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modern nights Ventrue Board meetings have a break room and how it works is that when someone says something really fucking stupid and you can't take it anymore you go "oh so sorry, I really need to take this phonecall", smile politely and go to this soundproof room adjacent to the meeting room where they let you destroy everything, so you can survive another 10 hours of power point presentations about NFTs
These are very old news but I'm working on emptying my shitpost folder
Team Distinguished : Razvan frenzied after being burned by holy water, painted the walls with the insides of some guy who was probably definitely most likely not an inquisitor
Team Disaster : we didn't check if we were being followed and led the Inquisition to a warehouse where we were meeting with the Sheriff. They sat the building on fire. Pyre escaped through the ceiling and Luce had to be wrestled to safety by Anton. Sheriff Kanti was really not impressed.
Team Deathwish : there weren't even any active threats, they were just hanging out at a club doing some magic between allies and friends. Lorenzo is lucky that David decided to just laugh it off
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Have you ever played Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines?
If so, who is your favorite character?
I actually started playing the ttrpg like 6 months before playing Bloodlines, so Arzel was me just making a character completely blindly w just the wiki and a personality test to help me out
I have two fledgelings, Amber (tremere) and Toni (malkavian), which surprisingly made me change my opinion on some characters from one run to the other
My favorite is still Pisha tho she has 3 seconds of screen time
I have a soft spot for the ghouls as well like, all of them
Plot : I got a little carried away and wrote something for Mariella. A conversation with Cecilio right after she died. Set in 1962.
Warnings : a bit of gore here and there. Reflection on parental abuse.
Length : 2600 words give or take
Setting : Vampire the Masquerade - our Los Angeles campaign
this is backstory for backstory characters who never show up in the campaign itself
Her breath escapes as white smoke from her lips. If only it was cigarette smoke.
The mausoleum was never her favorite place. Understatement. Cecilio’s weird lab is, always has been, fucking creepy. Now though, there’s something strangely comforting about it. A familiarity, the whispers that used to usher her away now murmuring welcome home, welcome home. The air clings to her form, wrapping around her, thick, like a coat. Dragging her.. elsewhere.
It’s always been cold. Not that she can really feel it anymore. Everywhere is cold. Everything. Everyone.
Her eyes drift back to Cecilio. He’s humming to himself. Or to her? She’s lying in front of him, unmoving, she can see herself from where she’s sitting, on the edge of the table. Funny how that works. His hands are gentle on her skin, she can see it. Cleaning away the gore, mending what still can be mended. He’s not looking at her, not really. Neither the corpse, nor the ghost. There’s only the task at hand, preparations he must have done a hundred times.
It’s almost touching, really. Like a parent tending to their child’s bath. One last time. Something stirs at the thought. The gentle twirl of air seems to heat up. It’s not relief, it’s anger. Burning.
“Where’s Livia ?”
The question escapes translucent lips, along with a wisp of smoke. From the corner of her eye she can see that he’s stopped, only for a second. He heard. He takes his time, cleaning up a sponge, wetting it with hot water to try to erase the traces of the fight from her face. Hah. Nothing much he can do there. The nose is broken, skin caked in brown dried blood, teeth missing, more than she cares to remember losing.
“Your mother is busy, Mariella.”
Not the right words. She heard them before. Times and times and times again. From her, from tutors, from strangers. On the phone, on letters, scribbled notes left on the kitchen’s counter.
She’s busy, Mariella.
A meeting. An important affair. A business trip.
An empty chair at a recital. A birthday with no messages.
She learned not to expect any. Not from Livia.
She turns again and suddenly forgets the words, the cutting expression.
Not from Livia, no.
“You came for me.”
There were times. Warm embraces. Actual chats. Sure it was boring most of the time. How is school. How did the rehearsal go. When she got into the secrets of the family she realized that none of it had ever been genuine. Still. At least he tried. Even if it had just been some game to him, there had never been a word louder than the other, never an angry glare. Never a hit. Just that unnerving smile. Satisfied, patient.
