Let's Play: Vampire: Bloodlines

[EVILNess]

When is she gonna get some new clothes?

I don't know how common clothes are in the actual game, or even if you can even change them... but she probably needs a new dress.

[Mirai Gen]

I don't think you can do it. I dunno, my computer hated the game, I'm not 100% sure.

[Jagos]

schizophrenia -
psychiatric diagnosis that describes a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. It most commonly manifests as auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions or disorganized speech and thinking in the context of significant social or occupational dysfunction.

Jeanette/Therese has DID:

Dissociative Identity Disorder-
psychiatric diagnosis that describes a condition in which a single person displays multiple distinct identities or personalities, each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment.

One means you're really paranoid but one single mind.

The other means you have more than one personality that may or may not know about one another.

[Insert "The more you know them here]

[Melfice]

What are the odds of Helen having followed a psychiatry course or having a big enough interest in psychiatry?
'Cause, honestly, not a lot of people would know that.
Helen's field of expertise is guns and explosives.

About the clothes, a new outfit will be available in Downtown. (Where we are now)

[Mirai Gen]

Oh right, from the black guy in the van?

Tangential note; My favorite thing about being a Gangrel vampire and favoring Jeanette was bumping uglies with her. It was especially funny since it doesn't even make sense, and the protagonist even points that out.

[DFM]

Chapter Two:

City of Angels



Los Angeles is a cluster of skyscrapers surrounded by miles and miles of urban sprawl. I'd done business here in the past, but as the firepower I was capable of supplying grew, I did less and less business in the states. Gangland thugs and Mafia trigger men are a great market for small arms and light explosives, but not many have any use for a fully outfitted Tiger UHT or a company of T-55's.

Although I did sell a KA50 to Boris Demidenko not long ago. God knows what a Russian don is planning on doing with Kamov class assault chopper.


Probably countering the Yakuza's T-98s.





What a glorious world that would be.




It's a short walk towards what the cab driver had said was LaCroix's tower. At first I thought I might have trouble picking it out, but I really shouldn't have worried.



Wrought iron fence mixed with giant stone slabs, gargoyles perched on ever overhang. The entire thing is a Gothic monument to every bad horror show in western Europe. Christ, LaCroix, at least try to live in something that doesn't make you look like an undead predator.



I can practically hear him cackling and rubbing his hands together from here. I walk up to the iron gate, rattling the lock.



"LaCroix! LaCroix open this thing up, I took care of your problem."

There's a tap on my shoulder. I half expect see LaCroix waiting for me, but it's just some girl. Human, from the skin tone.

"Um. Are you looking for the LaCroix tower... uh..." She looks me over for a moment. "...miss?"

"Isn't this it?"

"No." She shakes her head, pointing across the street. "The LaCroix tower is over there."



"Oh."



"Oh my."

She coughs, and I think I hear her mutter something as she leaves. LaCroix, you magnificent son of a bitch.



The doors are guarded by larger versions of the same ebony statues Therese had in her office. Some kind of Camarilla symbol? Or... an older, more general vampiric one?

Maybe there was a good auction on E-Bay.



I pull open one of the unusually heavy doors. Must be a metal core surrounded by a thin coating of wood. And the wall linings just inside the doorway hint at a larger, secondary blast door that could seal itself shut if the first wasn't going to do the job.

For an all-powerful Prince, LaCroix's putting a lot off thought into traditional security.



Amazing. The lobby is solid black and gray marble, oozing elegance with a utilitarian foundation. The artful curve of the dual stairways and waist high walls were thinly disguised defensive positions. Anything coming through the double blast doors would be funneled into two levels of shielded firing positions and a chokepoint with no cover.

If it weren't for my tattered bag-lady dress, I'd feel right at home.



Officer Chunk behind the desk was probably hired to con anyone casing the building into underestimating LaCroix's defensive position. The real security was probably waiting less than two rooms away, covered in body armor and armed with assault rifles. Probably uses his own PMC, since a contract like this would turn a lot of heads on the market and I'd never even heard of this place being anything other than a commercial building.



"Hello there, missy. Looks like you've had a spot of trouble out there on the streets. Don't worry, I'm authorized to report a 715, that's 'Civilian in need of medical assistance', I'll have an ambulance here in no time. While we're waiting, the manual here says I ought to try to stabilize your vitals and keep you from going into shock.

