Let's Play: Vampire: Bloodlines

[BitVyper]

Originally Posted by Mr.Bookworm

Negotiate them to death.

Wow, someone knows exactly how to play a Ventrue. And I'm not being sarcastic here.

And no one finds this weird?

Eh, there's weirder things in the world of the living. Anyway, like I said, they CAN make themselves look normal, and that's generally what one does if they have to interact with humans.

[DFM]

They're mainly narcotics people, Mercurio had said. That means they've got to be used to dealing with people who looked worse than me. If I act like someone who belongs there, they might not give me a second thought.

I don't know how I'm going to get the Astrolite once I'm inside, but I'll consider this a small victory if I even get that far.



"Help you with something?"

"I'm here to see Dennis about you-know-what."

THe nods, waving me off and stepping aside.

"Yeah, yeah. Go on in. And if you wanna make my night, start some trouble in there."

"I'll be sorry to disappoint."



At least the first step's going smoothly.



I pass the front porch window. At least one goon in the living room. I can hear another playing a video game.



I enter the front door and make my way around towards the kitchen, making note of where the guards are. Then, something catches my eye.



A stack of money on the table near the counter. A lot of it. I think those bills are twenties. The idea is instantaneous. The execution might be a problem. I glance for a moment at the two thugs playing cards, making sure neither saw me enter. I crouch down and step lightly behind the counter. When I'm there, I reach my hand over and grope around the table until I feel the bills. I grab them and hold my breath while I pull them back over the counter, waiting for shouts and gunfire.

It never comes.



I stuff it in my massive purse and leave the room quickly, quietly, almost giddy. I guess whoever came up with karma wasn't completely full of shit.



I walk down towards the end of the hall and push open the door. The man in white has to be Dennis. And that wired jug of chemical cleaners has to be the Astrolite.



"Okay... yeah, listen up girl. Cash money up front and that is non-negotiable in your case. So we're perfectly clear, I have got not one moral fiber restraining me from hitting a bitch should she get out of line, you understand?"

His tone softens slightly.

"That said, what can I do to make you feel like the world is your bucket of fudge ripple with walnuts?"

"That depends. What have you got?"

"My staff maintains at all times a twenty-four carat smorgasbord of A+ narcotics guaranteed to make the competition's shit seem like a weak cappuccino in comparison. White, green, blues, reds, black - you pick a color."

"I was thinking a little more... dangerous. Say, some explosives."



"Explosives? Fun stuff. You can get yourself a lotta attention that way. I may have somethin'. Why would you need to get your hands on some fireworks?"

I cross my arms and give my best contemptuous look.

"Let's just say it'll be a cold day in hell before I let my husband think he's getting anything from the divorce proceedings."

He smiles and almost laughs. I don't know if he bought it but at least he's not asking anymore questions.

"Sure, okay. I got some stuff that'll do the trick. Astrolite. It's like TNT's bigger, meaner cousin with a prison record. I don't like keepin' the stuff around, too dangerous, so I'll let you have it for a little less than the goin' rate."

He asks for three hundred dollars. I dig in my purse and hand him his money. Easy come, easy go. I hope he isn't attached to his finances enough to recognize it.



"You just bought yourself a bomb. You get caught with this, you ain't get it from me, understand? I don't care if you tell 'em Santa Claus brought it for you. But you drop my name, and you'll wish you would have blown yourself up."



I take the Astrolite and walk back towards the stairs. I don't exactly feel comfortable holding it, but I don't have much of a choice.



I start down the stairs when I notice the woman from before. I figure at the very least she owes me an answer about how she knew what I was after.



I open my mouth but she interrupts, her movements jerky, her hand gestures erratic.

"The end... He's smiling. Why is he smiling? The... the father? Is it- Is it the father behind him?"

"What? I don't-"

"You chased it, hunted for the one at the top of the city... on the sea... no, underground... Ha! You found it... killed them, took it from the crypt, heh... Wait... it's open? He... it's open! IT'S OPEN! RUN! OH GOD, RUN!"



She grabs me by the shoulders and screams it at me. Her grip isn't strong. She must be human. I want to shove her, smash in her nose, but I know that isn't going to help anybody.

