has gone missing—she doesn't know what's going on in Azrael's head. He's a Brujah. Not the worst head on his shoulders, but even the brightest can act utter fools when it's their blood on the line. She'd rather avoid making a headache for von Arkham if a...diplomatic situation emerged.

She can't exactly deny her goddaughter's request, now can she? Vincent and Freya have never seen eye-to-eye on most things, but she was always his favorite. He'd understand, even if worst came to worst. Still, she'll do well to keep to the shadows. Better we don't have a handful of Azrael's men disappear if they see something they shouldn't.

Here are the facts:

Honey B. Azrael has been missing for three nights without a trace. Her phone was left behind—maybe intentionally.

There's been no chatter she's heard about one of the other Barons making a move on Azrael. This isn't beneath Voerman, but if she knew Honey's identity, that's a sign of a major security flaw.

That leads to two possibilities. One, Baron Azrael now has a known weakness. That places not only the girl in danger, but all of Hollywood. A concerning development, one that might require intervention. Two, this is unrelated to Baron Azrael. This is something that concerns Honey and Honey alone, and her connection to the Baron is incidental. This warrants further investigation alone.

There's an unknown Sabbat in town. Whether Azrael knows that he's been inside Hollywood isn't something she knows, but his arrival is rather conveniently timed to her disappearance.

She sighs as she takes off her helmet, barking a few last minute orders to some caitiff who salute and scatter. She'll need to change her clothes. The smell of blood would give her position away. A night's work is never done, but her men can take care of the remnants. This one's important enough to leave the purge to them.

Tonight, the Inquisitor joins the hunt.

[summisdesiderantes]

Evenin' to the lot o' ye.

[russellpenderschloss]

Proposed bumper sticker solution for our woes.

[thatmonroe]

we do let productive opportunities pass us by, its true. but to be fair, there are people just as unwilling to exercise good faith offline. i like to consider it a small victory that here we at least get to come in contact with enough people we are bound to find even small groups of those who'd still be interested in having such discussions in a more genuine manner. but its healthy not to expect it to be consensus i think

[summisdesiderantes]

O' course. I've been around just long enough to think tryin' to convince everybody o' every idea is a lost cause. I've never been one to propagandize. I leave that to those wit' more lung capacity than myself. Effective propaganda is a whole lot o' blusterin', an' I find much of the practice distasteful. 'Tis all I can do is try to catch those bright enough to not go mindlessly repeatin' the loudest ideas they hear.

[summisdesiderantes]

One day, I'll open this platform an' I'll be met wit' an actual conversation o' methodology an' praxis, 'tween folks of unlike yet hungry minds.

Figure it won't be soon, but I can dream.