Re: Good Luck- Lot

The longer you were around the guy, the more something seemed off-beat about him... besides the obvious. For an instant, his curmudgeon attitude wore off as he sucked in a lung-full of the night air and stared up at the sky. Then he composed himself and went back to sounding like a prick. "Yes, and maybe a clean suit. Pussy first. Don't want to mess up a perfectly good suit. So where we headed anyway?"

[Lot Dolon]

A wide grin slowly crept across Lot's face and with a deep and
exaggerated bow he exclaimed, "Monsieur, women s'what I specialize! I
pray you've tha night off? If so come-come m' friend!" Lot led Mr.
Smith to his third floor room, tarried there some time changing cloths
engaging Mr. Smith in chit chat. "You've got a car? Hungry?"

Lot slipped into worn tight black jeans, faded and tattered loose black/white flannel no undershirt, bangels, a necklace with a wooden pendant his mother gave him, and old combat boots.

Busily changing cloths and gathering his wallet and loose cash and without looking at Smith, "I've got a friend whose bringing booze, green, and pills. You want some? Speaking of which I'vah gotta make a call." Rummaging through his dry and cracked jacussi and its dirty pillows and blankets, Lot dialed Bebette. He didn't seem to care that his phone call is in hearing difference of Smith. "Hey. Uh... we've got ah a fellah with us... (pause) Yea, Smith the guy in the room... (pause) yea, I think he's cool. Guys kind of stiff and pissy though... oh, right, uh, Bebette, you've gotta call in sick... Get someone else to come in if you wana party... When can we meet?" Finding what he was looking for he stuffed his piece (a small and well used "bat"-one hit) into his tight black jean pocket.

Lot then escorted Smith around the premises as he locked up the hotel and checked the rooms. And, finally, stepping outside the locked doors into the stinking damp night air, "Alright m'friend, you up for a some clean pussy?"







OC: Sry for the profanity. It doesnt bother me but it might other people.

[Claymore]

Smith maintained his sarcastic smile, only now he was looking at you like an idiot. You got the distinct sense you weren't the first to receive this look. "Well alright then. But since you've wasted my time anyway, I may as well ask you a question. Do ya know where I can find a clean girl around here? It's been a long night, as you can see", he said, motioning to his muddy, tattered suit.

[Lot Dolon]

Without missing a beat Lot changed social gears and gave Smith a coy/sly smile, "Want something, monsieur? Nonsense, no one has need of anything." He had a sarcastic tone implying the opposite. "Although, now that you mention it, I am a bit thirsty. I am of the age, you know. And yes you do have something that I might want." Lot broke his sly smile into a wide devilish grin. He paused in consideration then adopted the stock employee facade including an obviously phony erudite accient and vocabulary, "But I'm sorry monsieur, I dont know your aquaintance, so any other transactions outside this toothbrush is illadvisable."

Smith barely waited to finish turning the knob before whipping the door open, practically off it's hinges. He was in a business suit that looked like it had been worn while rolling around in the dirt, a loose tie, and frazzled hair. While you spoke, he glared at you as if you had accidentally interrupted him every time he tried to sleep for that past month, only to ask for a cup of sugar.

"Oh that's nice. A toothbrush.", he started, with enough sarcasm to feel like you had been physically punched in the back of the head. "So just in case I want to freshen up after going down on one of the floozies that frequent this roach hole, I'll be ready... thanks to you." He ended with a wide toothy smile, and added, "yes, as a matter of fact, I could use a stiff drink. But I think I'll be just fine handling that on my own. Now since we both know you don't drink, how bout we cut the bullshit. Are you so hard up on friends you don't have to pay for, or do you want something?"

[Lot Dolon]

Lot gently slid the “Back in 5 minutes. Thank you.” sign on the front desk. Giving Bebette a devily mischevious grin he gently grabbed Bebette and nuged him towards the back room. “Bebette, I need you to pick up for me. Its going to be an order but you’ve gotta make it fast.” Pausing Lot waited for the anticipated, “O.K.” response. (assuming I get it) “I need a quarter, five pain killers, and a bottle of cheep whisky.” A breath pause. “We might need a girl, too. Can you pick up a college chick? Pick up something first then call me when you’re done with your errands and I’ll let you know.” Slipping him $125.

