Logs:A Court of Troubles

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A Court of Troubles
Dramatis Personae

Ariah, Cillian, Freya(NPC), Guy, Janeen, Tobias, and Whitechapel

December 12th, 2020

Emergency Court is held as a war council to appoint a sheriff and discuss the threat. A dissatisfied kindred arrives to throw down the gauntlet instead...


Empire Theater

A long and cold night, as it often is this time of year. Ariah has put out a public call, as public as Praxis calls can be anyway, with neonates, ghouls, and carrier pigeons bringing missives to known vampires and groups. A call to appoint a sheriff to help root out the Devils in the House of V and put a stop to the abductions, murders, and gross violations of the Masquerade. A time and a place have been set, the Empire Theater. Rented out, closed off, devoid of any staff save for ghouls and thrall and other kindred to keep watch. One passing by might assume it's a late showing of a local troupe's adaptation of Macbeth or something of the like.

It's here, though, behind the closed doors of the internal theater proper, a small white-haired woman stands on the stage. She's not exactly clad humbly, as this is a most formal and dire affair. It's a military uniform from a century passed, or at least a take on one. Cloak, coat, ruffles, gloves. Down to pristine snug white pants and over the knee boots. Her arms are folded and she waits, eyes on the emergency exits just in case this party is crashed, once more, by those hostile to the Praxis.

Janeen has shown up and she is prompt in her timing. However, she hasn't entirely dressed up formally. Instead she has gone with the philosophy that you should dress for the job you're after and still have a bit of formality in your attire. Black combat boots with black cargo pants, a black belt, and a white button up shirt are what she wears tonight and all the accessories are silver, pulling her outfit together, and making her look put together. Her long hair is pulled back into a long ponytail and she wears just a touch of eyeliner to highlight and draw attention to her intense brown eyes. She stands before people waiting for people to trickle in.

If Ariah is dressed fancier and older clothes, then Tobias is dressed in an old outfit as well. An outfit from the french revolution, he wears a long coat of black and gteen, a vest under it and short pants which go to the knee. He has knee high socks and shoes meant for nobility and the sleeves and collar of his outfit is frills and poofed out much like the aristricrats of old. He leans on his cane as he stands near the military clad woman, listening to everything going on.

Guy arrives not long after Janeen, not making much of a show of it. He's dressed in a rather respectable suit, well-tailored but not over the line of presumptuous. It is a white suit jacket, white undershirt, white slacks, white leather shoes, and a rather vibrant red tie. There's dark red leather gloves on his hands as well, which are used to straighten his tie as he enters. He pauses there, in case of unfamiliar Beasts in the room, allowing himself time to adjust to their presence before he enters proper.

To say that a power move is being made, is a slight bit of an understatement. A new face enters in to the theater clad in black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater and lifted to just around six feet tall with black leather boots. This woman, has excedingly green eyes and natural auburn red hair and on her heels? Cillian. Walkin in /tow/ so to speak, but this face? Is unknown to the rest present.

Given the size of the Praxis, it's to be sure that there would be unidentified faces coming to visit, with such a wide call to action. As kindred gather, Ariah gestures to Guy, when she sees him present, to beckon him up to the stage. She maintains her silence, for the moment, taking her time to compose herself as she needs. It's a lot of Kindred, to be sure, and coupled with the concerns for the old theater and the threats so recently, there's the Beast to quell also. Her arms are folded just beneath her chest, and she glances towards Janeen, at least being passingly familiar with her as the one to answer the call for Sheriff directly. She will wait for Guy to join her, if he does, before speaking.

The new faces walking through the door get Janeen's eyes to turn in their direction but she doesn't say anything to them. It's not out of disrespect to those entering that nothing more than this occurs but rather respect for the Primogen who called the meeting and for the enviroment she is in. It isn't time for her to speak and so she remains quiet, studying the enviroment and the kindred within.

