2024.04.18: Marcus visits the Brujah

A tall man, steps out of a black sedan. A knee-length overcoat covers most of his clothing so that he doesn't look TOO out of place in this neighbourhood. He is looking for where he can find Sarah Moore, who was identified as the Brujah Primogen in the previous evening's meeting.

Along the riverwalk, just at the border between the Gordon Industries-controlled territory and the Brujah grant, a tiny punk with terrifyingly pink hair and a curvaceous auburn-haired vintage goth are having an intense conversation. The level of emotion is visible at several dozen yards, even if the words are not. They are apparently in the middle of what started out as a civil discourse.

Marcus approaches the two, walking with purpose, but leaving space for them to finish their argument. Whatever these two are fighting about, it is clearly not his concern.

As the Ventrue approaches, the curvy redhead turns out to be Doris and the punk turns out to be the California transplant Jackie West.

"I need you to trust me. I'm not unsympathetic and I know what it looks like on the surface." Doris is emotionally invested enough in the conversation that a bit of Irish lilt has crept into her otherwise call center neutral pitch and tone. "There are rights and protections I can invoke to get..."

Jackie cuts her off. "Why should I trust you? You're as much his creature as that crazy..." Both women notice Marcus' approach and shut up. Jackie stares him down a moment with an expression of utter loathing for all things in suits then stalks off. Doris watches the other woman go with a moment's expression of deep unhappiness ghosting across her features, then she is all Vivian Leigh RBF and cool professionalism.

Marcus walks up to Doris "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything - I was looking for the Primogen. Is everything alright?"

"Just...business." Everything is not all right, but Doris is not going to admit that. "Ms. Moore is from here. There was a small town zoned here before Gordon moved in. She is, as one would expect, not a fan."

Marcus nods "I would expect as such but be that as it may. Friends on all sides has its advantages." He pauses, disbelieving her, but choosing not to start a public argument. "It hardly looked - or sounded - like 'just business' - but that's likely a conversation for a more quiet place." His tone is quiet, but he is clearly concerned.

"Ms. West and I have political leanings in common, she just is not willing to believe that." Flat.

"My dear, this sounds like something deeper than political differences."

"Nothing is exactly as it appears. Nothing." She sounds displeased with the fact. There is an impatient, repressed flexing and balling up of her hands.

He places his hands over the balls of hers "Doris, we can only be what we are - you know this. Are you alright?"

"Fine. I am fine." Curt. "The garage they operate out of is this way."

"Doris, I know you too well to believe that - but now is neither the time, nor place." He says it quietly, and gives her hands a quick squeeze "I'll see you at the Devil later?"

There is a noncommittal grunt in reply, then a slightly more gracious "You know you are always welcome in my home."

"I know." He smiles briefly "Thank you. I suppose I shall be moving out shortly - you can have your space to yourself again."

"It has been...nice having someone knocking about, even if it is an efficiency apartment and barely large enough for one." The slightest of half-smiles. She has stepped off again, ambling slowly towards the heart of the district. By some miracle, New Albion is delightfully walkable.

Marcus turns towards the garage that was indicated in search of Primogen Moore.

The half-smile twists into a smirk as her observation is left without immediate comment. "Are we not discussing your schoolboy blushes, then?"

He offers Doris an arm "What can I say, Cerri's ... insights strike rather close to the chest."

Doris snorts in amusement and tucks her hand into the crook of Marucs' arm. She maintains  a respectable distance, not too far away, nor encroaching on his core personal bubble. "Did they? How interesting..."

He smiles "You cannot possibly be surprised."

"I can be. The last time we spoke you denied all charges..." There is the gentle bump of her elbow against his ribcage.

"Are you really surprised?" He asks softly. "Though", he considers, after a moment's hesitation, "I suppose I did laugh it off, when charged."

"You did. You also worked very diligently to secure my well-being. I never listen to what people say...words are so meaningless." The buildings around them have shifted slowly towards the less posh. Not boarded-up and graffiti-tagged but...not as orderly and neat as the Ventrue-controlled district and those views visible from that side of the river. This is the sort of area normal people with small hopes and dreams live. It might even be the core of the old town.

He doesn't respond for a moment. He is taking in the area - very different from what he has become accustomed to, but reminiscent of his home town growing up. "You knew all along." He chuckles, and it is almost self-deprecating. He could be wrong but doubts it.

"Without evidence, it is mere supposition." The two of them seem out of place, him and his well-tailored overcoat and her with her black lipstick and Morticia Addams aesthetic. "But you dropped everything and crossed a continent because I needed your help."

They end up at what looks like a garage that is also half pick-and-pull junkyard.  It also looks closed in a way that suggests "closed" means "fuck off." Doris knocks at a slightly rusty metal side door.

"Of course I did. And you haven't even told me what you need help with yet." The grin she knows flashes for a moment "Though maybe you did just want my company in this place."

He eyes the door to the garage carefully, and listens for signs of life... er... unlife from within

"You are terrible at your job if you cannot figure out why a gentleman of your particular skillset might be useful..." She repeats the knock, a patterned staccato.

It opens a crack. Then it shuts and there is the sound of security measures being disengaged. Once it opens fully, it reveals...a mechanic. He might have been in the background at the meeting. He is...mostly nondescript, the sort of person one overlooks if one is rich. "Hey, Baxter. Is Sarah around?"