"Get off me, what the fuck?"

She stops and blinks at me for a moment before releasing her hands and stepping backwards awkwardly.

"Ah... I... sorry. Sometimes I see... no, it's nothing. Forget what I say."

"You're... a seer?" A lifetime ago I would've thrown sand in her eyes and pushed her into the water for trying to pawn off her fairy tale horse shit on me, but now... I don't really know. "...Can you tell me my fortune?"

She shakes her head.



"No. Fortune is not your destiny. All of us are unfortunate. Every time I sleep the future plays out before me. I know the ending... it will end over and over again until I cease to dream. I know your questions. For a hundred dollars, I'll tell you what you don't want to hear. I need the money to leave this place."

I don't want to know that badly. I don't have the money even if I did.

I leave the beach and make my way back to Mercurio's.



I stop just outside the door. It doesn't seem right. Dennis jumped him, beat him almost to death, took his money and his bomb... I feel like I should at least get his money back. It'd be the least I could do.

I'm not going back to the beach house, though.

I turn around and stroll through Santa Monica. There's got to be a few hundred dollars lying around somewhere. Or an expensive errand that needs to be run.



No.

I'm not working in another Diner as long as I live.



I heard their advertisement on the radio. They didn't say anything about looking for help, but it couldn't hurt to poke around.



The tiny office inside is filled with fast food containers, pizza, donuts and an ugly, fat man. I imagine one's related to the other.



"Hey there, miss. I'm Arthur Kirkpatrick, and this is Kirkpatrick's Bail Bonds. What can I do for you this evening?"

"Hi there. I'm going to assume you own the business?"

"Yup. Sure do. I'm a third-generation bondsman. Got a few employees, but I handle most every aspect of the business."

I glance around the grungy, garbage strewn office.

"I ah, don't see any other employee's, Arthur."

"I gotta have a few other bondsmen to keep the place open twenty four hours. Plus a bounty hunter. I pull the graveyard shift cuz' that's when all the crazy shit happens in Santa Monica."

I lean against the file cabinets and try to give off the impression of seeming relaxed and indulging in idle chitchat.

"Bounty Hunter, hmm? Bet that's an interesting line of work."

"You betcha. I used to do some bounty huntin' back in the day. Takes a good solid set o' brass balls, uh, pardon the expression missy, but it takes balls to be a good bounty hunter."

"Your guy any good?"



"Yep. Damn good. His name's Carson and he's great what he does. Well, when he wants to do it. I can't seem to find him now, though. He's pissin' me off to be honest. I need him to go find someone."

"Really? Maybe I could find his guy for you instead."

"Well, I don't feel right cuttin' Carson loose just yet. We go way back. I knew his father, too. Tell ya what, since you want work and I'm stuck here, why don't you find Carson instead? Just real quick, I'll pay ya good for your time."

I nod.

"It's a deal."

"Great, great! I suppose the first place you should check is his aparment in Santa Monica Suites, apartment one, I think it is. Maybe you'll find somethin' there even if he's not. Here's a key card that'll let you in."

"I'll get him back to you in no time, Arthur."

I take the key card between my fingers and wave behind my back as I walk out. Hunting the hunter. Hopefully he isn't too hard to find.



I take the side alleys back to Santa Monica Suits, making a detour to drop the Astrolite off at the hole in the wall LaCroix decided was an apartment. I decide against paying Mercurio a visit until I've got some money for him.



Carson looks like he's doing fairly well for himself.



There's a tape recorder sitting next to the sofa. I click the play button while I rummage around the room.

"Check? Check? Is this thing on? Um, ah-" The man in the recording clears his throat. "-This is Carson, operational entry sixty seven. The McGee case is getting stranger by the minute."



"Every time I think I've got a lead on him, my informant disappears before I can rendezvous. At least I finally managed to pry my sources for his last known whereabouts."



"He wasn't there when I stormed the premises, but there was... there was some creepy shit in that basement."



"I've got one last lead I'm going to try before I give up the ghost. Not that I'm going to sleep any better knowing McGee's still out there."



"This is Carson, end report."



Damn it.



Alright, let's see.





That's got to be it.