The same one he is wearing now as he cleans up what was left of her.
“Well, I have come to reclaim every single one of my descendants.”
He nods to the wall, to the hundred alcoves lining it. Some are closed, some are open, some have names. One, she knows is for her. He’s even brought lilies to that one. White ones.
“Why?”
This time, he looks at her. At the ghost sitting on the operation table. The smile is still there, though hesitant. As if he’s wondering if he’ll tell her. Wondering what he’ll tell her.
“Why, because you are mine. You are all my blood. I would never let anyone else get their hands on any of you.”
Possessive. At least that makes sense. At least he doesn’t do her the offense of talking about love and care. His hand is frozen, and he looks down on it. On her face. He did a rather good job actually. Without a heartbeat the blood doesn’t gush out that much, maybe with a bit of makeup and some work the right side might look decent in the end. Unlike the left. Nothing to salvage there. Skull caved right in. At least it had been quick. Not even vampire vitae can heal half a brain. A mercy, compared to what it felt like when her lungs started to fill up with her own blood. Burning, drowning.
She looks away.
“You know-” the voice is Cecilio’s. He’s still staring at his hand. “-your grandmother was a ghoul as well. Not the one you know, no. Anzola. My first wife. You are hers, as well as mine.”
Through the apathy, through the weariness, she still takes the bait.
“What happened to her?”
“Same as you. She died.”
For a moment they both stay quiet. He’s never been one to overshare. She knew, of course. She’d been in the mausoleum more than once. She saw the names on the alcoves. Now there’s a hint of genuine curiosity. As it turns out, she doesn’t need to push him at all to get the rest of the story.
“Her master let her die at my feet. I never got to find her. He was a busy man, you see. Maybe dawn was closing in on him, I cannot say that I remember. He saw that his blood was not enough, so he took me instead, and we left her there.”
It sounds like such a distant memory, like a man describing a painting he has stared at for hours rather than a retelling of a moment filled with grief and anger. Well. He did have centuries to get over it.
He continues.
“When our oldest son died, ah- I was a ghoul still. His master wanted him for himself. So, well… I killed him.” The laugh is genuinely fond. A fondness that strangely doesn’t sound so out of place. And he waves his finger, like a grandfather who let out a family secret. “Don’t you go tell on me. His Sire is still sore about that, you know? Pitiful old man. Anyway- I took my son, and brought him here. It wasn’t much, back then. More of an alchemist’s lair than anything. And that night, I killed my master as well. The funny thing about having a servant who hates you is- no matter how much blood you feed them, if someone comes with more blood, and the promise of your head on a spike, my, my. I still remember his face when he realized how lazy he had grown, and for how long his blood had been replaced in my veins with his enemy’s.”
“And you still were embraced after that?”
“Oh my darling, of course! Granted, it was a gamble. Since I was able to kill a former master, you are very right, my Sire could have feared that I would turn against him as well… But he liked me, and he liked my work. He helped me give my son a decent funeral, and we worked together for the next couple decades. It is a shame that he was killed. Though I can swear I had no part in it, I was rather fond of him… I still have his wraith in my pocket watch!”
That last bit sounds so cheery, the way he grabs the watch to show off is so genuinely excited, Mariella cannot hold back the laugh that escapes her. Only in this fucking family… He places the watch back in his pocket, dark eyes lingering for a second on her translucent shape before turning away again. Back to work. Cosmetics, preservation products. She cannot smell but the memory is vivid enough, mundane enough that she can imagine the chemical and floral scents filling the air.
It takes hours until he’s satisfied. Candles are burning, and weird symbols are traced all around her, all over her white skin. Everything ends, eventually.
The anger is back, burning in her chest. Somehow this time she can feel the edge of the table when she grasps it. Is that really all she can hope for? The care of a half senile, controlling old man, not a single friend, not a single familiar face to say goodbye to. Only the disdain of those who survived, the continued indifference of her mother. Living or dying, it all happens the same, doesn’t it.
Cecilio clears his throat, and there’s the rattle of metal. Tools clattering as they drop back down.
