Two: Blood

"You can thank your buddy over here for that. He probably reminds her of when she was a little girl." he responds with a snort, jerking his thumb to Galaine.

The power of a scent to bring memories to the fore.

"No offense. If you’re from when I think you’re from, you probably give off a different stink to the rest of us. Heck, she’s probably old enough to have been old back in your day."

The fact that Galaine was a man out of time didn’t seem to phase the man. Then again, when Elder Vampires were showing up at your front door, you didn’t tend to question things too much.

"They ain’t friends. But they ain’t exactly enemies neither. Not until tonight at least. Reckon every city’s got their own set up, but the three families run the show here.

A Vamp is a Vamp at the end of the day. They don’t like each other, but it’s them versus us."

Them versus Them versus Us…

"You might be nifty with a sword, but what you really want is some Axe. he snorts, clearly content with his quip. "I’ve got some around here somewhere. Spray that shit all over you, and the vamps might not smell you out so good. Don’t know if it’ll keep the weres off your ass though. One thing at a fucking time!"

Then, the man groans, as if he’s just been reminded of something:

"Those assholes will be having a field day with this. The Romani just dropped a nice juicy bone into their lap. Fucker."

---

Over the next few hours, Lucielle’s feed is full of video footage from attacks across the city. News Organizations run cover on the story; at the behest of City Hall, no doubt.

As the night draws on, the video evidence online blink out of existence one by one.

Sunrise is only a few hours away by now. Things will be scurrying to their burrows soon, and the sleeping citizens of Dark City will be rising from their beds, none the wiser of the story that was squashed overnight.

"God fucking da…" Martin says, lurching forward between the front seats and pointing at a trio of vehicles approaching. Three large black jeeps, each of them identical, crawl down the street and come to a stop just beneath the steps that lead up to the gallery.

"It’s off. We don’t want to do this tonight." he groans, beating his fist against the head rest of the front passenger seat.

You watch as someone exits the front seat of the middle vehicle, and walks around to the curb-side rear door, pulling it open. At the same time, all the doors on the other vehicles open, and a group of identically dressed men file out. Wearing black suits, white shirts and headpieces, they each carry a weapon as they scan the street. Their eyes pass over the van, which causes Martin to duck.

It takes a moment for the figure in the backseat to climb the steps, and then you see him:

"The fucking Mayor. Called in by Romani, you can fucking bet."

You watch as the men all climb the steps in unison, to which the huge skinhead guard gives only the slightest of nods; only the very hint of respect for the Mayor and his position, to your eyes.