Bingo. I head out the door of Carson's apartment and onto the streets of Santa Monica. In my mortal years I would've given Carson up for dead and the afterlife hasn't done much to soil my optimism. It isn't long before I reach the tattoo parlor Carson mentioned.



Charming place.

-----------------------

Next update:

The Curious Case of Mr. McGee

[BitVyper]

Huh.... I never did that sidequest....

Really awesome on the narration, DFM.

[Azisien]

Holy hell who actually has nipples that large!

Stuck with me through the whole post too.

[Loyal]

I'm imagining Chris Tucker as the voice of Dennis and it makes the whole dialogue ten times better.

[DFM]

Okay does anyone know some kind of freeware mass file converter? Because Jesus Christ Almighty I am not spending another three hours loading and re-saving fifty + images in Paint anymore.

I'll buy the full version of fraps if I have to.

[Krylo]

You can do it with irfanview.

[DFM]

I step out of the drizzling rain and into the musk of a tattoo parlor that's been too long abandoned.



Grime and mold seep through the faded wallpaper and the ceiling plaster must have collapsed to the floor decades ago. A messy trail leads through the lingering dust and into the basement. Despite appearances, I guess it's had a recent tenant.



Carson had said McGee wasn't here when he'd come calling, but that didn't mean he hadn't moved back in when the cat was away. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll find Carson stuffed in a trunk in the basement and I could take my money and call it a day.



No, got to stop thinking like that. Don't worry about the money, worry about finding Carson, making sure he didn't get jumped by this murderous McGee character. That's what's important. That's what I care about.



That and the money.



The basement is dirty, sparse. There's an old mattress on the floor in the corner and a TV on top of a pile of boxes. I notice a collage on the wall, and not the artsy type.



McGee isn't here, and neither is Carson, but this is a pretty big neon sign saying where one or both of them might have run off too. Must have been hoping to get some modeling money from the prosthetics shop. McGee probably needed the cash to flee the country from whatever crimes were hounding him. He'd probably be long gone by now, but if Gimble hadn't paid him in cash, I could... well, I couldn't, anymore, but Arthur might be able to trace the money and find out where it's getting dumped.

If he had gotten paid in cash, well-



The phone rings.

It rings a second time and I make my towards the utilitarian hanging. On the third ring, I slip it off its stand. I talked my way into some Astrolite, I can talk my way into some McGee.



"McGee's Residence."

"Hello there!" The voice on the other end was chipper, vaguely business-like.

"Is Mr. McGee available?"

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. Can I take a message?"

He sounds a little disappointed.

"Oh. Well, this is Mr. Gimble. McGee agreed to do some modeling work for me. We had a photo shoot scheduled a few days ago, but he never showed up. I haven't been able to get a hold of him since, do you know when he'll be back? I normally wouldn't bother like this but it's awfully hard to find a good prosthetics model in this city. Well, for a reasonable price, anyway."

"No, I don't know. I'm looking for him myself."

"Really? What a coincidence! Why are you looking for him?"

"Just an old friend from out of down. Thought I'd check up on him while I was here, but... well, you know how that's going."

"Quite right, quite right. Hmm... you know, maybe if we pool our efforts we can find this mysterious McGee fellow? What do you say?"

"Sounds like a good idea, I'm in."

"Splendid! Why don't you come on down to my offices and we'll see what we can dig up. I'm at the end of main street, a smaller studio for now until we get established downtown. Always got to be building the brand, you know."

"I know."

"Just ring the buzzer and I'll let you in. See you soon!"



I hang up the phone. He didn't sound like he was a wonder child detective, but I don't suppose I'm in any kind of position to refuse help at this point. At the very least he might have some permanent records on McGee. I head up the basement stairs and out of the tattoo parlor, hitting the rainy street. It isn't long before I find the studio.



I head down a small flight of stairs until I reach a security door and an intercom.



I press the buzzer.

"Yes?" Still sounds chipper.

"I talked to you on the phone."

"Ah, yes. I'll buzz you in!"

There's a clicking as en electronic lock falls out of place. I open the door and listen to it latch shut again behind me as I enter the room.



"Hello, there! Welcome to Gimble's Medical Supplies and Prosthetics. You're here about the missing Mr. McGee, am I right?"