“My, my… Quite powerful already, are you not? I would appreciate it, however, if you left my instruments alone for the time being. You will need some guidance until you can make something out of that energy of yours.”
One blink. The room looks the same. She doesn’t feel the same, though. When she gets up, the stone has chipped under her fingers.
“What if I don’t want to become anything? What if I just want to fade?”
The smile doesn’t wither, but he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t scold her for the outburst. “My darling, you have already made your choice. You want more. Now the real question should be… what is it? It takes a lot of work to bring back something of a person once they are dead, you know? A violent death helps, sure. But you, my dear, you did most of the job all by yourself, I have to say, I am impressed. You will be so beautiful…”
“Oh, shut up Cecilio.”
For a second there’s an old instinct, an old, deep fear ingrained in her surfacing. But it’s not Livia in front of her. It’s an old man, smiling patiently, as if he had dealt with hundreds of petulant children before.
Maybe he will be the last person she ever sees, or talks to. The idea is revulsing. And yet as soon as the first words get out of her mouth, she knows she’ll get them all out. “I’m dead.” Frustration, anger, years and years of shattered hopes, of folding in half for someone else’s plans. Trampled dreams and swallowed bile. “I’m fucking dead, because of her. She knew this mission was compromised, she knew we wouldn’t make it out. She didn’t care to give me a warning. And all she has to say is that she’s busy?” The air trembles again, turning to ice, turning to fire. “You know what? Actually I’m fucking glad she’s not there, she’d only come to let me know how disappointed she is that I failed that mission.”
“Come now, I do not think that she knew.” There’s the smile. Not a trace of worry. Oh, he’s prodding, she knows he’s trying to nudge something, trying to get a reaction out of her. Right now she doesn’t care enough to stop. Too many times tasting blood from biting her tongue, and this time might be the last.
“And that's supposed to make it better? Either she knew and she didn’t care, or she straight up didn’t bother to check anything before sending me in.” There’s a crackling sound, rain on a powerline, and the candles flicker. For all her rage, she still finds it in her to be surprised that her voice hasn’t cracked yet. Instead it booms, bouncing on the walls, reaching sleeping things in the drawers and the alcoves. One tries to rise and she shuts it down with one wave of her hand. “She’s never been there. She was waiting for me to kick it from the day I was born, but she was too proud to off me herself, too much of a coward to face the family if she gave up on me. I was hers. But now I’m not, that must be quite a relief. You want to know what’s fueling me? You want to know why I’m still here? I want her dead. I want to tear her apart and watch her bleed. I want to see her crawl and hear her plead, beg, apologize, anything.”
The last echo fades, the light slowly grows back to normal, candles now half consumed. And all is still again. Quiet.
Cecilio keeps staring, focused, mouth slightly open in a hungry smile, with an intensity that makes him look insane. Drinking her words, admiring her form.
“So what’s with all that?” she asks, eventually, gesturing at the table “You’re going to bind me, but what do you want me to do? Because here it is. You want another watchdog, I want to kill my mother. I don’t see how that’s compatible.”
A laugh, a chuckle really. “Oh my darling. You are already bound. All I did was make sure that it would be stable, and on some fertile soil.” He extends a hand to touch her cheek, and somehow she can feel it. Solid. He catches her tear with a soft brush of his thumb. “Mariella, my heart. I cannot let you achieve your goal. You are very right, I am in the business of making watchers, protectors. I cannot let you harm one of my children, you are my bond to this world, all of you. But yours is this anger. What will become of you once it is gone? I cannot let this happen.”
He turns back to the table and slowly starts snuffing out the candles. One by one. So the ritual is already done, then. Done and over.
Anger is still there, but coiled, dormant for now. Only waiting for a spark to ignite it again.
“You had a very eventful night, my dear.” The voice is soft, exactly that of a parent gently coaxing a child to bed. “Sleep for now. I will make sure that nobody comes to disturb you until you feel rested.”