Tobias turns his head and begins to make clicking sounds as he gets an idea on who all was in here. He keeps the clicking sounds up until everyone's arrived before stopping and moves a hand towards Ariah's direction. "I believe all have assembled, Madame Advisor." He says softly to the woman.

Guy makes his way over towards Ariah with a nice casual pace. A brief glance given at new arrivals. Time for the rage inside to die down... and then he's moving towards the woman. A brief nod of his head follows before he speaks. "A lot of suspicious types wandering in tonight and not a lot of introductions. I am Guy, if you were unaware." A small flourish then. "Pleasure to meet you."

The pretty red head with green eyes continues walking up to Ariah and Guy, Cillian remains in lockstep with her, looming like a shadow. She stops at the edge of the stage and looks up to the both of them and in an accent that screems Nordic (as if the read hair, white skin and green eyes weren't a give away) she asks, "Are you both the Primogen of this Praxis?" Cillian does in fact follow close, his hands deep in the pockets of that worn, weathered leather jacket of his. His eyes move, from the back of the red-haired head to the faces of those that linger nearby. His beast is as silent as he is for the moment, but he has manners, as to say each person is met with at least a soft nod, a silent but solid enough greeting.

Ariah bows her head politely as Guy joins her. "Madame Advisor Olivie," she properly introduces herself to him, full Invictus title and everything. She listens to Tobias' appraisal of the gathering, then nods to Guy and Janeen. She's about to speak and address the auditorium when the redhead approaches the stage. Her brow lifts, quirked, and she nods slowly, taking in the sight of her and Cillian. "Oui. I represent the First Estate, and Monsieur Guy represents the Circle of Crone. Though we are but two of five, current events demand action. But I am at a loss, non? You and your companion are unknown to me. It is a less pleasant time to be welcoming new Kindred to our Praxis." she says with sincerity, still icy.

Eyes turning from Guy after he speaks, Janeen does not ignore the nod from Cillian and inclines her head in turn before her brown eyes settle on the Nordic woman with him. Janeen is fairly expressionless save for a hint of curiosity in her eyes as the woman speaks but there is little in the way of emotion to hide beyond that curiosity. She has no reason to suspect any shenanigans are afoot. Ariah speaking gets her eyes to turn towards her as well but once the Invictus Primogen is done speaking she looks to the stranger again, waiting to hear the reply.

Tobias remains silent to let the people speak. He then opens his mouth as more clicking is heard, the sound bouncing off the various people and returning to the badacelli, thus granting him a form of sight to study the people with. He keeps the clicking going on, maintaining it so if someone tries something he can stop it.

"Indeed." Guy remarks in agreement with Ariah, turning then to face the newcomers with his hands folded over his chest. His expression remains distinctly unamused. "If this is an assassination attempt, I should warn you. I do not have patience for assassins tonight. Other business is afoot." His attention remains focused on the newcomers now, sizing them up. So to speak.

In but an instant, the Nordic Woman is on the stage. Jumping up on to it with zero to no effort and landing with a grace that is expected of kindred. She stares down Guy and Ariah at first, and motions to them with one hand. "Do you know what I have not the patience for?" she asks of them, "Your clowing circus act when kindred and ghoul alike are being taken, killed, or sent to final death."

Another pause and she motions for Cillian to join her on stage, "You are both a disgrace with your costumes and pagentry when our very way of life is at stake and I wlll not sit for it. So, I lay challenge at your feet."

"I, am Freya Iona Grimmsdottir! I claim no Covenant! I claim the Clan of Gnagrel and the Blood of Bruja and I claim Dominion over this Praxis." To Guy and Ariah, "How do you respond?"

Well, that was more than Cillian expected. As Freya leaps onto the stage and makes her claim, his eyes widen a moment before, following a slow narrowing toward those called out, he kindly side steps to the opposing side of the sub-stage with a smooth but intentional leg of space growing between them. He also clears his throat, but that appears to be simply an attempt to hide a laugh.

