2024.05.04: Raziel arrives

At about this point the door opens. Standing there is a gentleman, about 6 foot tall. He is dressed like he is a goth from the 90s.  Square jaw, and a big smile he walks in with confidence right up to Enoch. A big shit eating grin crosses his face as he looks Enoch in the eyes. Without a flinch he reaches down with a smile and grabs the Tarot card still sitting on the counter. "XIII, I swear this card is my favorite.  But, that just may be the Scorpio in Joe's Zodiac." He looks about the room a moment and realizes that the room has gone silent, "Enoch! Buddy! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?" He smiles impossibly broadly, and reaches out a hand generally to the first person that decides to shakes it.

"Oh! and after you introduce me... I would love a reading old friend"

There is a quite rustling, as of several generally unobtrusive individuals shifting subtly. There is at least one cough. The gentleman by the door, half in shadow, grumbles quietly to himself, then all resumes its generally peaceable surface.

From the back, a haphazardly elegant woman emerges. Somehow, she gives off the impression that she is answering the door after being interrupted in the bath, although there is no real reason to think that. Her black jacket and trousers appear to have been torn in several places, but these injuries to the fabric have been made virtues through deep burgundy, ocher, and bronze embroidery.

She is barefoot, which is odd. But this is also Texas,

"...you are not who I was expecting when I was told there was a goth boy cluttering up my establishment..." The woman favors the staff with a moment's withering disapproval. "How are you called and why are you here?"

The "goth boy" notices the lady, and with just the same boldness he showed to Enoch strides across the floor, his hand out ready to receive a hand shake the entire time... which... is a bit weird.  "Raziel" he then points over his shoulder with his thumb at Enoch, "That assholes childe. I am an honest to god angel, nice to meet you"

Doris does not shake hands with loud men who tower over her. Both of hers go behind her back, in fact. "And I am mistress of this space, Raziel. Welcome to New Albion."

"Well thank you" he leaves his hand out uncomfortably long, before wiping an invisible something on his shirt.  "So... yer' the keeper type? Standard rules?"

"Are you always this out in the open with things?"  The frost in her voice would crystalize her breath if she still went in for that sort of thing.

"Out in the open? you mean honesty? yeah I do that really well"

"This is a public venue, even if it is less public than usual this evening. It has been a terribly long week and it is only Tuesday. You did not answer why you were here, just that you know Mister Malachai." She  changes the fold of her hands behind her back.(edited)

"I am here to help... Eno... Mr. Malachai however he wants. He asked me to come, and I do quite like him even if my accounting ended half a... while ago." he says. then pauses "Wait... shit... define "Public""

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, the picture of disappointed female authority figure. "How about you use context clues to suss out what I mean all by yourself?"

Raziel looks around "I did the thing again didn't I... the thing where I talk to much and piss off people. Fuck."  he drops his shoulders, and this time smiles genuinely rather than the "showing teeth" thing he was doing before. "Yeah, I am Raziel, I am Enoch's kid. He asked me to come help. I really can be useful. I assume you are the Keeper, or... wait... Architect? and This is your place right?"

"This is my place, yes." A fractional softening. There is a particular formality to her intonation as she continues, the difference between bar owner and Keeper. "It is one of several in the city that are mine to watch and ward...but this one particularly is mine. All are welcome."

Soft stress on the word "all."

“Nice place you got here! Yeah so sorry I started off on the wrong foot and stuff. I really do want to help with whatever is necessary” Raziel points a thumb at Enoch again “and I really do want a reading from the old man”

"He is quite insightful." Doris glances between the two men. "I am waiting to see how his insights unfold." She decides that the apology is enough to warrant sharing her name. "Doris Ashview, director of human resources for Gordon Industries and owner of The Blue Devil."

There is still no handshake.

“So... my story. After I came back from France, the only job I could get was cleaning up after the crazies at the asylum. That’s where I met the old man. He was good to talk to, helped me... what is the right word... remember”

"Shall we sit?" Apparently, Doris has found one of "her" people and is in this for the long haul whether she wants to be or not.

Raziel looks at the bar and asks “can I trouble you for a whiskey. So glad I can still enjoy the spirits?” He starts to take out his wallet.

Doris pads over to the bar and steps behind it. The gesture to pay is waved off. "Single or double?"

Raziel looks in his wallet and pulls out a $50. “That much?”

Another waving off of the money. "Single or double malt," she prompts quietly.

He simply say “Single” as he puts away the wallet. “Phew! I was hoping you would say that! It is my last $50” and he winks.

"Age?" She indicates the section of bottles that comprise her collection of single malts.

“I admit I do not have the palette to know the difference between a 40 year, or a 12. But anything that tastes like a campfire is perfect”

Doris' eyes close briefly for a moment. If not for the expression recalling a Pieta flitting across her face, she might simply be running through her inventory. Then, she selects a bottle that turns out to be Talisker. Two glasses are placed on the bar, one significantly smaller than the other. A bottle of water is pulled from a fridge under the bar and a measure is poured into the smaller glass, which then gets a coffee-stirrer-sized straw. The larger of the two glasses gets a measure of scotch. Both glasses are pushed across the bar towards Raziel with the faintest air of challenge.