"That's right. You said we might be able to track him down if we worked together?"

"Yes, yes I rather believe so, anyway. I'm not much of bloodhound myself, but since you seem like the go-getter type, I believe that if I can get you on his trail, a whiff of his scent so to speak, you can locate him!"



"And then maybe I can finally have a decent model, for once."

"You're saying you have something I can use?"

"I do. It's not a forwarding address proper, but I think it's a clue as to where he might be hiding. I'm afraid I can't make much sense of it, though."

"What is it?"

"I think it might be a genuine riddle. I believe McGee himself left it, but I've no real way of knowing. Wait here just a moment, I'll run to my office and grab it."

"Alright, sure."

"Right then! Back in a jiffy!"



Gimble disappears into his office to dig up whatever it was he'd found. I take a look around the waiting room.



I think for the first time since I've arrived in Santa Monica, I've found somewhere clean. I might have to see about living down here instead of the mutant spider motel.



I take a seat on the sofa and glance through month old magazines. Hookers, dogs, second world war... nothing to really grab my interest. Gimble's certainly taking a long time. I pick up a copy of the LA Sun. Today's date, talk about a lucky break.



Every time I think I've got a lead on him, my informant disappears before I can rendezvous..



There's a scream from behind the door.



I jump to my feet and pull the gun from my purse.



I lean against the door frame, shouting through the solid block of aluminum.

"Gimble?!"

There's no answer. Check your corners. I kick open the door and wheel to the left.



Dead end. I spin to the right.



Shit. Lots of cover. Lots of places to hide.

"McGee! McGee you piece of shit come out with your hands where I can see them!"

I don't think he'll really do it, but if he knows there's someone coming it might make him get the hell out of dodge and give me time to help Gimble if he's still alive. If nothing else, it makes me feel a little less like someone who's about to get smashed in the head by a serial killer lurking in the shadows.



Jesus Christ, Gimble, could you make your workshop any more creepy?



There's a flight of stairs off the far wall. I take them one at a time, weapon raised. Water's dripping from the overhead pipes. The air feels musty. Still. Like a tomb.

I take my left hand off the revolver grip and push the door at the bottom of the stairs slowly open.



I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but I know it's wrong. I jerk a quick glance behind me, half expecting to see a machete falling towards my head.



Nothing.

I take a step into the room and look to the right.



I don't like this. Gimble? I think about shouting out another taunt, maybe ward off McGee or Gimble or whoever else is down here at this point, but I can't. I can't bring my mouth to make a sound. At least I'm not breathing. Breathing could give me away.



I move further down the hall. No sound. No breathing, no screams. Just the water dripping and the uneven clicking of my shoes on cement. It's getting damper, almost feels like I'm walking through water. There's a door at the bottom of the stairs.



I can see a television monitor. I push the door open slowly, quietly, trying not to make a sound.



No...



No no no no no...



I move faster down the next set of stairs. Don't be scared. Don't be scared. Whoever you're after, he won't be expecting something like you and that's it, that's all the advantage you need. You'll bear your fangs and roar and he'll piss himself right before you put a bullet in his head.

Whatever he's seen before, whatever he's done, he can't kill you because you're already dead and a lifetime of being Hannibal Lecter won't prepare him for that.



There's no dripping anymore. No air moving. No sound at all. I take a breath I don't need and kick.

The double doors aren't locked. They aren't even fully closed. I bellow as loud as I can.

"GET THE FUCK ON THE FLOOR! GET THE FUCK-



A tiny bit of air rustles past my head. Then a voice. Weak. Frantic.



"Cops! Oh Jesus Thank Christ! You gotta get me outta here! You fuckin' gotta get me out of here!"

There's a cell door to the right. Somebody's inside but I can't see who. The voice sounds like Carson.

"Carson?"

"Yeah! Yeah! You gotta hurry up! I don't know when he'll be back."

"Who? Gimble? McGee?"

"Who? What-" His eyes go wide. He starts to scream something I can't hear.



Something heavy hits me in the back of the head.

I crash sideways onto the cement floor and my purse smashes against the ground, thirty eight caliber ammunition scattering in every direction. I start to get up when the same something hits me in the face. I feel the skin tear off.



