Welcome. Y'all Ready for some Praisin' Caine?

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There’s something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She’d see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There’s evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn’t been melted has been soaked to the core.

There’s what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

Hazel sees a locked door and immediately wonders what’s inside. Well…probably cold stuff considering it’s a freezer, she ponders to herself, though it’s not likely cold anymore.

The large door would come open with some effort, giving a grating sound as it is pulled open-

The interior brings the buzzing of flies and with the buzzing of flies comes a heat and smell…..

The smell is raw. It is rotten. And then? It’s gone. Bleach. Was it really there at all?

Sounds now come behind her. A butcher knife being brought down on a cutting board, metallic blades crossing in rapid succession as they’re sharpened. Utensils. The low, unremarkable din and murmur of people in a restaurant-

But they’re not there either, are they? Only the bones of the building behind her.

Only a musty and dark room before her.

The walk-in is about 20 feet, end to end, with rows of metal shelves that seemed to weather the fire in prim condition. All the food seems to have been salvaged or at least removed and disposed of. The initial smell of rot that hit her is a distant memory beneath layers of fresh, acrid chemical.

And there at the back, is another door. It’s smaller, set back into the wall almost seamlessly. There’s a handle that seems to twist up and down and while there’s no padlock to speak of- there is a deadbolt of a type. The sort that would have been set from the outside- where she now stands.

Perhaps as an afterthough, her notice would catch just from the corner of her eye a round thermometer set into the wall like the door.

Upon entering, her nose scrunches at the intense smells. Rot and bleach. Blegh.

Tracing her fingers along the shelves, she’d expect to find dust- but there is none. She follows them towards the back- swiftly checking over her shoulder to see if there is anyone following her. So far- no one. She hopes.

When she reaches the thermometer, she taps her nail against it, perhaps expecting the mercury to suddenly shift. Of course it doesn’t move.

“There’s still power here?” she whispers to herself, “after a fire that hot the wires didn’t melt? Or is it sealed that well?”

She knows that answers for her kind don’t come without a more…hands on approach. She places her palm on the handle and gives it a gentle wiggle. Seems the deadbolt is what keeps this locked.

“Whatever you want to keep this cold probably isn’t just for restaurant business,” she thinks to herself, and begins backing away. She positions a shelf between her and the fridge door, somewhat relying on the ambient shadows to conceal her. She reaches for a pouch on her left leg. Inside are three vials, filled with a gelatinous red liquid mixed with magnetic shards. Its not her best work, its hastily done. But it’ll get a few good pulls.

Bottoms up.

The thinblood untwists the cap and lets the alchemical concoction slide down her throat. Her stomach burns, but not like she ate something spicy or it disagrees with her. No, its heat. Too much heat. Like embers clinging to her stomach lining. She digs her nails into the shelf, trying to concentrate and will the blood into doing what its supposed to- turn that into power. Her tiny beast claws at her throat, providing her demand- but at a price. Now that heat sizzled from her core, down her arms and into her palms, ready to be used– but left the stomach annoyingly and undeniably empty.

There’s a sign on the wall with an almost comical tone detailing “FIFO”- the first in first out rule, and a listing of how one is to properly store the meat in the event of an outage.

As the haze continues to clear, she might see the chains of the meat hooks come into focus from the back.

At the sound of clear footsteps Hazel immediately starts looking for a place to hide. She knows in her pack is 1 emergency obfuscate potion, but by drinking something new she’d lose her internal brew of instant telekinesis.

The thinblooded beast is a sneaky one. It’s influence tends to be more subtle. It likes to creep into Hazel’s throat when she’s concentrating elsewhere. It’s hungry. And it knows how to lure someone in.

That tablet flies from the woman’s hands so quick it looks like a cheap practical effect. The thinblood catches it, but its not what she really wants at this moment.

So the burglar IS still here, and not likely to be just some local kids breaking in for kicks. She’s never known Kindred to have any tricks like this with the tablet, but it doesn’t mean they don’t…. just that she hasn’t been exposed.

She’s certainly not going in blind, oh no. That’s how you become someone’s dinner outside of your own terms. Minerva scoffs softly, effecting a smile on her face as she lifts her cellphone and focuses the light on the cracked door.