Raziel looks confused at the water, takes the talisker and sips it. His eyes close as he seems to try and experience every moment. He says nothing.

Doris' eyes narrow. She studies the other Kindred's face with the sort of rapt attention that suggests she is well-versed in interpreting subtle muscle movements.

He finally opens his eyes and looks at Doris “thank you, that brought back memories. After Normandy, I spent a few months in Scotland recovering in a hospital.”

"Lucky you, getting off that beach." She leans on the bar. There is no dress shirt or shell under the suit jacket, but she does have a respectable décolletage and the way she is leaning shows it off just enough to encourage generous tipping in those susceptible to such persuasions. The bottle is kept close to hand. "Which unit?"

“Canadian... Royal Winnipeg Rifles. Juno beach. We got chewed up”

She nods, encouraging more talking from the already talkative Raziel.

“Anyway, after we landed and cleared, we started clearing the orchards. I spoke German, so my job was to tell Jerry to surrender. It worked well because they wanted to surrender to us than the Yanks... until it didn’t.” He raised his shirt and shows 3 large holes deep enough to fit a thumb. “I was the only one they pulled out after the line passed. Eh, sorry you don’t want to hear old war stories”

There is a flicker of...something, some tiny configuration of muscle movements, as he uses the traditional Canadian verbal intensifier. Then all is stoic interest again. "I want to know who I am dealing with. Don't apologize."

"My buddy, a pilot was reminiscing before school children about his days in the air force after the war. "In 1942," he said, "the situation was really tough. The Germans had a very strong air force. I remember, " he continued, "one day I was protecting the bombers and suddenly, out of the clouds, these fokkers appeared. (At this point, several of the kids giggle.) I looked up, and right above me was one of them.  I aimed at him and shot the fokker down. They were swarming. I immediately realized that there was another fokker behind me."

At this moment the girls started to giggle and boys started to laugh. The teacher realizing what was up said, "I think I should point out that 'Fokker' was the name of the German-Dutch aircraft company".

"That's true," said my buddy, "but these fokkers were flying Messerschmidts."

She snorts softly, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Boys."

"Okay one last one... How many French does it take to defend Paris? Don't know, never been tried." He glances around the room to look for reaction, or possible French.

"You might want to develop a repertoire of anti-English jokes. Mister Gordon is Scottish." There is a subtle topping-off of Raziel's glass. "Miss Evelyn might not appreciate aspersions cast upon her heritage, either. Luckily, she is not here, and we may conveniently forget the fact La Marseillaise is about watering the fields with the blood of France's enemies."

"And Mr. Gordan is?"

"Mister Gordon is the man in charge. Of everything."

"Prince? President? Prime Minister?"

"Master after God. Baron of Glasgow. His Most Influential Majesty. My financier and the bastard I named the bar for." A wry twist of her mouth. "He will turn up eventually."

"I will save the one about the Ewe in the field then"

"He has heard it. Often. So far, nobody has died." There is a heavily implied yet. It also sounds like Doris is exasperated with and admires Marcus Gordon in equal measure.

"So, Doris, whats yer story? Why a Piano Bar?" Raziel takes another sip.

"I have a knack for singing. It only makes sense I flatter my vanity and build a shrine to my talent if given a tolerantly large budget." She shrugs. "So why not a piano bar?"

"Very few appreciate the voice, the entire earth... universe was created by his voice, and you can hear his echo to this day, if you know how to listen that is. If you know how to sing, you can add to the symphony... truly sing."

His eyes get a bit of a distant stare as Raziel seems to listen to something that cannot be heard

A tiny smile curls the corner of her mouth and she gets a similar expression for a moment. Then she hums softly, just a few bars of an old fifteenth century tune.

Raziel looks like he is snapped out of a daydream as he hears the notes, "You...  you are close... you, there is resonance with the symphony." His expression is genuinely confused, and surprised. and he concentrates on Doris for a few moments in his confusion.

"Music is my life." Stated simply.

"Apparently," and he finishes the drink.

The glass is refilled. "It is rare to find someone else who can hear it."

"It is rare to find someone that can sing it"

"That was barely even clearing my throat, friend." She grins slyly. "I had not planned on giving a semi-private concert this evening, though. I am dreadfully unprepared."

"Next time you are prepared... I will even put on a clean shirt." Raziel gives a half smile.

"Do you own more than one shirt?"

A pause. Then, thoughtfully, after another moment's deep concentration, proceeds to sing the Royal Winnipeg Rifles' regimental march without embellishment.

"When we embarked at Winnipeg, as chirpy as could be,/We thought we were out for a bit of a lark, about a two weeks spree/But when we got to Fort Qu’Appelle we found it different then,/Our tents in a row we pitched in the snow, just like the real soldier men.