Are you in shock?"

He sounds just like he looks and I'd rather he hadn't interrupted my thought process.

"No, and I don't need medical assistance. I'm here on business."

"Oh." He looks me over again like he doesn't entirely believe me. "Uh... here to see one of the big wigs then, missy?"

"If LaCroix counts as a 'big wig' then yes."

He leans back and rubs his nose.

"Ah, would that be Sebastian LaCroix of the LaCroix Foundation, or Dwayne LaCroix of Insurrection Baby Formula Company?"

I lean over the desk until I'm eye to eye with him, my hands resting on his keyboard. I'm not in the mood for this shit.

"Sebastian. LaCroix."

"Uh... U-Uh alright, there... uh... missy... LaCroix told me to expect someone fitting your... uh... description sometime tonight. You... go right on up."

"Good." I straighten up and adjust what little is left of my neckline to adjust. I had a combat flight suit in my closet I could have worn to that party.

"Yeah, uh... you have a good power meetin' or uh, whatever it is LaCroix wants you for. You need any security, why, you just ring the front desk and ask for Officer Chunk. That's me, case you were wondering."

I think he takes my stare as some kind of evil eye.

"Officer Chunk is... actually..."



"Ah, yeah, I get that all the time. The name goes back to my football days."

"..."

"Well, my fantasy football days, actually. You know, at the station."

"..."

"Staion... Stationarium. That's... this office supply shop at the outlet mall I used to watch. Kept the... kept the kids in line, you know."

I spend the last half of his stuttering backing away. I don't think he caught on until I was around the corner and out of sight.



I make my way up one of the sets of stairs, towards the main elevator platform.



As I near the center of the platform, the elevator door on the furthest side dings and slides open, elevator car waiting expectantly.



Cute, LaCroix. Real cute.



There isn't any elevator music coming from the inside and it's a welcome touch. From the lack of emergency hatches, I'd say LaCroix plans to cut the cables in the event of an invasion and force the attackers up the stairs, or maybe flood the lower levels with gas. You'd need an army to assault this place. Or a MOAB to bring the whole thing down. It's probably even fortified against that.



I'm starting to hate the idea of working with the Prince less and less.

I ride the elevator up to LaCroix's penthouse office, half inspired and half disgusted by what I find at the top.





Somebody should tell LaCroix that subtle displays of wealth and power are far more impressive and livable than this kind of... grotesqueness.



It looks like some eighteenth century monarch's palace. How can his office be so gaudy and extravagant when the outside was so...



Actually... that makes sense.



On the outside he's kept up with the times, used modern styles, modern materials, designed the entire building with modern military tactics in mind, but here in his inner chamber he wants it to feel like his home, and his home is probably an eighteenth century monarch's palace.



"There you are. I was informed of your presence in this building. Since you're here, I'll take the liberty of assuming you've destroyed the warehouse... this is correct, yes?"

I fight the urge to make a snappy comeback about an intelligence network that can't even turn on the evening news.

"Yes, I-"

"Most excellent. I had doubts that you'd prove my decision a prudent one, but you've performed beyond expectations. I trust you encountered no impediments to your progress on account of... my personnel?"

There it was, dangling right in the open. He must know. He's got to know, what kind of a question is that, especially for someone like LaCroix? He's got to know Mercurio screwed up.

"Some of the vampires were a little two faced, but nothing that serious."

He leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied with the answer.

"A taste of what's to come, I'm afraid. Most of the rabble you'll encounter are no strangers to double dealing."



"You've done well, circumstances being what they were. I will admit, not many in your... position would have overcome such a trail."

That's right, LaCroix. I ate your suicide mission for breakfast. Now what?

"But don't misunderstand me, it was no fool's errand." He smiles at me, almost a little surprised. "You may yet prove to be a genuine asset. It's a bit disturbing, the lack of talent within this organization as of late. Tell me, what would you say to doing a bit of reconnaissance for me?"

Yes. This is it. This is my in. My one way ticket back to fortune and power and diamond encrusted kitchenware.

So what if I never bought any diamond butter knives? The point is I could have.

"I'd say yes sir." Sincere with a hint of self-aware irony. He seems surprised again.

"Excellent. Were you by chance in the military at all?"

"Not directly, but I've spent a lot of time around generals and officers."