Hands on.

So when gravity disobeys and her form is lifted, it spurs that feeling she thought she'd desensitized herself from- abject fear .

A startled scream is elicited from her lips, briefly echoing through the refrigerator, as she is pulled by the unseen burglar into the darkness.

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There’s something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She’d see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There’s evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn’t been melted has been soaked to the core.

There’s what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

Hazel sees a locked door and immediately wonders what’s inside. Well…probably cold stuff considering it’s a freezer, she ponders to herself, though it’s not likely cold anymore.

The large door would come open with some effort, giving a grating sound as it is pulled open-

The interior brings the buzzing of flies and with the buzzing of flies comes a heat and smell…..

The smell is raw. It is rotten. And then? It’s gone. Bleach. Was it really there at all?

Sounds now come behind her. A butcher knife being brought down on a cutting board, metallic blades crossing in rapid succession as they’re sharpened. Utensils. The low, unremarkable din and murmur of people in a restaurant-

But they’re not there either, are they? Only the bones of the building behind her.

Only a musty and dark room before her.

The walk-in is about 20 feet, end to end, with rows of metal shelves that seemed to weather the fire in prim condition. All the food seems to have been salvaged or at least removed and disposed of. The initial smell of rot that hit her is a distant memory beneath layers of fresh, acrid chemical.

And there at the back, is another door. It’s smaller, set back into the wall almost seamlessly. There’s a handle that seems to twist up and down and while there’s no padlock to speak of- there is a deadbolt of a type. The sort that would have been set from the outside- where she now stands.

Perhaps as an afterthough, her notice would catch just from the corner of her eye a round thermometer set into the wall like the door.

Upon entering, her nose scrunches at the intense smells. Rot and bleach. Blegh.

Tracing her fingers along the shelves, she’d expect to find dust- but there is none. She follows them towards the back- swiftly checking over her shoulder to see if there is anyone following her. So far- no one. She hopes.

When she reaches the thermometer, she taps her nail against it, perhaps expecting the mercury to suddenly shift. Of course it doesn’t move.

“There’s still power here?” she whispers to herself, “after a fire that hot the wires didn’t melt? Or is it sealed that well?”

She knows that answers for her kind don’t come without a more…hands on approach. She places her palm on the handle and gives it a gentle wiggle. Seems the deadbolt is what keeps this locked.

“Whatever you want to keep this cold probably isn’t just for restaurant business,” she thinks to herself, and begins backing away. She positions a shelf between her and the fridge door, somewhat relying on the ambient shadows to conceal her. She reaches for a pouch on her left leg. Inside are three vials, filled with a gelatinous red liquid mixed with magnetic shards. Its not her best work, its hastily done. But it’ll get a few good pulls.

Bottoms up.

The thinblood untwists the cap and lets the alchemical concoction slide down her throat. Her stomach burns, but not like she ate something spicy or it disagrees with her. No, its heat. Too much heat. Like embers clinging to her stomach lining. She digs her nails into the shelf, trying to concentrate and will the blood into doing what its supposed to- turn that into power. Her tiny beast claws at her throat, providing her demand- but at a price. Now that heat sizzled from her core, down her arms and into her palms, ready to be used– but left the stomach annoyingly and undeniably empty.

There’s a sign on the wall with an almost comical tone detailing “FIFO”- the first in first out rule, and a listing of how one is to properly store the meat in the event of an outage.

As the haze continues to clear, she might see the chains of the meat hooks come into focus from the back.

At the sound of clear footsteps Hazel immediately starts looking for a place to hide. She knows in her pack is 1 emergency obfuscate potion, but by drinking something new she’d lose her internal brew of instant telekinesis.

The thinblooded beast is a sneaky one. It’s influence tends to be more subtle. It likes to creep into Hazel’s throat when she’s concentrating elsewhere. It’s hungry. And it knows how to lure someone in.

That tablet flies from the woman’s hands so quick it looks like a cheap practical effect. The thinblood catches it, but its not what she really wants at this moment.