I can't see.

There's too much blood. I can't think. I can't see. I can't see.



Feet are pounding on the ground, charging towards me. I can't think. There's skin hanging off my skull. I fire three shots before the gun's knocked out of my hand I'm sent me flying into the wall.


A crash. My spine feels like it's shattered. I fall forward. My body's on fire. I can't move. I can't even think. Jesus. Jesus Christ it hurts. I push myself to my knees.

I see a tie.

I see a tie.


There's a tie coming for me.



Gimble.




Gimble.



Gimble.




"GIMBLE!"



The roar comes from my throat and he stumbles at the sound of it, at the flash of fangs, at the monster woman who doesn't die. I punch him. I throw everything I have into a haymaker and I land it in the center of his face. I hear the bone shatter beneath his skin. He crashes into his operating table, torture implements scattering across the floor alongside blood and thirty-eight rounds.

I scramble across the room towards the overturned table. I want him dead. I want to eat him, I want to tear out his heart, I want to tear off his flesh until there's nothing but bone.

I leap over the table and Gimble rises to meet me with a knife in his hand. There's a screaming pain in my shoulder. Worse than anything. He's too fast. I slam against the ground and bounce until I hit the wall. I can't move my arm.

There's blood everywhere.




I can't hear anything.





I think I'm dying.


Gimble's moving in slow motion. Charging. Knife in the air. His mouth's open. I can't hear what he's screaming.

Gun.


The gun's lying in front of me.


Time's getting slower.


I grope at it, clutch it awkwardly in the hand that still moves. I raise it. It's level. I can see Gimble's head through the iron sights.



It's getting too dark.

I can't see anymore.


I pull back on the trigger.


An explosion. Blood. Gimble crashes on top of me. It makes me drop the gun.



Everything goes black.







When I finally come to, Gimble's rolled off me on his own accord. There isn't much left of his head. My arm still aches and the scar is still there, but I can move it a little now. I feel quickly around my face. Everything seems to be fine. Gimble's operating room is in ruins. I don't feel anything. Not scared, not angry... shell shock, I guess. Something stirs in one of the cells.

"Lady! Hey! Lady are you moving? Oh my god, you're still alive! I... holy shit!"

I climb slowly to my feet and walk carefully over to the door, stepping over bullets and metal.

"Carson, right?"



"Yeah, yeah I'm Carson, holy shit, that... what the fuck?"

"How long was I out?"

"A... a few hours, I thought you were dead! You killed him, I don't believe it! What were you doing here?"

I grab my left shoulder and try to adjust it. I don't think it's dislocated.

"Arthur sent me to find you. Was worried when you went missing."

"Really? Oh Jesus Christ... Jesus Christ do I fucking owe that guy."

"He needs you for a job, I imagine that'll be thanks enough."

"Oh. Oh ho ho ho no. Nuh-Uh. Not anymore. Not after this shit. If he thinks I'm going anywhere but a fucking beach resort after this..."

I glance back at the room.

"What was Gimble doing to you?"

"Aw, shit... He's been taking pieces off of me and McGee here for three days. Cuts em' off and takes them to that room back there, god knows what he was doing. He cut off half my goddamn hand, trigger finger too. Even if I wanted to keep bounty hunting, I couldn't, now."

I rub my temple.

"Alright, I'll tell him this was all for nothing. Good luck on... whatever."

I flip the switch to Carson's cell and he hurries out, spewing thank-you's and I-owe-you's out his ass. I hope McGee's rescue makes all of this a little less completely worthless.



"Hey, McGee. Guardian Angel's here. You live to commit half-assed misdemeanors another day."



Oh.



Fuck.

I don't check out the room where Gimble'd been taking his trophies. I don't care. I take the gun, and the purse, and some of my ammo. With my left arm barely working it's not worth the trouble to gather the rest of it. I stuff everything into the purse and slide it on my shoulder. I don't look back for the rest of the long walk out of the basement, through the studio and out into the rainy night.



Mercurio better be goddamn ecstatic.

[Rokrin]

That's a hell of a narration. Can't wait for the next one.

[Amake]

Hey, why isn't the game that interesting when I play it? I'm jealous. :I