"Really? I was an officer myself, actually. Napoleon's ranks."

"Then I should be in good hands. What's the reconnaissance?"



He sinks back slightly in his chair, tone becoming almost dour.

"There have been whispers, rumors spreading around the Kindred community concerning the Elizabeth Dane, the cargo ship that was towed into port recently. Have you heard of it?"

I remember the name from a news report, but nothing else.

"I... haven't, no." I hope that doesn't put a black mark on my intelligence gathering career, but LaCroix doesn't seem to mind.

"The Dane was found drifting out at sea. Reports say without crew but there's been no indication as to the fate of said missing crew. The police are investigating the Dane as we speak and even the Nosferatu have little information on what's been found."

I know that it's sometimes best to admit when you're more than a little confused.

"Why does any of that matter to us?"

"A pertinate question. The reason the ship is causing such speculation amongst Kindred is because it was transporting an archaeological artifact called the Ankaran Sarcophagus."



"Now, I am not one to predicate a decision based on conjecture, so what I need is fact and more importantly, I need evidence that whatever occurred on the Dane was not supernatural in nature and in no way relates to this Ankaran Sarcophagus."

"We need to calm the superstitious masses?"

"Exactly. You have three objectives: One - I want you to examine the sarcophagus for anything unusual. Marks, scratches, anything that might seem out of the ordinary. Do not, however, under any circumstances, open the Ankaran Sarcophagus."

"But if it's jus-"

"Secondly- the police have begun their investigation; find out what they've concluded thus far. Thirdly - take the cargo manifest for the ship; I want to find out what else it was carrying. The Dane is crawling with police, so be careful what you do in front of them. And unlike the warehouse, you cannot wholesale slaughter a ship full of lawmen without consequences. Is this understood?"

"One hundred percent, sir."



"Good. Oh, and it has come to my attention that you had an encounter with Nines Rodriguez earlier. The man so does love to throw that cretinous charm of his brashly about. What exactly did Mister Rodriguez say?"

"He wants me to meet him at the Last Round."

"Good. You should do so."

I eye him suspiciously. I never got the impression that they were the best of friends.

"You... want me to talk to him?"

"Of course. Consider it a lesson. You see, we Ventrue sometimes must take it upon ourselves to patronize the rabble and hear them out to the end of their breath with a look of genuine concern, no matter how ridiculous their notions may be."

I nod, a little slowly. So the Camarilla's not exactly open to change from the bottom up. Good information to have.

"I'll do that."

He flashes a knowing smile.

"Give the anarch community my regards."



Well, this should be interesting.







The Last Round is near the end of a dead end stretch of city road with nothing worthwhile between here and there. At least the bar's appropriately named. It's a solid half hour of walking before I reach it and I only got a few alarmed stares from the late night yuppies wandering the better parts of town.



I really need to find a GAP or something.

[DFM]

The inside of the bar is filled with smoke, bikers and eighties rock. Not my first choice of decor, but it beats the neon goth of the Asylum by a country mile.



I don't see any sign of Nines, so I start to head up the stairs when I'm stopped by a gray-skinned girl in a green beret who's most definitely a vampire.



"What's the matter? Sabbat chase you in here, Cammy?"

"Cammy?"

"Camarilla stooge, you Ventrue chucklefuck." Her accent's Californian, almost like something from the valley. She shoves me with one hand. It looks like a light tap, but it almost throws me into the wall.

"Hey, the fuck's your problem?"

"Oh Ho-Ho! You wanna know what my problem is? You are my god damn problem. Nines puts himself on the line twice saving your worthless life and you're still ready to lay it down for some cape in an ivory tower."

"A cape?"

"Cape, Cammy. Camarilla elders? The ones that've been around so long they think candlelight's a keen invention? You're doing their dirty work and you don't even know it."

"And why do you have such a plug in your butt about whose dirty work I do?"

"Ugh! Because you're so fucking stupid it pisses me off! You think LaCroix would have stopped counting his money long enough catch your back, Jack? He was ready to chop your fucking head off about five hours ago if Nines hadn't saved your ass. Shit. Looks like things worked out for LaCroix anyway. Got himself a new errand girl out of it."

"He got an associate."

I can't tell if she's going to laugh or vomit.