Since prostitution was illegal (it is isn’t it!!??) girls needed a safe place to trick and seedy hotels are the ticket. Problem for most girls is that hotel cost cuts into their pay so they usually ask their first customer to pay for the room so that the girl can have it for the remaining of the night. Even still, some hotels throw out or even call the cops potentially destroying a profitable evening, not to mention the risk of an aggressive customer. My proposal would be that she would get a consistent, safe, and discreet room for free as well as strong clientele base- hotel guests- and in return for cheep services or cash. Tonight, though, I’d be asking for her to escort Larry Smith as temptation to purchase the painting for me that is if he looked promising. Who knows who this guy could turn out to be, maybe a businessman down on his luck. He did look miserable; something a regular fuck can’t cure. Hopefully he doesn’t commit suicide in the room…

Fate has a funny way of dropping opporotunities in your lap...

Ok. The plan: first try to manipulate Mr. Smith if that works out have him pay for the painting in return for continued services. Failing that sedate him, maybe rob him -probably not-, and call Bebette in ‘sick’ for the night. Take Bebette to the auction house and attempt to arrange for him to purchase the painting with $1,000 in liquidatable assets. Failing that, by that time, I’m sure I’ll have more information on the situation and will be better capable of planning an off-the-cuff job. Damn thing was attempted already and failed, which is bad news. Someone else wants a hand in this.

Loading Microsoft Word Lot quickly typed: “Locked. Please call XXX-XXX-XXXX for entry.” The number was mine of course. He slid the dated Certificate of Registration out from the frame and replaced it with his note. He hung the frame up outside the entrance door and locked the door behind him. “Oi Bebette, before you leave could you check the rooms if they’re empty? Call me and let me know on your way out. Merci.” Lot threw a hotel shirt and grabbed complementary deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste from the guest box behind the front desk and sauntered towards Mr. Smith’s room.

Knocking on Larry Smith’s door speaking firmly, “Front Desk”. Lot paused and waited for the door to open or a response from inside. “Monsieur, I am management here at the hotel and wanted to make sure that your stay is comfortable and convenient.” Trite business slang rarely is appreciated in half sleezy hotels but necessary. “I have some complimentary affects provided by management.” As I hand him the complimentary bullshit, “I want to ensure that our guests are well taken care of… hell, actually, I’m just looking for someone to drink with tonight.”
OC: I have $X a month. $250 of that goes to Bebette for delegation of some management tasks (and to butter hands a little). $125 has gone for drugs and booze.

[Claymore]

Information on the auction would be wasn't difficult to find. It was open to the public, but seating was on a first come first serve basis. Almost all the pieces, including your painting, were already at the gallery on display. And the auction was scheduled for the following night at 9pm, when the gallery usually closes. Pictures of the inside and outside of the building were just as easy to dig up. It wasn't a very large place, but it did pretty well. Show pieces were changed out frequently, and it had as much from local artists and schools as big names in the art community. Interestingly enough, you also came across a report where someone had already tried to steal it. The painting was dropped and undamaged while the thief ran away, but no ID was made.

Bebette told you that there was one new arrival. He checked in under the name Larry Smith, and looked like he'd had about the worst day of his live. But aside from that, there was no news. It was a slow night at the hotel, so Bebette perked up as soon as you suggested you might have a cure for boredom.

[Lot Dolon]

Leaving her haven gave Lot a lil' stroll time, time to think. Cursing under his breath "Mal pris... need'a get more on this". Musing to himself with a half smile, possibilities cropped up and wound themselves out: "could siphon the gas tank which would seperate them from any security camera systems or onbase reinforcements - which might bide him a minute or two to hijack the truck, could bribe the truck drivers but I only have $1,500 tops, or could create a diversion while I jack the truck - that is if the truck isnt protected by an envoy... or any other Kindred interested in the artifcat, which was more than likely.

When I steal this I don' need the heat. Could try tah frame somebody. A trick within a trick.

Regardless, I needed to get inside that auction house".

When Lot got to the hotel he idly strolled behind the front desk. Casting a charming smile and a flick-of-the-wrist wave, "Ce va Bebette?" The kid's semi-affectionate nickname. "We'ave anyone In-House tonight any Arrivals?"

Sliding into the tall office chair behind the left computer he logged onto google, fingers rapidly clattering across the keyboard. Search: auction, serenity, sky valley, paintings, X date. Hoping to find any basic information on the subject: date, time, location, any pictures of building, local geograph/demograph, and if tickets were required or if it was public.

Glancing at the clock Lot found he had X hrs until the beginning of the show.

"Bebette, I might 'ave a job for you tonight."

Strangely enough, cow-towing to a higher elder never crossed his mind. The safer road. The exposed road.

[Claymore]

Tala had only actually been to your Haven a couple times. She never seemed to mind the mess, but would often meet it with kind of a funny smirk. She was beautiful when she smiled, but in recent nights, something seemed to be weighing heavy on her mind. The last time you visited, you caught sight of a strange broken box on her desk that she told you was created by a Tremere Litch. The only one you knew of was the Priest in Serenity. But what the box use to contain seemed to be of greater interest to her.

In any case, preparing for getting your hands on the painting was simple enough. Buy it or steal it. Getting a more wealthy Kindred to handle it for you wasn't out of the picture either. A lot of the Elders have money to burn, and place more value on favors of footwork than anything. One possibility was the Ventrue Primogen, who's known for havign a taste for the arts and going pretty easy making Neonates pay back favors if they show some potential. Another was actually an Ordo Dracul Guardian. Items of mysterious power are his livelihood, and items of artistic value are his passion. Someone like that would be tempted to keep such an item for himself, but if that's the case, he'd be at that auction anyway, so it couldn't hurt to ask.

[Lot Dolon]

Drawn towards mutual privacy both sire and childe chose to live in separate havens, though not far from each other. Lot decided to reside in a thirty year old three story hotel that once was once considered a suite but now has fallen to the wear of time and neglect.

Before the embrace, Lot had worked at this hotel for around seven months as a Night Auditor and during that time earned the trust of the owner of the property. The owner had owned the property for around a decade and intentionally taken the hotel at a loss of income each year for tax ride offs purposes. He hadn’t understood much of what she explained to him about finance but all that mattered to him was that she delegated the neigh empty property to him and for the most part left him alone.

In turn, Lot had hired a young business major to replace his position as Night Auditor. On top of the earnings the young man received from the owner Lot had given him a fraction of his paycheck as compensation for Lot’s delegation of responsibility as well as some of the oddities overlooked in Lot’s behavior, around $250 a month. The young man was also one of Lots underground contacts and the two of them fed off each others successes and opportunities well.

Lot’s hotel suite held two and a half rooms: a bathroom/whirlpool room, a bedroom, and a kitchenette. The whirlpool was cracked and long drained of its water; however, it was stuffed with pillows and blankets and all around it was strewn drug paraphernalia and empty alcohol bottles. This room had been long in use as a comfortable den of sin. Black tar caked the ceiling and fan while the thick floor rugs were stained with food, beverages, and other nondescript fluids. No light was admitted into the room, as there were no windows and during the daytime the door was locked and the edges were stuffed with towels and duck tape. The bedroom, incidentally, was Lot’s private room: cloths scattered about in piles and his dombura leaned reverently in a corner. One tattered and dingy wall was blanketed with what appeared to be random pictures, cutouts, and photographs. The old tube television constantly flickered with fuzzy images witch flowed endlessly from a bulky DVD player below. In each corner rested a small black sphere, star projectors which, whenever the mood struck him, projected mirror images of the Milky Way on his ceiling.

Tala had never given him any important jobs nor, in fact, had she really oversaw much of what Lot had done. Not having any idea of how auction houses work, museum security, art transportation, or other important details regarding the heist, he sat idly strumming his dombura staring towards the intricate lace of woodwork that wound its way around the bedside table. He was lost among his thoughts allowing them to drift into and out of this misty and lofty task his sire sprung on him. Occasionally, his meandering thoughts would be derailed with images of imprisoned Mother. His first instinct was to storm the asylum, murder anyone he found there, and bring Mother to his warm safe womblike shelter. Every night he would wake and consider his gut-thought but each evening the motion never felt right… drifting thoughts…

As always, whenever he was in his abode, Lot stripped himself of his cloths and now sat cross-legged on the floor with the body of the wooden instrument cradled between his thighs. Embraced while a young man in his early twenties he was of average height and a tone athletic build. His raven black hair was usually slicked back but as the evenings progressed his wild untamed hair escaped to form loose waves and curls which, eventually, turn to a messy moppish look. Lot’s midnight hair, trimmed beard, and goatee framed his face well and augmented its angled features. Dyed black bone plugs, parallel charcoal industrials, nipple rings, and other piercing adornments gave him an exotic look. Most night dwellers would find him wearing whatever he grabbed that was strewn about the floor, but unconsciously, it seemed, he knew how to wear cloths well, even when he wore grungy attire they seemed to hang attractively on his defined frame. Lot usually carried himself with a nonchalant carefree swagger and his attitude was usually relaxed and lazy.

OC: Be gentile! This is my first post to online text based RPGs, ever. I know its long but it has helped me create the mood and feel of the character and his surroundings. I promise my usual posts won’t be as long! ()

[Claymore]

It wasn't long after your mother was driven to a Rutledge's Psych Ward that fate pointed a hateful finger at you once more. The Kindred who took a liking to you not only dragged you into the world of the undead, but the bloodline that was twice-cursed.

It's no secret that Kindred who dabble in the occult occasionally keep an eye on Rutledge's. More than a few particularly interesting Mortals have found themselves there with amazing gifts masquerading as mental ailments. The hospital is more or less Ordo Dracul territory, but certain Circle of the Crone members, like your Sire, manage to sneak a Ghoul in from time to time. That was how Tala Day discovered you. She never clearly explained why the arrival of your mother drew her to embrace you. But she seemed to think you had some kind of hidden potential.

Tala was a symbolist, a study that has made her the working partner of a couple Ordo Dracul Alchemists. She's also very spiritual, and doesn't limit her interpretation of symbols to things that can be captured in a photograph. Omens and patterns of every day life, signs that point to her faith, superstition, chaos theory or theology all capture her attention. As a member of a bloodline that manipulates fate, the meaning of fate, when it comes naturally, isn't lost on her. That may have had something to do with her compulsion to Embrace you, and why you were never able to get a clear answer.

You seemed to have entered the night life at an interesting time. You and your Sire resided in the Acolyte-friendly region of the island sub-domain of Sky Valley. The Prince was of the Lancea Sanctum, but the Circle's presence here was so small that it didn't pose enough of a thread for the usual persecution. Not that there wasn't any persecution. Yours was the slimmest of all feeding territories. But the Prince had better things to worry about, with the comming war between her Invictus Regent in the neighbooring Serenity City and the Carthians. There were also whispers of some kind of Mage weapon that was broken apart and sent to all corners of the globe, that are somehow all finding their way back to this region.

Tonight, though, your Sire had an assignment for you. One of the more obvious symbols caught her attention recently while passing through a local gallery. A painting of a crow, set to a night scene with an eerie aura about it. She had gotten wind that one of the elders of your line who use to live here often crafted such items, and thought there may be something to this. So she wants you to get your hands on it, by whatever means you see fit. It's on display right now, and goes up for auction with some other works later tonight. After that, the building will be closed up. Depending on which rout you took, there was plenty of time to be concerned with other matters in the meantime. But in the short time you've known her, you learned to trust her instincts.


OC: Ok, lets have an intro post. Current state of mine and immediate location and such, and we'll get things rolling.

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