Pork, beans and hard tack, tra la la la la la
Poor hungry soldiers, tra la la la la la

With blistered feet and aching bones we marched along all day,/And go on piquet all the night, to keep the rebs away;/But when we meet the enemy we do not think of rest,/For whether we march or fight, my boys, we do our level best."

Afterwards, she sketches the ghost of a bow. "For your service..." A hesitation, as if she is waiting for appropriate rank to reference.

"Corporal. Batoche. I visited it a few years back.  The church is still up, and you can still see the holes from the Gatling gun in the steeple"

Without warning Enoch sits bolt upright from his relaxed position at the table. He frowns when he notices that one of his cards has been moved from where he left it. He reaches down and goes to fold it back into the deck, but there is a pause as he fingers the card, then a wry smile cracks across his face. Without turning to face the two at the bar he states. "If it isn't the Silence of God. Who else would have the temerity to touch a old seers cards while the seer is somewhere else and lacks means to defend them." The oracle turns, clearly jesting. "Raziel, it is good to see you my boy. Out of anyone in creation randomly touching the deck, I’m glad it's you. I take it you want a reading."

Doris wisely shuts up and simply makes sure her favorite interrogation lubricant remains at hand so the chatty Raziel continues being chatty. Being half-Lutheran and thus not as obsessed with the various angels and ministers of grace her Catholic side of the family prayed to endlessly, she did not quite grasp the clever joke in Raziel's name.

It's extremely funny now, but she has the sense not to laugh. Openly.

"Hey old man, of course I would only touch your deck when it is defenseless.  There is a joke in there... I'll leave it alone." gives another half smirk. "Not gonna lie, your readings are one of my favourite things above and below." He wanders over to Enoch.

Enoch shuffles 3 7s, a bridge, reverse 3 6s an bridge, reverse 3 5s another bridge and offers the deck to Raziel to cut.

"Technically you don’t need to since you already muddied their aura." Enoch laughs, "but then there is the ritual and also the question of Fate and Free Will for a member of The Host"

"I wonder if the Host has free will yet?" He cuts the deck twice. and hands it back. "Want me question yet? or are you gonna answer without me askin?'"

"Where is the fun if I actually know what I am after?" The 'old man' smiles. He takes the deck between his hands and concentrates.

He deals out the cards and studies them, running his bare fingertips across the cardstock to read their story.

Enoch looks at his childe. "What did you do?" He asks with a very flat intonation.

Raziel - Today at 4:07 PM

Raziel shrugs, "What didn't I do?"

Enoch laughs. Picking up the crossing card, thr 5 of wands, and using it to tap the significator, The Lovers. "You remember Adam and Eve, right? And their sudden departure from the garden?"

Raziel laughs, very loudly, "Yeah, I remember, I remember well. Such a simple way of explaining that situation. But tell me what you see"

"Well, recently you found yourself kicked out of whatever metaphorical garden you found yourself to be in. Didn't really matter to you...." Enoch taps the 9 of pentacles sitting in the past slot "... you were bored in that too perfect garden anyways."

"I think there are a few gardens, and a few times this talks about"

Doris is dropping eaves like the professional she is, tidying the bar, bringing over refreshments, being virtually invisible but still devoting most of her attention to the two gentlemen.

"Crossing you..." Enoch holds up the five of wands, "is preperation. A sparring match, if you will, preparing you for what is yet to come. And what is that?" Enoch taps the crossing card to the grounding card, the crowning card and the future card. "Looks like you will make an upstanding member of the family yet. Your future holds new emotional beginings, your grounded by the fact that you are just starting on a journey to learn about those emotions and the ideals you strive for are represented by the card of our clan. The Moon. But how will you get there?" Enoch moves over to the path.

Dorris will note two things if she has read up on Tarot at all. Enoch always aligns the cards to face him interms of both individual spin and location of the path in the celtic cross. Its as if he is always reading for himself.

Doris may or may not have done some reading since Enoch's arrival. She has people who can hit up the public library for her, after all.

"The path you are walking is that of the queen of pentacles. I honestly dont have enough context to know what that means. Maybe someone who left the garden with you? I can tell you that this woman has dark hair and dark eyes, she is generous to a fault and very down to earth. She will be a guide for you. Your house is that of the magician. The first step on a journey of self discovery, careful not to blow up the alchemy lab finding yourself if you get too prideful though. You either aspire too or fear that you have or can just bundle all of your weapons of war up and walk away from this path but the ultimate outcome is the queen of swords, a second in command who strikes down the generals enemies with swift retribution. Also a lesser card of transformation."

Enoch sits back a second to breathe. "I hope that clarified some things. Did you need anything in the reading clarrified with further use of the deck?"

*"...I do."* Quietly. She is now just at Enoch's left shoulder.

*"What is your question?"*

*"I want to know more about the two women. I have...concerns."*

*"The first one is playing an emotional game she intends to win but will make great sacrifice to do so."*

*"Assuming there is a second woman, she’s tied to the man who fronts the money for all the parties just to watch everyone else have a good time and prefers not to take credit"*

"I am not reassured."

*"What kindred is without enemies? My Sire earned the resentment of another elder which ultimately resulted in my embrace and then later the near destruction of my childe. I hope to leave all that behind me, in Ohio, however kindred are petty and bear long grudges against descendants of enemies for things those individuals haven't even done. Sins of the Mother in this case."*

*"Past grudges are best left beyond our borders. There is no room for petty infighting here." Emotional blur of stress, anxiety, an odd spike of loneliness and longing...*

"Tell me about the lovers."

Enoch flips a card over from the top of his deck revealing trump XXI, the world.

"A major on a major, huh..." Enoch sighs and sits back. "Wait..." his eyes narrow "... normally the world is the conclusion of the story, all parts and elements coming together in harmony to make the whole... but for you it could be just as simple as the world meaning the world. Creation. Getting kicked out of a more perfect place for or having need to learn a lesson into a less perfect place where objectified reality will allow for the lesson to be taught. Gaia theory if you will."

"If I may? The lovers has three levels I see. Two elements coming together, starting me on my path. Leaving... the garden. Leaving my... let’s call it retirement after I was attacked 10 years ago. The World is... the goal of the path.  This all leads to the same answer. The Queen of Pentacles... is you... is her... is... New Albion, and I need you. But I think my answer will be different than what I expect... and I may need to let that go to move to what I truly want. I just don't understand what I don't see."

Doris, in the meantime, has ceased pretending to be busy and is very quietly standing at Enoch's left shoulder. As she does not need to breathe or have a heartbeat, being perfectly still and quiet so as not to draw attention to herself is fairly simple.

Finally, after some quiet contemplation, she asks, "What could you possibly hope to find in a city with no soul?"

He shrugs “I suspect a way forward. Also, it has a soul. Everything that exists has a breath of the divine.”

"In seven years I have yet to find it so it can be nurtured and strengthen." She sighs. "Impossible tasks seem to be my idiom, however."

She studies the men and the cards for a moment. "We shall see what the man who talks to angels and the angel who follows him will do."

Raziel looks around... at, and almost through the bar. “She is... hope... faith...” he smiles and gives out a laugh, indicates the place Doris was first standing when she walked in and spoke to Raziel “Wrath” he smiles. “Sorry about that, again.” His eyes refocus on Doris “If you are looking for a sentient spirit, you will not find it but everything that touched her gives her soul. For better or worst”

"There is no purpose here." An odd stress on the word. "Not any more. Not after the new city papered over the old."

"Explain? I know nothing of this city."

"There was a little town here, then Gordon Industries came in and put a shiny new prefabricated city on top of it."

"Ah but it moves as a military camp does. Your king of swords is preparing for war."

"This is not merely an encampment." There is no comment about the observation's overall accuracy, or who the king of swords might be. "Humans live here. By our being here, we put them in danger. It must be something worth preserving."

The door swings open and Victoria enters the bar.  She's dressed in her customary long black skirt and boots, a bit more casual than usual.  She seems oddly relaxed.

"Ah. Victoria. What a lovely surprise. Might I present Mister Raziel, although I understand you may already be acquainted with him?" She indicates the collection of limbs held together by fishnet and vinyl.

Victoria nods.  "We are acquainted.  Good evening, Raziel.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Doris pads off to get Victoria that glass of wine promised earlier.

Raziel smiles, "Victoria! How have you been? I just thought I would pop by, introduce myself to Doris, and then go through my repertoire of terrible jokes... She suggested that this Gordon gentleman would really appreciate my run of Scottish jokes."

"I said nothing of the sort." It might only now dawn on others that while there is no shirt under the suit jacket or shoes involved in the ensemble at all, Doris has made a point of wearing gloves. She holds out the now-full wineglass to Victoria with a nod. "I suggested mocking the English. Do keep up, child."

"There's a difference between the English and the Scottish?" He makes a faux innocent whistle.

"Neither of them are as good as the Irish, but some things cannot be helped."

Victoria takes the glass with a smile.  "The house red?  Thank you."  She takes a sip.  "I just thought I would drop on while waiting for the last of my tests finished running.  These things take time."

"You are *always* welcome here." A stress on the word always. "Are the neighbors being respectful of your workspace?"

"They have been quite respectful.  The quarters are smaller than I am accustomed to, but well-appointed.  Most of the equipment I need is nearby or can be borrowed."

"The final plans for your research facility have been approved and the contractors secured, so you will have plenty of space to yourself in a few months. I am glad they are not being obtrusive." The smile is genuine and without other emotions shading it for once.

"What are you working on? Same old? Something new?"

"Something new, it would seem.  I have taken a sudden interest in biology of crows."

"...I really am sorry about making the necropsy more difficult than necessary..."

"Which is not a phrase one hears every day"

Victoria laughs softly.  "I didn’t need them to be particularly intact."

"The complete lack of structural integrity had to be bothersome, though."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."  Victoria smiles at the other woman and takes a sip of her wine.

Doris raises an eyebrow and purses her lips, clearly reevaluating Victoria for a few moments. Then she nods, as if whatever assessment had been reached was acceptable. "We are going to have quite a beneficial relationship, I think."

"I certainly think so."

"The gentlemen were debating the nature and meaning of their overly ornate playing cards. I have found it quite enlightening."

“There is not a lot of debate, Enoch is so often right.  I just hoped that what I saw would illuminate his vision.”

"My research has suggested that there is nothing in a reading that one does not already know. The pictures simply allow one to get out of one's own way."

"Agreed. I think mortals know everything, in some aspect of divine conciousness, but they have to be reminded."

"We are merely mortals with far too much time on our hands, child." There is nothing particularly derogatory in her use of the word "child," it just seems to fit the exuberance and undoubtedly feigned innocence.

"True we are all just creations of the divine, set to play our part... something something.... something Shakespeare said about stages and being players... blah"

There is another faint twitch of...something as Raziel natters on about theater and theatrical references, but it is gone again before it can be studied and logged. "All things have purpose, yes."

And there, Cerriphan returned-- back into her bundle of shawls and layers of skirts, though she had the make-up still and her hair was done-up fancy-like thanks to Lizzy's help. She looked about in a twitchy manner, as if trying to spot someone within her actual view.

The door flies open, and a man in his early 60s walks in. He's got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a old leather jacket on. He's got a worn ballcap on, it reads "US MARINES: VIETNAM VETERAN"

"Goddamn what a day." the man mutters, stalking over to the bar. "Jack. Rocks. And, ah, Double it." He knocks against it, taking a sharp drag and leaning back in the chair. A pistol under his left shoulder is evident as pale blue eyes glance around the room.

Cerriphan peered curiously-- first at the older man, then toward the bar. She was trying to make certain of something, it seemed, and she was looking decidedly distracted by all means. Her brows crinkled, waiting for the man to get his drink first before pouncing.

Figuratively.

"A long day having finally taking its ending course?"

Doris, glad of a distraction, pads over to fill the drink order.

His response is to take a long, sharp drag of his cigarette. He tips his cap politely to- Oh fuck me that's Doris Ashview. As if by some magic, the man lets the Cigarette fall from his lips and be caught by a free hand beneath the table. He snubs it against the back of his boot without missing a beat and reaches into his jacket to pull out his wallet. "Ah, my Lady. You are far to kind." he averts his gaze and straightens his back.

"Miss Doris!" The bundle perked up and smiled, as if that was just the person she wanted to see... or, at least, close enough to it. How exciting. She watched the man's panic with another brief glance of either confusion or amusement.

Her head kept turning around in places, as if catching sight of something. Well, she's distracted now.

The man pulls out his glasses from his jacket and puts them on. They are just as old as the rest of his get-up.

"Hello, Cerriphan." She keeps her attention on the man at the bar, though.

Cerriphan has checked out. She's staring at nothing, slack-jawed. The double-take had become horror and awe. Might wanna check in again in a hot second.

The man, to his credit, takes the drink, and pushes it off to the side. Not about to disrespect Doris Fuckin' Ashview. He raises a brow at the crazed woman. "Ah... Ma'am, shall I?" he gestures to the the Malkavian, a soft 'escort her away from you' playing out in an idle gesture.

Raziel stands up, with a genuine smile. "I get to meet more! excellent." He extends his hand, continuing the smile, "My name is Raziel, I am Enoch's Childe. He asked me to pop by and see how I could help out New Albion. Nice Jacket."

He notices the 40 mile stare of Cerriphan, and walks up to her extending a hand, stating simply "Raziel" while trying to meet her gaze.

There is a subtle waving-off of the suggestion and the drink is pushed back in front of the gentleman. Doris proceeds to quietly make up a drink she can consume because it is that kind of night. Cerriphan will tell her why she is excited in good time.

There is a slow realization that the focal point of distraction was standing in front of her. There's a subtle widening of eyes as Cerriphan comes back to herself. A look to the hand, and suddenly grasping it.

"Cerriphan. He-llo. Hello... Hello. Raziel. Yes."

A big smile, "Hello Cerriphan, very nice to meet you". His eyes are still staring at man at the bar and the Jacket. "That man, He's a Vet?"

"Lieutenant Rook, yes," Doris corrects.

There's a shuddering motion there, shaking her head. "Hrmhm? I must telling a thing to someone before it is falling out of mine head."

"What is it?" The frosty reserve is quieted when taking with the babushka trash panda. She is almost a different person.

Almost

"The porcelain doll of the dancing bar is concealing a lotus flower," her head shook, trying to parse the information to something... understandable, "the neighboring, hungering stranger having taking up as a parasite and snipping the livelihood of another."