"Oh, that's real. Let me put it in perspective for you: the Camarilla claims every Kindred's part of the organization, regardless. You do something they don't like, even the tiniest, archaic infraction, well, you're Camarilla shitheel, so you get punished under their laws, like it or not."

"It's called basic order."

I think she's going to full on slug me this time.

"Basic order? Are you that fucking dense? You think vamps are going to suddenly start juggling cars in front of kine and setting fire to cities because there's no more Camarilla to chop their heads off when they miss curfew? Ugh! Get up there and talk to Nines before I pull your teeth out and stab you in the eyes with them."



Choosing a winning side:

Camarilla: 1

Anarchs: 0



I manage to reach the top of the stairs before I'm attacked again, voice full of mocking awe.



"Well, if it ain't the talk of the town; poster child for Camarilla benevolence. What does the prince have his little bitch doin' today?"

It might have been the redhead downstairs wearing my patience, but this shit is getting old.

"One more word comes out of that ugly face of yours and I'm tearing it off."

He laughs, still taunting. Fuck, it's like they're a bunch of frat boys.

"Oh, I see. Tryin' to start a brawl so the Camarilla sheriff has an excuse to come in and clean house. I don't think so. Ask the prince to show you the last punk who tried that trick. And while you're on the subject, tell him I want that ashtray back."

"Name."

He doesn't seem all that intimidated. Well, whatareyagonnado? I tried.

"Skelter. And before you get any ideas, you'd better keep in mind that I'll do whatever it takes to keep LA an anarch free state including putting down a know-nothing Camarilla mutt."

"Get fucked, Che. I'm here to see Nines."

He shrugs.

"So go on up and see him. You're free to do as you please, here."



Nines is leaning against the wall, tapping his hands to the beat of the rock music.



"You showed up. Good. Here's what I've got to tell you - and just so you know, I don't lecture, I don't rap, I'm no bureaucrat; I'm just a guy out of nowhere came to be involved in something five-hundred times bigger than you and me."

Another god damn speech.

"You've got a right to know the score. The Camarilla, this is the short of it - They operate a lot like a pyramid scheme. There's a bunch of these old timers at the top with God only knows what plots in mind. They lose their power, they die. They sired more to carry out their plans, and lookin' for a little power themselves, those Kindred sired for their own schemes and so on and on and on - it hurts my head just thinkin' about the mess. What it works out to is this: only a few people at the top have any real power."

"And the top starts with LaCroix."

"LaCroix? Shit... LaCroix's just the guy who backstabbed and wheeled-and-dealed his way into becoming king son of a bitch of all the local Camarilla. Him and any of the traitors who sided with the Cam, they'll get what's due."

I shake my head. Death to the Patriarchy. Viva La Revolution.

"Why do you care so much who's in charge?"

"Because I learned the way of this world during the depression. Bunch of old, rich bastards screwed the country, but did they suffer? No - the little people suffered. You can't trust the people at the top. The world'd be a better place without 'em."

"Better off without them? What exactly are you going to do?"



"Only thing you can do is get a group of people together who aren't assholes, find a place to put your feet up, and make some examples of the quote-unquote elite to keep the rest the hell out. Everyone's an equal here, the same thing this country used to be about. That's what LA has been, an Anarch Free State."

"Wait, the Camarilla's new here?"

"Yeah, the Camarilla was kicked out on their ass a long time ago. We didn't want to play their politics any more. Now LaCroix and crew pop in like they never left? Uh-uh. No goddamn way. Their bullshit doesn't apply to us."

"Not a fan of the guy in charge either, huh?"

"LaCroix represents everything I hate. The Camarilla, stuck up aristocrats, rich businessmen, crooked politicians... the only place LaCroix belongs is in an urn."

I suppose he isn't completely unjustified. I'd rather be a nobody with a bunch of other nobody's than someone else's bootlick.

Of course, I'm already past 'bootlick' and probably verging on 'special agent'.

"But you're prince of the anarchs. A little hypocritical, isn't it?"

"No such thing as 'prince of the anarchs' and again, newbie, don't throw those kinds of words around lightly, you're risking a beat down. I've fought to keep LA free since I was embraced. Long time later, I'm one of the only ones left that hasn't bit it or switched sides. Most veteran soldier on the battlefield."