"My dear, that truly WAS a joke." He smiles as he says it. "Though I still have not heard your half of this tale." He pauses as she knocks again.

He commits the pattern of knocks to memory for future use, and his hands immediately drop to his sides as the door begins to open - uncertain as he is of what may lie on the other side.

The man identified as "Baxter" shrugs. "Maybe," he hazards unhelpfully.  His attention is not on the more-or-less familiar woman but on the overdressed man at her side. Sizing him up. "Why's the new guy here?"

Marcus hardens his voice a notch, "I have business with Primogen Moore." His tone brooks no argument.

"Marcus..." There is a hint of disapproval in her tone. "I think he is here to help."

Baxter looks unconvinced. "Since when do Gordon's thugs care about our problems?"

"Mr. Baxter, suffice it to say that I'm looking into a problem that may be related to one of yours. It may not, of course, but doesn't it make sense to have a chat and see if our interests align?"

"So he doesn't actually care." The door half shuts.

Marcus pauses for a moment, before trying again "Mr. Baxter, if I understand things correctly, you have people missing. I'm not here on orders - but I AM here - and offering to help."

There is a tiny creak as the door stops in its progress shut. "Why?"

A small hand slams against the heavy metal door. "Dammit, Baxter. He's here because *I* asked him. Not Gordon." The outburst is enough emphasis and underscoring that the door eases back open slightly. Or she just hit it hard enough to catch the Brujah on the other side by surprise. "They're not all ruthless spreadsheet-worshipping assholes. Just Caius. I swear."

He grins "She's right. I can't stand spreadsheets."

"You know I'm sympathetic to Jackie's point of view, too. And we can make it work...but not if you turn them away when they come offering help for free goodwill." Another thump on the door. There are hints this is an argument the little Toreador has had with the local Brujah before.

"...I know. Jackie got here about ten minutes before you did..."

"Oh. You should have said." She sighs softly. "You know where to find me when Sarah calms down."

Marcus looks at Doris "Should I come back later?"

"I'll explain on the walk back." She sighs. "I'm sorry." The apology seems to encompass both men.

Marcus nods quickly before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a business card. "Mr. Baxter, please give this to Primogen Moore, and have her get in touch with me. Perhaps I can help."

"Yeah. Maybe." The card is accepted, and the door rather gently pushes shut.

Doris sighs and drags her hands through her hair. There is bitter muttering in what has to be Gaelic, dark thoughts she does not wish to share. Then she turns away and strides off, a traditionally ladylike pace discarded in her frustration.

Marcus turns away with her, his work for the moment completed. As they walk back towards his car, he says simply "Talk to me."

"Anarchs." An eloquent one-word answer.

A snort "Evidently, but not specific."

"I am trying to avert a rebellion."

Marcus shakes his head for a moment "So much to talk about..." He says it almost to himself, before turning to the diminutive Elder beside him. "I need details if I'm going to help you. I need you to trust me." His voice is firm, but not unkind. "Tell me everything." He pauses, before offering his arm "And we can discuss the other when we return to the bar."

"Which everything?" The question does not bode well.

"You said you're trying to avert a rebellion. I assume that has something to do with both your conflict that I witnessed the end of earlier this evening, and the lack of calm of Primogen Moore." He pauses a moment, "If I am going to help you avert this rebellion, I need to understand the details that go into the story.

"Sarah is Primogen by right of arms and not entirely inclined to work within the parameters of the Tower. Baxter is torn. Jackie is an Anarch from California. She is developing a following. I...am as I am. I do not know if I can steer this mismatched team." She has her arms hugged against herself as she walks, as if the cool evening is bothering her.

"We cannot sustain infighting right now. I can only provide so much leverage without upsetting other delicate balances."

Marcus doffs his overcoat, and places it around her shoulders. "Why are they looking to revolt - or is it simply politics?"

"Jackie sees no difference between the Tower and the Sword. She is convincing the rest of her clan that her view is right." An unhappy sigh. The coat, clearly far too large, seems to have no impact on the dead woman's body language.

"Then perhaps there could be value to my looking into their ghoul problem..."

He places a hand, comfortingly, on the smaller Kindred's arm "We'll get this sorted."

"It is good to have a friend to lean on." She glances up, flashing a tired smile.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives a squeeze, returning her smile, saying nothing.

"Your people just...will not compromise. Nor will they listen to me. Caius Marcellus has the vote locked rather firmly in his interest and is immune to my charm." More bitterness. "Steven listens, but he is just a child and has just as much leverage as I do."

"The Primogeniture vote, you mean?"

"I can work with Marcus, but he is not the only man with a vote. I have to work around his lackeys."

Marcus smiles "As much as I say that I hate spreadsheets, I DO know how to work  boardroom table."

"How much time is there?"

"Uncertain. There is also Gordon's pet crusade. Solve that and you -along with everyone else involved- will be a hero." The car is within line of sight at last.

Marcus nods at this, and steps to open the passenger-side door for Doris as they reach his sedan. "Then in the short term, I suppose I need to try to defuse tensions between Gordon and the Brujah, which will buy time for everything else."

Doris slides into the car with practiced ease. "Charm the Prince. I can work with the others to win you a little trust."

Marcus closes the door behind her, before sliding into the driver's door. "So just be myself?" He says with a grin.

"Excel. So... perhaps." Another tired smile.

Marcus nods and pulls away from the curb, his GPS directing him to the Blue Devil.