"I went... dancing, with Lizzy-friend," she strained out, brows crinkled.

"You went out with Lizzy? Where?" Gentle prompting

Consideration. "Axiom. Dancing. Stripping and teasing. The Lion was there, too, and possibly the Tiger from her words? The dual-predators having ruining the night. The disguised lotus flower is being very important," she insisted, "it is having being the one who was hurting Lizzy-friend's brother. But they were being no kith or kin. No, no, no."

"Not...one of us?" She pauses, then holds out a hand, stripping off the glove. "Can you show me?"

Cerriphan tilted her head. "If you are having a means. But there is a lot. Will you being okay?"

"Not on my own...but perhaps we can find someone to bridge the gap between us?"

"I am thinking I am knowing a way, but you will probably not enjoying it." Her brows crinkled.

"I gave up on enjoying things when our gangly friend upset the staff with his arrival, so one more discomfort is not going to make things worse." A touch of bitterness shades Doris' tone that seems to have no overt source, as it is sharper and subtler than her usual reserved standoffishness.

Raziel overhearing this, "Umm... I am not sure I translated Cerriphan properly, but... if you need the abilities of Auspex, my Sire is well known to be good at that... and... he... is just sitting there.  I mean I can try, but I do not have the skills of my sire." he offers helpfully.

"I am sorry," her hand retracted a hair, "There are things in mine head that I was having seeing that are needing out. I knew what I saw. But I do not knowing the right words to sharing. In precision."

"Yes of course" Raziel notably takes a step backwards and sits down on the closest chair that would allow his head to be lower than Cerriphan's in an obvious bid to reduce any intimidating he may be projecting.  Going so far as to lower his gaze from her eyes.

"Show me. Please." Gentleness again. Now that Raziel is further away and smaller she seems to soften further.

Cerriphan looked away, and back again. A calm settling again as her shoulders dropped. Her hand grasped at the woman's, gentle. "Doing the thing."

Doris folds her own fingers around Cerriphan's and closes her eyes. This is clearly not her first time using this means of information transfer.

An intent focus came over her eyes. It wasn't natural, even by that standard. Sharing an Echo.

A frown of concentration, clearly trying to follow the tangled skein of information unraveling in her consciousness. Her free hand twitches, uplifted, as if conducting or reaching for keys on a piano that is not there. Trying to make the chaos come right and sound true.

*The entering came. Flashes of breath and skin and horror. Fights and whispers. The man connected to the Hummingbird. And the porcelain doll, smiling ever so sweetly and luring him in.*

*Blond. Not blond. The lotus was concealed within, laid bare before her past. How evident it seemed, and Cerriphan's horror.*

*And the voices began to consume.*

*The man shifted. Shy to obsession. A monster. Craving. Looking and turned away. Lizzy didn't like to be here. Consuming.*

*Please focus. It wasn't right. The pile of ash whispering a greeting. Help.*

Cerriphan's brow had crinkled to distress. She didn't like this. She was clearly struggling-- and wrenched her hand away.

It broke.

The abruptness of the break causes the other Kindred to recoil as if slapped or burnt, snatching her hand back. For a moment, her face turns, eyes still closed but clearly looking at something, be it after-image or whisper of an echo's dying reverberation. Then, her eyes snap open and the sense of seeking continues, the normally green-brown hazel irises the slate gray of November storm clouds.

"Which one is not right?" Doris gently inquires, reaching to smooth back Cerriphan's hair and reassure the bundle of fabric masquerading as people that whatever is not right, it will be put right in short order.

The undercurrent in the little singer's body language suggests that the solution to the moment may be violent.

The hair, frazzled, was quickly smoothed over by the other woman. Things were not right. She did not like this thing. But she had to manage words. Make the words. Hopefully she would understand, it had to be straight forward.  "The porcelain is being the fraud. The lotus jewel is truth."

"And the rest?" Still gentle. Get the information. Parse it later.

"The Hummingbird's kin tried to wooing the lotus, I am thinking. A period of returning. Obsession. Degrading. Monstrous. Sad. Sad to seeing. I do not liking this lotus."

There was a mournful tone, there. Cerriphan shifted from anxiety to sadness.

"Thank you. That is well done, little sister. Well done indeed." Doris leans over, and, audible to keen ears, murmurs almost noiselessly, "...what upset you so at the end?"

There is still the sense of an alert apex predator about her, quietly poised. Tensed.

Cerriphan halted. Her fingers tapped together, not wanting to look anyone in the eyes. The cornered animal, bunched up and fluffing.

"Sometimes mine Echoes are seeing what they shouldn't."

"You are safe here." Reassuring. "I promise."

"I am believing you." Her shoulders relaxed a hair.

"I only want to understand, so I shout at exactly the right people about everything you shared and not one person more. All right?" Another soft brush of the hair.