"Look, the Camarilla threw you out on your ass, so here's what you need to know if you want to survive in this life: One, you get careless, that blood'll make you into a monster. And if you rampage around here you get put down. Two, don't kill when you feed - no reason to. In this city, there's lots of ways to slake the Beast without leaving a trail of dead. Three, the Camarilla's full of shit. Four, watch your back, always. And lastly, learn how to fight, kid. A speech ain't gonna save your ass when you're staring down the barrel of a shotgun."

It only takes a moment, but I think I might be able to get something out of this.

"Could you... help me with that? Learning to fight, I mean. You've got know a lot more about than I do..."

"After pickin' your ass up off the pavement back there, yeah. I can tell you don't even know the basics." He moves me slightly away, allowing me space to pantomime his movements. "Hold your hands up like this, and keep your body at an angle - makes you harder to hit. No, no, keep your thumbs outta your fists. Put your weight into your punches. There, like that. Better, newbie."



"Alright, look, you've got things to do. But remember, once you square things with LaCroix don't give that son of a bitch the time of day. He's been looking for ways to turn you to ash since he walked you off that stage."

I turn away from Nines. He seems like a stand up guy. A little vehement but... I'm hesitant to call him misguided. Law and Order and Hierarchies really doesn't seem to fit him at all. And the bit about the pyramid scheme was probably true... of course, I don't care if I'm at the absolute top. Queen of LA would be fine for awhile.

I see jack sitting at one of the corner tables, smoking what might as well have been the same cigar he had earlier that night.

I never miss a chance to reunite with old friends.



"Well well well, looky who made it back in one piece. How was Santa Monica, kiddo?"

"Wonderful, I'm taking the kids next summer."

"I know, real stroll on the beach, right? So, d'ya score a lotta skeeball tickets down on the pier there?"

"Yeah, but I barely had time to spend them between all the cotton candy and yummy bubble gum tarts."

"Hehe. Can't imagine you did. Not to mention being pushed around by every vampire with a week of seniority over you, am I right?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"That's usually the way the story goes. Same old bullshit politics from when you were alive, huh? Don't it make you just wanna rip somebody's spine out? What? You sayin' that's just me?"

"You and all the other Anarchs, probably."

I relax a little more in my chair. Jack wasn't on the seer's list of trust-able people but it damn well feels like he should be. Rebel without a cause or no, I can't imagine him being anything less than straight.

"Hey, Jack? Have you heard anything on the Elizabeth Dane?"

He leans his head back, looks like he's sizing me up for something.



"Why, plannin' on visiting?"

"...Yeah, actually. LaCroix wants me to snoop around."

"Oh really? Did he tell you about the Ankaran Sarcophagus?"

"He said it was onboard, yeah."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should fill you in on the details. That sarcophagus is bad news. Kindred around the globe have been goin' batshit since it was discovered."

LaCroix did seem awfully worried it was something more than a box with a mummy in it.

"Why? What's the big deal?"



"Word is, there's an ancient asleep in there. One of the fathers; one of the vampires that, if you traced your lineage way back, there's a chance it'd end with him at the very root."

"So he's an old fogy taking a nap."

"Ancients don't just nap, kiddo. They sleep whole ages away. And when they wake up, they're hungry."

"...How hungry?"

"End of the world hungry."

"Oh."

"The Kindred call it Gehenna, our own version of the biblical apocalypse. The way the elders tell it, it starts when the ancients rise to devour their children."

"...That's not really what's happening, is it?"

"Guess you're gonna be the one to find out!" He laughs and leans in. "Hey, good luck! Try not wake ole' Grandpa Munster and kill the world."

[Mad Jack the Pirate]

jack is quite possibly the only genuinely likeable character in the entire goddamn game.

[Amake]

Being a very tolerant person, I'd go so far as to say Jack is the most likable character I've seen so far. Passionate yet wise, having figured out a great deal of things for himself, seems to know exactly what he's doing, and he goes to great pains to act on the things he believes in, a quality for which we need a word that's the opposite of "all talk". I wanna have his babies.

Speaking of beliefs in action, I like the roleplaying that you're doing, DFM. Personally I always try to be friends with everyone and not get locked on one side that might shut me out from parts of the game on the other side. Bitching out the Anarchs for not agreeing with you is pretty ballsy.

[BitVyper]

I spent the better part of an hour trying to find my way into that fucking tower. I was cursing left and right by the time I figured out that it was the one across the street.

As for Helen's opinion of Jack; BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA