♚ - 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.
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'."