He put the shroud over her broken body, like a cover, leaving her face visible only for one last kiss on her forehead, a masquerade of affection before he covers it. There’s a finality to it when he turns back.
“Now… Before you go, would it be rude of me to ask you for a little help? I would be able to figure it out with some work, but it will be day soon. May I know what your anchor is? I will take good care of it, I promise…”
She can feel apathy growing again, as if the world started dissolving around her. Or maybe she’s the one slowly fading. She shrugs and points at the other side of the room, at the low table on which her clothes are piled. “My jacket.”
“Ah! Brilliant.”
A pointed look, as if he wants to ask more. Well. She did want to tell someone. She thought she’d get to tell a friend one day. As a funny story maybe.
Beggars aren’t choosers.
“It’s the first thing I bought with my money. Without her breathing down my neck. I hid it for weeks from her. She didn’t care when she saw me wearing it though. Didn’t notice.”
Maybe it’s only fitting to end up as a ghost.
Cecilio nods, folding the jacket with a certain reverence. For a moment Mariella takes the time to really look at him, an old man, a shadow of someone who couldn’t let go of his loved ones. Vampire, ghost. Not much of a difference, is there. Maybe he really could only ever see reflections of his lost love in all of his children. But that was so much more than anyone else gave her. He was there. Fake or not, it was still a comfort. Someone to talk to, someone who cared, no matter why he did.
She holds up her hand, and he seems surprised, almost startled when she puts it to rest over his cheek. Not quite material. Not quite gone yet.
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have this incomprehensible map, hope it clarifies things
forgot to legend the black links : it's hate
Livia fucking hates Lorenzo and Gina so much
Matteo and Lorenzo are twins, they're Livia's sons, Gina's nephews, Cecilio's great great great grandkids. They had a decent relationship until Lorenzo decided to ghoul Matteo and their blood bond landed on "hate/fear"
Livia straight up wants Lorenzo dead and was forced out of town by Gina
Livia and Gina are sisters, Gina is older by a few years, they were raised as rivals and can't stand each other. Livia wants Gina dead but it's been over a century and they're both still standing. Gina just wants to keep her miserable and to ruin her life as much as possible
Livia was an absentee mother and kind of dumped Matteo and Lorenzo on Annabelle, which she is still pissed about, but also Livia is the kind of freaks she likes + she grew fond of the boys.
Annabelle's relationship with Livia can be summed up with Livia barrelling in with a fucked up plan and Annabelle going "oh babygirl you're insane, I'm in"
Cecilio monitors his mortal descendants very closely. He's been trying to build a Revenant bloodline for a few generations and it's starting to come to fruition. He has a spot in his private mausoleum already prepared for each of his blood relatives
Cecilio and Antoine have a weird homoerotic rivalry nemesis friendship thing going on, which is mostly fueled by Cecilio
Lorenzo and Fortunato have roughly that same kind of thing going on but it's only fueled by Fortunato
Glitter is a pretty low generation vampire Matteo met in Venice. He somehow helped her run away from the family. They're best buddies.
It's unclear whether Fortunato ever wanted to be friends with Matteo and Glitter or if he was just trying to manipulate Matteo into helping him kill Lorenzo, but now they're buddies
Gina barely knows that Matteo exists
Cecilio keeps forgetting that Matteo exists as well
Antoine kind of remembers that there used to be one baby girl and one baby boy but he thinks that Matteo is the transgender twin and that Lorenzo is the cisgender twin, he thinks Matteo is overplaying masculinity
he's infinitely patient with fledglings, putting all the blame for their actions on their sires ; we're not the sabbat here, we take responsibility for our progeny and their actions. neonates get a stern talk. ancillae get no mercy. elders better watch their fucking backs.
it might pass as him being soft, and in a way it is, but in the end the lines are blurry between his personal beliefs and the traditions, they're fully engrained in his behavior and he just got very good at justifying them
everything is about making sure business runs smoothly for everyone, and preparing the next generation as best one can. and he'll use any means necessary to ensure others respect these two goals.