So, chaos is happening. Vampires and ghouls are watching. Weapons are being drawn (or discussed), Freya is standing atop the stage, chests are puffin up and Cillian is doing a remarkable job of holding up the wall as he watches. In short, this is a theater with vampires in it, and as history has proven time and time again, vampires seldom get along.

Ariah lifts a snowy brow when Freya leaps on stage and makes her dramatic call. The white-haired and quite short vampiress blinks, her expression unmoving. She takes a few steps back, giving her room to say her piece, to speak, and then nods slowly. "Oui, Court has been called to address this threat and rally the Praxis to action," she explains, quiet, voice slowly turning into a low growl.

"But you, Madame, are out of bounds. Who are you to come here and lay claim to our Praxis while it is under siege?" Her arm moves in a blur and in an instant, there's a sudden outpouring of blood from her palm, the grip of a long blade formed of shining crimson held now in her fingers. She points the tip towards Freya, eyes narrowing, a snarl on her tongue.

"I am Ariah Olivie of the First Estate, of the Clan Daeva, of the ancient Amara Havana. My blood sings, and if you lay this challenge at our feet, I will meet it. Before the kindred of this Praxis, for my honor and dignity as a soldier and Advisor of the Invictus, I challenge you for your arrogant insults."

Whitechapel is always late to the party.

She's under the assumption that the party won't start until she gets there, despite the contrary being proven many times over the last couple years. She will maintain her belief, stalwartly and beyond rational reasoning, until she dies.

Again. ... Er. Permanently.

There's the soft clack-snap of her cane impacting the floor in her idle approach, most likely lost in the din of what is shaping up to be a right rowdy evening, indeed. For the keen of hearing, however, it does herald her arrival well before she's actually seen. Impeccably dressed as ever, her tophat nudged forward just enough to shield her unusual gaze from view, cheeky smirk settled on her lips in such a way that it suggests no other expression has ever lived there, she makes her way in... and stops as the events unfold.

Her lips purse, her head tilting to one side in her denied curiosity, one golden eye staring sidelong toward the crowd, their weapons, the Carthian holding up the wall, and back again. She squints. "... What's all this then, eh? What's this?" She side-steps her way toward Cillian, that one visible eye following the others her entire scooting path until she stops. "Couldn't have called me sooner, diddums, could you? Feel I've missed the best bits, me, and them're my favourites, they are." She huffs, leaning her weight on her cane, jaw jutting forward in lieu of the typical lower-lip centric pouting.

Tobias moves quickly between the two, and he clears his throat as he listens to the others trying to stop this diplomatically. "Need I remain you both, that this is what seven wants. Infighting between kindred, and they destroy the survivors. We get it. You are tired of a lack of leadership and yes she did it the most stupid way possible. Insults aside, we need to unite as a praxis. We can settle the insult AFTER the immediate threat is dealt with. I am certain that is the message everyone is trying to get across." He says as he raises his cane. "Please, let us be civilized about this." He says softly, waiting for a response from the two women before moving out of their way.

Tobias moves quickly between the two, and he clears his throat as he listens to the others trying to stop this diplomatically. "Need I remain you both, that this is what seven wants. Infighting between kindred, and they destroy the survivors. We get it. You are tired of a lack of leadership and yes she did it the most stupid way possible. Insults aside, we need to unite as a praxis. We can settle the insult AFTER the immediate threat is dealt with. I am certain that is the message everyone is trying to get across." He says as he raises his cane. "Please, let us be civilized about this." He says softly, waiting for a response from the two women before moving out of their way.

"Gangrel. It's always the Gangrel, isn't it? If a Ventrue had stomped in with an army, I could have understood that. An easy out for me. Oh, no. Whatever will I do. I can't fight an army." Guy groans out, rubbing at the side of his neck. "But Gangrel always want that open combat. I've lost count of how many I've had to destroy over the years in self defense." He hardly gives Janeen a look, then, though his head does tilt lightly in her direction as he continues. "If she wants to be Prince, she can get the support of the Primogen Council, just like anyone else. Or she can fight us, one by one. When the Invictus Primogen is done with her, I declare my intention to duel her ashes. Unless, of course..." His gaze fixes on the claimant. "You would care to politely request the Primogen Council review your petition to be Prince?" Whitechapel has partially disconnected.