The woman was totally calm now, gaze half-lidded and a gentle humming in her throat. "Okay... Yes. I am understanding."

Without thinking, Doris begins humming along as well, following whatever set of sounds Cerriphan makes. In the pauses where a mortal would breathe, she asks "I need to talk to Balcezar and Marcus Antoninus, yes?"

"I think so." Cerriphan squinted vaguely. "The Lion. Was definitely there. The Tiger was having telling Lizzy to not going at first. I did not realizing why until I had entering the club."

"So the woman you were telling me is important is part of the investigation? Yes?"

"Lizzy mentioned her brother. Then she was implying later an investigation. I felt pain. I saw a connecting to her Echo in her sibling's time, there. I cannot saying for sure. I am feeling lost and confused, now." Cerriphan settled near a stool.

"Why?" Doris pulls her glove back on before folding her hands and settling near Cerriphan, still radiating that sense of predatory watchfulness mingled with stern compassion.

Her head shook. "Echoes leading me places. Wanted to having a nice time with Lizzy-friend. A hooking and sinking. Hrmm. A feeling of wanting to keeping that one safe. And an ominous feeling of wrongness. Perhaps I am simply needing rest."

"Lieutenant Rook may be able to help us keep her safe." Doris eyes the man quietly drinking at the bar and trying not to be obtrusive but does not bother him directly.

A relaxed motion again. "Hrmm. Yes. The Tiger will, too, likely. Very keen. I am tired, Dame. I am sorry."

"Do you need something to eat?" Solicitous, then reassuring. "You have done well. I am proud of you."

Eat? Her brows crinkled. Not liking to think of it like that. Especially after tonight. "Having not eaten since I was coming to the city."

Doris whisks behind the bar and proceeds to set up an odd contraption that looks like a brandy warmer to anyone who knows what one of those is. She then fiddles with the cabinetry under the rows of bottles against the wall, revealing a refrigerated unit. Inside are emergency rations, which she sets up to warm in a snifter. Eventually, a warm, metallic smell starts to fill the air.

Marcus walks into the bar, glancing up from his phone to scan the room, and, seeing Cerri and Doris at the bar, steps towards them, and waits for acknowledgement.

Cerriphan watched Doris with a hawkish expression. The trash panda was hungrier than outward appearances would ever let on, and she hadn't even turned her head to acknowledge Marcus.

"The Lion is arriving."

Marcus nods towards Cerri with a smile "Cerri, I hope you're well."

Doris is busy making sure Cerriphan does not drop from starvation at the moment and shows no interest in the Ventrue's appearance. Her precise, economical movements do a fairly good job of not favoring anyone at the bar with too much of a view into the abyss that is the front of her jacket. "Perhaps he will do us the honor of explaining his decisions this evening."

Raziel perks up, half says under his breath and half to himself "Oh! I think I am starting to understand, this guys name is Tiger, he was dancing with Cerri... and made her sad." Realizing that he is definitely sitting in on a conversation that is none of his fucking business now. He stands up and walks over towards Enoch and Victoria.

Cerriphan made a bit of a face. "Lion." Finally her gaze snapped to Marcus. Her nose had crinkled faintly.

Raziel nods, but says nothing.

The snifter of now pleasantly warmed blood is shoved under Cerriphan's nose. Another is prepped for when the first is emptied. Silence is allowed to pile up and fill the space.

The woman grasped it with a small "thank you" and drank readily and easily. Cerriphan wouldn't speak freely again unless spoken to.

After a few moments' thought, Doris sets up another couple of warmers because several people here have been busy about the city's business and might have built up a tolerable thirst in doing so.

Marcus looks at Doris - raises one eyebrow at her attire and smiles, but doesn't show any other reaction. "I was informed that the woman responsible for turning Ms. McCrory's brother into a walking drug lab was working at Axiom. I went to look around, see if I could get a tracking device on her so that Bal and I could bring her in and ask some questions. Our original plan didn't work, but..." he pauses a minute, thinking, "there's something wrong about that club."

"When were you going to relay to me that you were engaging in such extra-curricular activities?"

Cerriphan put down the now-empty glass, wrapping her arms around herself. Time to be an unhappy bundle for a while. "Nearly making tender suspicious of whispering and tensions. Close to pushing out."

"Likely tomorrow. Like I said, there's something very off about that club - no physical security on the floor for the girls, and digital security strong enough that I wouldn't risk trying to break in on my phone. I can get in from the lab though."

"Did Cerriphan tell you what she discovered?" Cerriphan gets another nice warm glass of food.

Yay, food. She doesn't question, she just drinks. Cerriphan watches both converse, however.

"She and Bal both confirmed the identity of the woman - she's a dancer who goes by the name "Angel."

"What else did she find out?"

"The Angel is being a false idol," she muttered between small gulps.

Marcus turns first to Cerri, and then to Doris "The dancer isn't the woman we want?"

"Not. That's not. What I am meaning." Her frown intensified.