So the burglar IS still here, and not likely to be just some local kids breaking in for kicks. She's never known Kindred to have any tricks like this with the tablet, but it doesn't mean they don't.... just that she hasn't been exposed.

She's certainly not going in blind, oh no. That's how you become someone's dinner outside of your own terms. Minerva scoffs softly, effecting a smile on her face as she lifts her cellphone and focuses the light on the cracked door.

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There’s something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She’d see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There’s evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn’t been melted has been soaked to the core.

There’s what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

Hazel sees a locked door and immediately wonders what’s inside. Well…probably cold stuff considering it’s a freezer, she ponders to herself, though it’s not likely cold anymore.

The large door would come open with some effort, giving a grating sound as it is pulled open-

The interior brings the buzzing of flies and with the buzzing of flies comes a heat and smell…..

The smell is raw. It is rotten. And then? It’s gone. Bleach. Was it really there at all?

Sounds now come behind her. A butcher knife being brought down on a cutting board, metallic blades crossing in rapid succession as they’re sharpened. Utensils. The low, unremarkable din and murmur of people in a restaurant-

But they’re not there either, are they? Only the bones of the building behind her.

Only a musty and dark room before her.

The walk-in is about 20 feet, end to end, with rows of metal shelves that seemed to weather the fire in prim condition. All the food seems to have been salvaged or at least removed and disposed of. The initial smell of rot that hit her is a distant memory beneath layers of fresh, acrid chemical.

And there at the back, is another door. It’s smaller, set back into the wall almost seamlessly. There’s a handle that seems to twist up and down and while there’s no padlock to speak of- there is a deadbolt of a type. The sort that would have been set from the outside- where she now stands.

Perhaps as an afterthough, her notice would catch just from the corner of her eye a round thermometer set into the wall like the door.

Upon entering, her nose scrunches at the intense smells. Rot and bleach. Blegh.

Tracing her fingers along the shelves, she’d expect to find dust- but there is none. She follows them towards the back- swiftly checking over her shoulder to see if there is anyone following her. So far- no one. She hopes.

When she reaches the thermometer, she taps her nail against it, perhaps expecting the mercury to suddenly shift. Of course it doesn’t move.

“There’s still power here?” she whispers to herself, “after a fire that hot the wires didn’t melt? Or is it sealed that well?”

She knows that answers for her kind don’t come without a more…hands on approach. She places her palm on the handle and gives it a gentle wiggle. Seems the deadbolt is what keeps this locked.

“Whatever you want to keep this cold probably isn’t just for restaurant business,” she thinks to herself, and begins backing away. She positions a shelf between her and the fridge door, somewhat relying on the ambient shadows to conceal her. She reaches for a pouch on her left leg. Inside are three vials, filled with a gelatinous red liquid mixed with magnetic shards. Its not her best work, its hastily done. But it’ll get a few good pulls.

Bottoms up.

The thinblood untwists the cap and lets the alchemical concoction slide down her throat. Her stomach burns, but not like she ate something spicy or it disagrees with her. No, its heat. Too much heat. Like embers clinging to her stomach lining. She digs her nails into the shelf, trying to concentrate and will the blood into doing what its supposed to- turn that into power. Her tiny beast claws at her throat, providing her demand- but at a price. Now that heat sizzled from her core, down her arms and into her palms, ready to be used– but left the stomach annoyingly and undeniably empty.

There’s a sign on the wall with an almost comical tone detailing “FIFO”- the first in first out rule, and a listing of how one is to properly store the meat in the event of an outage.

As the haze continues to clear, she might see the chains of the meat hooks come into focus from the back.

At the sound of clear footsteps Hazel immediately starts looking for a place to hide. She knows in her pack is 1 emergency obfuscate potion, but by drinking something new she’d lose her internal brew of instant telekinesis.

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There’s something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She’d see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There’s evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn’t been melted has been soaked to the core.

There’s what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

Hazel sees a locked door and immediately wonders what’s inside. Well…probably cold stuff considering it’s a freezer, she ponders to herself, though it’s not likely cold anymore.

The large door would come open with some effort, giving a grating sound as it is pulled open-

The interior brings the buzzing of flies and with the buzzing of flies comes a heat and smell…..