Freya turns her gaze to Ariah first, and then to Guy, "and may I ask what exactly your council has done in the months before this invasion of the praxis to prevent what has happened?" She folds her arms and stands firm against them both, "I wanted your attention and I have it, I have no interest in fighting you and I did not wish to insult you and for that transgression, you have my sincere apologies." She pauses again, "Now, if you'd like to speak? We can speak."

"We need a prince. The council isn't working, like it or not." Cillian's bark is loud but he still seems to lak much motivation to move away from the wall. "Was she a bit pretentious in the insults, sure, but no more pretentious than the pageantry." A wave goes toward the Ariah and Tobais, but not without a pause, "I mean, it's a choice. Don't get me wrong but finding it visually offensive is also a choice. What's not a choice is acting with a little fucking decorum." All if this earns a sigh before Cillian's head tilts to the side, "So can you two decide who's the prettiest so we can move on to figuring out who killed our folks and kill them back?" The Irishman causes, but only for a moment, "I would far rather follow someone with the balls to declare than someone who wants papers filed so some stuffed shirt can vote on it", beat, "no offence." This is said to the stuffed shirt next to him (Whitechapel).

Ariah slowly lowers her blade but keeps it drawn, the faintly steel-sheened crimson looking wicked sharp in the lights of the theater. "Months? Our council? This Council was formed but a month ago, mon cher. You are over-presumptious to assume that we have been sitting on our hands doing nothing while our Praxis was invaded by kinslayers and assassins." Her head jerks to the side and she stares daggers at Cillian, "And -you- speak of decorum when that is exactly what we have been trying to do. These assaults and slayings have gone on for little more than a week and we are moving to address it. This very Council was called to do just -that-."

She pulls her blade close to her chest, lightly cradling it in her free hand, eyes moving between Freya and Cillian. "I have been actively searching for one of our missing kindred personally, and the First Estate has weathered a direct assault by flame in an attempt on our lives, and you would be so crass as to call me a stuffed shirt awaiting a vote? Non. These are our streets. This is OUR city. We attempt to unite here with civility so that we can come to a resolution of these threats. But more blood -will- be spilled, and I -have- risen to the challenge in so far as my respect for my station will grant me. If you would attempt to step on that, then I will repay it in kind. If we are to be civil, let us be civil, and deal with the immediate threat to our brothers and sisters."

Janeen nods her head as things start to look less like a battle and more like a counsel. "Thank you." She says and steps back. The prospective Primogen-appointed Sheriff steps back. She did her duty in helping keep the peace tonight. The Gangrel used her words and not claws and teeth! Woo! Now it is time to see if a Prince is appointed within the next few minutes. Silence is required for this so Janeen does just that. She goes quiet.

Tobias moves back to the wall with Cillian and Whitechapel, leaning against it while holding his cane close to him. He remains silent as he waits for the discussion to happen, listening in from afar. He remains silent as well, not even clicking.

Guy looks to Cillian rather blandly. "Perhaps in the wild where your kind piss on trees and sodomize each other by the moonlight, stomping around and making declarations works, but in the world of civilized adults? We require more propriety, young pup." Guy gives his fingers a little wiggle, loosening one glove and removing it before he tucks it away inside his suit jacket with his still gloved hand. "No offense." The man clears his throat, returning his attentions to Ariah and Freya, flexing his ungloved hand's fingers idly. "There is an easy solution to this problem. Let the claimant and her pet lead the charge against those attacking the Praxis. Should they die in glorious battle, we will sing songs of their bravery. It is a... what do they call it? A win-win situation?"