Anton multiples of 5, Enzo multiple of 3, Arzel everything else.
I'm just going to ignore your attempt at making me do math and answer with whichever character I think is more interesting <3
What memory would your OC rather just forget?
Arzel : killing his boyfriend in a frenzy
What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?
Lorenzo : He’s a pretty good physical fighter. Not the best, but he’s good. People expect him to give out orders and have goons and use magic but his first instinct is to run headfirst into the fray
What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?
Arzel : bleeding heart. You look at him with sad eyes and he wants to help you out. It already brought him a lot of trouble, so he's aware of it, but there's nothing he can/wants to do about it
When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?
Anton : freeze then flee (nobody is surprised)
How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?
Lorenzo : as far as it takes. The list of what he's unwilling to do to himself and to others is shorter than the list of things he's willing to do to get what he wants
How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?
Anton : almost impossible, he'd rather like you to kill him instead. Good thing his moral compass is pretty weak
What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?
all my OCs pop fully formed into my head, I just have to get to know them but they don't change
Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?
Lorenzo : he worked as a ghoul for 5 years and he has a spell to turn corpses into dust, he's VERY good at it
Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?
not really but I have a voice claim for Arzel : A Hull full of Oil and Bone by Listing Ship
What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?
Anton : SHOVELHEAD ANTON AU
What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?
Arzel : his fists. He's very good at hand to hand combat yeah
Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?
Lorenzo : kind of but he’s not aware of it. He almost died a couple times pushing himself way over his limits due to being full of hubris
How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?
Arzel : oh he's VERY concerned about the image he gives out. He wants to be seen as a Blue Blood, as someone reliable and non threatening but powerful nontheless, he wants to make everything he does look effortless, he's a bit vain like that. He has a some insecurities due to his origins and his lack of education, he does his best to hide them
Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?
nope
What is your OC's pain tolerance like?
Lorenzo : extremely high. He'll shrug off pain and fight until he can't get back up
What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?
Anton : his entire life sucks so fucking bad I can't even pick I'm sorry Anton. Getting killed wasn't even the most traumatizing thing on the list.
Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?
Lorenzo : both. He’s very cold and keeps everyone at arm’s length (or even further away if he can), but he takes everything very personally
How does your OC behave when enraged?
Arzel : it's pretty hard to enrage him, but he is a pretty proud man, and very Ventrue. He does give warnings that he's getting pissed, you do get a chance or two to back down, but if you don't take it, he might decide to tear off your limbs about it, depending on the setting.
Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?
Lorenzo : he doesn’t know it himself because he’s Lorenzo but he actually feels inadequate in his relationships. He feels as if he can't offer anything to his friend/partner. So if he sees someone getting along better he gets jealous but it only translates in him clamming up and distancing himself.
Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?
Anton : he's malkavian so. it's a cocktail of things. He handled things by getting high when he was human, now he copes by getting himself into toxic situations/relationships. Therapy never really did anything for him
What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?
this is vtm, everyone is a flavor of chaotic or evil if not both
What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?
Arzel : not exactly an emotion, but knowing he has failed is the hardest thing for him to process. Failing expectations in general. On the other hand, he's pretty alright at expressing himself and his emotions
What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?
Lorenzo : he almost became a mage, he even had a few astral journey dreams, though he has absolutely no idea. His family prevented that from happening by ghouling then embracing him. Unsurprisingly he would've still been a necromancer
What is your favorite thing about your OC?
Anton : I think it's pretty fun to play a pathetic little man
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He had his moods at the very beginning of his time as a ghoul, but it didn't last long
He's a fighter and he wants to get to the top, he'll grab every opportunity he can but only as long as it doesn't stirr the waters too much, he's the slow but steady type, he'll stay lowkey and make sure other kindred don't see him as a threat while quietly gathering assets
It takes a lot to anger him, he's good at dodging taunts, and insults slide off him like water on a duck
If you did manage to hit a nerve, he probably won't frenzy, he's too good at beating down the Beast, it's a cold kind of anger, he's quiet and figuring out the best way to murder you