Looking for Wings - Seeking the Hilt

Seraphim had a few names of the bother brujah in the city, and a keen instinct to find them before to many nights passed him by.  The first name on the list...someone watched through the great war, and old patron of the city of Paris herself.

Following the telltale signs of the motis of the target he would hunt through the city.  The masque on, and paranoid about every step he took, Seraphim started the ussual routine...charming the few mortals who might of seen his soon to be comrade.

The Colonel was in his beachfront home, relaxing his living room, watching old episodes of Futurama of all things.

The knock on the sliding glass door might give the man a startled sense of things, espically since the image was for the most part something out of a painting one would seen in the Lourve. Waiting patiently and with a poised frozen grace for the acknowledgement the figure did not move.

Perhaps the man's reaction would be priceless...

Most would not consider the speed with which a startled brujah can point the gaping maw of a Kalashnikov 12 guage shotgun at someone, a priceless reaction. Especially when there was one in each hand.

"Alrighty then. Too early for trick or treat, and you got this far by getting around my alarms. Who, or what are you?"

Pulling the sliding glass door aside the graceful movement inside, and the closing of the door behind him.

The words came forth in the fluent french that is from those born in the city of Paris.

"Still using those things. Sa va, I shall play. I am Seraphim, I was informed of your stay in this city. I have come to aid in the war effort, and for me that includes gathering other brujah together for it. Your alarms we're well placed, but...ah, let us begin on only pleasntries instead. Shall we?"

The Colonel frowned, as the stranger entered his home. Something slightly familiar about the voice though.

He replied in French

"Even our kind can readily succumb to fourty rounds of rapidly fired slugs." Each gun held a 20 round drum loaded with heavy slugs.

Then he jerked his head as if to indicate someone behind him. The ghoul Ilsa stood behind a curtain, crossbow aimed at the newcomer, and the sound of another crossbow cocking came from another corner of the house.

"I am content with my weapons. Who sent you? And who are you?"

There was no change in the position or demeanor of that which stood in front of him.

"I was sent by an elder of our clan in Paris, and I am Seraphim...knowing more then this only gives credence to have the enemies draw further upon this city; perhaps in time this will be wise, but for now council confides in me otherwise. Names mean little to the importance of their commands, suffice to mention that I am here and so are you. Perhaps instead of this...eh, um...mex-e-can stand off, we can move to more pleasent matters? More...quaint discussion? Something that is by far and away, more pleasent? I know, I know...the disguises and the many avoidance of questions makes this trust harder. Untill I know you better I am uncertain as to how often you spend in front of others with abilities matching mine...sa va?

His hands motioning to the outside as the door was closed.

"Perhaps we should take a stroll along the beach? Or would sitcom reruns and informercials suffice?"

Sam paused a moment longer, and set his weapons down. Then he told his ghouls to stand down.

All of a sudden he smiled broadly, and put his hand on Seraphim's shoulder. "Welcome to Florida brother! Let's go to the living room, I run into many of our kind on the beach, and this best be kept private."

He walked into the living room, turned off the tv, and motioned to a large leather chair.

"Two Parisian Brujah in Port St. Lucie. That should be enough to end any war." He laughed at the joke and passed over a bottle of blood. "Taliban, good stuff."

Taking the bottle of blood, the tense situation now difused he would pop the cork and sniff it with a discerning nose. There was only a moment afterwards before he took a swig in trust, and passed the bottle back.

"Merci. So...this city, brujah prince, many enemies all around us. How many enemies within our borders? How many political rivals look towards our princes chair with desire? Whom of them are the loudest? Where do the sabbat amass mostly? Do they have specific targets? When is the next sortie to hunt them down? Who leads them?"

The line of questioning would continue on untill interupted...

He laughed again, and took a sip from the returned bottle, before setting it on a coffee table between them.

"Too many questions! You have met our Prince then? I know nothing of the internal politics yet. As far as actions, there are several going down soon. One against a demon that is bothering the domain, one against a Sabbat sorcerer who killed two primogen, one being Tremere and the Prince's mortal relation, and one that seems to be an a private action against some witches, although I believe the Prince is bankrolling that one. The man leading organizing all of them is a private investigator of some sort."

Ah, Oui. I believe I know who this is...who else is in this domain I should know of? I should make effort to know and have them know me?

*finding a comfortable piece of furniture to lean against before considering sitting down*

"Ah well, there is the Harpy of course. A nice gentleman who makes exquisite cigars that he will only trade for information. A most amusing relationship, and then there is Grace Dunn. She is an ancient, a Gangrel, and a relative of Prince Alexander. You'll want to meet her as well. And that roughly sums up the big players I've managed to meet in town. I haven't been able to reach our Primogen, and the Sheriff and Senschal have been pretty busy. I'll take you around town and introduce you to those I know if you like."

He frowned in thought for a moment.

"You have a place to stay tonight?"

"Oui my friend, I always have a place to stay the morning. I shall be gladened to meet these few you have mentioned. Tomorrow then...I shall meet up with you in the city at this little tavern." A buisness card from a local tavern owner was tossed forth.

"Then if all possible outcomes are not colliding into one dark moment of sheer insanity, we shall go forth and find these names you speak of. Sa va?"

"Excellent. We shall do that. Oh, and next time, call me eh? My phone number would have been easier to get than my address." He chuckled good naturedly and handed over a card with his name on it.