Freya is doing her damndest to maintain control of herself and turns to face guy. "I am eight hundred and fifty years old boy, and Cillian is NOT my pet. Now if you take insult to my being outraged that while our people die, and are taken, and threats are made and all I see is a bunch of puffed up kindred in costumes holding court when decisions should be made? That, is on you. Now, speaking of the /Adults/ speaking" she turns to Ariah, "Madame Advisor, I request Parley with you and the rest of your council, and yes that includes /this one/" and she thumbs at Guy. "Will you intreat with me that we might speak with one another without our tempers flared? As you said, there are more pressing matters at hand and I used far to much gusto and and you do have my apologies."

She turns to Guy, "Both of you."

Toward Guy, Cillian just winks before puckering his lips to blow the other a kiss. "You're pretty too, princess. Dont worry."

"I do not know where you are from, Madame Freya, but Court is held precisely to discuss matters of import, impart knowledge, and assemble a course of action. Which, in fact, was what we were about to begin doing," Ariah states, voice unwavering and ice cold. "As for costumes, this is an outfit of my heritage. I was born in France, and I served, while still mortal, in the defense of my homeland as a part of the French First Army during the second world war. If there is to tbe talk of having 'balls', or defending one's homeland, then address me with respect, s'il vous plait. We are at war, and this Court is a war council. We have enemies within our gates, and the Masquerade is in dire possibility of being breached. If there is to be singular Dominion over this Praxis, then I will be the one to claim it. Tell me, Madame, what reason do you have to believe that you are the one among us most fit to take the helm of this listing ship before it is dashed upon the rocks of hubris and inaction as you so claim?"

"Aren't supportin' an Invictus Prince, me. Just tossin' that out, me." Whitechapel helpfully interjects from the back, as she is wont to do.

Janeen reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose as people keep tossing insults about. "I think Primogen Guy has a good point. Let her prove she is a match for our Prince through actions. Let her stand in as Interim Prince for the time being. Let her help handle the current affairs of this city and turn it back into a Praxis."

Tobias just stands against the wall, leaning on his cane. He moves his head per each person talking and he simply remains silent during this whole endeavor. When Whitechapel says she wont support an invictus prince he just sighs, muttering something in french.

"Your inability to see that my insult was directed at your special boy instead of yourself is rather disappointing." Guy begins with a brief shake of his head. "At this point I'm not inclined to accept your petition to speak to the Council. And your words are giving me little reason to not simply destroy you where you stand and spend the rest of the night trying to scrub your discourteous ashes from my skin." A frown curls on Guy's lips. "Unfortunately, my suit will no doubt have to be burned. And I rather -liked- this suit." His gloved hand picks a small piece of lint from his suit, or perhaps faux-lint. A practiced gesture flicks it away. "If you wish to revisit this in a week's time I would be open to a meeting. Perhaps you can spend it teaching your associate new tricks. Sit. Roll Over. Heel." An icy smile creeps to his lips. "Speak, however, is one that should be... unlearned. Aggressively. With that I leave you. Should you wish to follow me, there will be violence. Good evening, all." A brief nod is given in the vague direction of those present before he makes for the door, though Tobias does draw a smirk to Guy's expression as he overhears that little snippet.

Freya watches Guy leave and then turns to Ariah, "I see we have nothing more to discuss with one another. Good day." With that she walks to Cillian, "I'll be at the Rising Sun. I have work to do, and I can see I wont be doing it with this group." With that, she's leaving.

"I think the wee lass has a thing for me", Cillian allows with a chuckle toward Whitechapel, "I also think he should get more familiar with the population if he wants to be in charge of anything." This is, of course, said to his companion before he sends the sense-spouting Janeen an up-nod of agreement. "I had no idea I was a pet though. Someone should have told me. I'd be far more demanding and attention seeking had I known." Clearly, he has little to add to the ongoing pageant of egos before them all. Freyas approach and words are met with a nod before he sighs, "Be well, I'm sorry this went...well, the way it went."

Janeen looks back and forth between everyone and then inclines her head to the remaining Primogen. "Call on me if you've need. My offer to stand as Sheriff through this does still stand." She moves towards the exit and disappears into the night... to where ever the Gangrel feels like going.