"Angel is not blond nor fair of skin." Blunt.

Marcus looks to Cerri first "I'm sorry, Ms. Cerri - I didn't understand you." His voice is soft - gentle, even - his apology sincere.

"If I understand Miss d'Galdis correctly, the woman known as 'Angel' is a woman of Asian descent operating under some sort of illusion. Have I followed the pattern correctly?"

Marcus looks towards Cerriphan, all jocularity gone.

"Yes. The lotus. She is not being kith or kin. She's wrong. Wrongness." The word hissed out quietly.

Marcus' eyes widen, and he says only "Kuei-jin."

"It may be that she is one of our neighbors. I wonder who holds the permits on the building..." The implication that the city's controlling clan might not have actual control of things is subtle but clear.

"That was the first thing I was going to look into when I got back to my lab. I'll let you know what I find." His tone is all business.

"Just...file a request with your boss." Elaborate exasperation. "Copies of most of the permits are in that giant silver dick cluttering up the skyline." Doris is in A Mood.

"Ms. Ashview, I could do that." Quiet, professional. He pauses. "Or, I could assume that if someone is going to protect a strip-club front with enough digital security to give me pause on-site that they can fake permits, and arrange for a signal to be sent up the food chain if anyone inquires into the ownership, and try to get the information covertly."

"Try to act with more discretion than Miss d'Galdis has implied you used this evening if you would be so kind. Mister Gordon is aware you are here at my request."

"I do not know what Ms. d'Galdis suggested, however I will take more care in the future."

"She said you made a bartender suspicious."

Cerriphan frowned. "It was having being a combination. Lizzy was getting upset, too. Tried to quelling. Asked several questions."

Marcus considers for a moment, thinking back over the evening. "I believe that the bartender was concerned about tension between Ms. McCrory and I, but I could be wrong. I'll be more careful next time."

"Good." The matter seems to be closed for now. She stirs the contents of her snifters to ensure even warming.

"Marcus, Before you go, I have located the correct storage unit to be investigated, So if you would like to schedule a time to take a look, I'm not sure what all is on your agenda and how you are triaging issues." Enoch mentions to the Ventrue. "Also if the dancer is Kuei-Jin, then perhaps this escalates the time table on putting pressure on China Town. I'll press Ben about setting up the meeting. Also Raziel, we will have to introduce you to Dr. Pendleton and Ben. Dr. Pendleton is our Primogen here in town, we will be staying at his estate for the time being." Marcus looks up at Enoch. "Mr. Malachai, I'll make it a priority. Would you care to join me?"

"Certainly. Do you mind terribly if my Childe accompanies us? I'd like for him to get the lay of the land and start to prove his worth to the city."

"Your childe? On your recommendation, I would be pleased for the extra help. Though I don't think I've met your childe..." His voice trails off.

Marcus extends his hand to shake "Mr. Raziel. Welcome, I'm pleased to meet you. May I ask which war?"

Raziel stands up "Please to meet you to Marcus!" he extends a hand, "I will do what I can to help with this container.  I presume you would give me the rundown enroute"

"Raziel, Which war did you come home wounded after?"

"World War II, Winnipeg Rifles.  Got off the beach fine... the fucking Orchards were a different issue"

Marcus looks visibly impressed when you reference the Royal Winnipeg regiment. "Welcome. And thank you."

"Thank you? for what?"

"For your service. You have been busy, Mister Malachai, did you require refreshment?" Doris is still minding her gently warming brandy snifters full of vampire food.

Marcus nods to Doris "Yes, for your service."

"oh, yeah well I know it is a Cliche, but thank Johnson, and Fredrichs, and Osmancheko and all the rest that never got to see the Orchards... but I am not an asshole so, your welcome."  Raziel pauses "Well, no I am an asshole... but... you know what I mean."

"Of the two of you, I find Cerriphan less difficult to follow." Doris finally remembers she made herself a drink. The drink is past tense, so she refreshes it, then takes the bottle of red over to Victoria to refresh her drink and generally goes about the automatic motions of a hostess attending to her guests.

"We've not met before, Mr. Raziel - but you'll find I don't do cliches." He smiles warmly "But I know what you mean."

"I'm fine for now, Thank you Ms. Ashview."

Cerriphan looked up from the table, eyes blinking wildly. "Huh, what?"

There is another snifter at Cerriphan's elbow because Doris has frustrated parenting instincts and Marcus Gordon has refused all petitions to allow her to keep a cat.  Lieutenant Rook's drink is refreshed when she returns to the bar or removed and replaced if he has ignored it until the ice has melted and made a dubiously tolerable whiskey into an undrinkable nightmare. Then she rather fastidiously tidies up the bar area and records the number of pints expended from the hidden refrigeration unit so the restock order is accurate.

The babushka trash panda is the cat now. In all seriousness, Cerriphan takes the next drink with all the grace of a famished raccoon, mumbling her thanks. Again.