The smell is raw. It is rotten. And then? It’s gone. Bleach. Was it really there at all?

Sounds now come behind her. A butcher knife being brought down on a cutting board, metallic blades crossing in rapid succession as they’re sharpened. Utensils. The low, unremarkable din and murmur of people in a restaurant-

But they’re not there either, are they? Only the bones of the building behind her.

Only a musty and dark room before her.

The walk-in is about 20 feet, end to end, with rows of metal shelves that seemed to weather the fire in prim condition. All the food seems to have been salvaged or at least removed and disposed of. The initial smell of rot that hit her is a distant memory beneath layers of fresh, acrid chemical.

And there at the back, is another door. It’s smaller, set back into the wall almost seamlessly. There’s a handle that seems to twist up and down and while there’s no padlock to speak of- there is a deadbolt of a type. The sort that would have been set from the outside- where she now stands.

Perhaps as an afterthough, her notice would catch just from the corner of her eye a round thermometer set into the wall like the door.

Upon entering, her nose scrunches at the intense smells. Rot and bleach. Blegh.

Tracing her fingers along the shelves, she’d expect to find dust- but there is none. She follows them towards the back- swiftly checking over her shoulder to see if there is anyone following her. So far- no one. She hopes.

When she reaches the thermometer, she taps her nail against it, perhaps expecting the mercury to suddenly shift. Of course it doesn’t move.

“There’s still power here?” she whispers to herself, “after a fire that hot the wires didn’t melt? Or is it sealed that well?”

She knows that answers for her kind don’t come without a more…hands on approach. She places her palm on the handle and gives it a gentle wiggle. Seems the deadbolt is what keeps this locked.

“Whatever you want to keep this cold probably isn’t just for restaurant business,” she thinks to herself, and begins backing away. She positions a shelf between her and the fridge door, somewhat relying on the ambient shadows to conceal her. She reaches for a pouch on her left leg. Inside are three vials, filled with a gelatinous red liquid mixed with magnetic shards. Its not her best work, its hastily done. But it’ll get a few good pulls.

Bottoms up.

The thinblood untwists the cap and lets the alchemical concoction slide down her throat. Her stomach burns, but not like she ate something spicy or it disagrees with her. No, its heat. Too much heat. Like embers clinging to her stomach lining. She digs her nails into the shelf, trying to concentrate and will the blood into doing what its supposed to- turn that into power. Her tiny beast claws at her throat, providing her demand- but at a price. Now that heat sizzled from her core, down her arms and into her palms, ready to be used– but left the stomach annoyingly and undeniably empty.

There's a sign on the wall with an almost comical tone detailing "FIFO"- the first in first out rule, and a listing of how one is to properly store the meat in the event of an outage.

As the haze continues to clear, she might see the chains of the meat hooks come into focus from the back.

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There’s something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She’d see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There’s evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn’t been melted has been soaked to the core.

There’s what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

Hazel sees a locked door and immediately wonders what’s inside. Well…probably cold stuff considering it’s a freezer, she ponders to herself, though it’s not likely cold anymore.

The large door would come open with some effort, giving a grating sound as it is pulled open-

The interior brings the buzzing of flies and with the buzzing of flies comes a heat and smell.....

The smell is raw. It is rotten. And then? It's gone. Bleach. Was it really there at all?

Sounds now come behind her. A butcher knife being brought down on a cutting board, metallic blades crossing in rapid succession as they're sharpened. Utensils. The low, unremarkable din and murmur of people in a restaurant-

But they're not there either, are they? Only the bones of the building behind her.

Only a musty and dark room before her.

The walk-in is about 20 feet, end to end, with rows of metal shelves that seemed to weather the fire in prim condition. All the food seems to have been salvaged or at least removed and disposed of. The initial smell of rot that hit her is a distant memory beneath layers of fresh, acrid chemical.

And there at the back, is another door. It's smaller, set back into the wall almost seamlessly. There's a handle that seems to twist up and down and while there's no padlock to speak of- there is a deadbolt of a type. The sort that would have been set from the outside- where she now stands.

Perhaps as an afterthough, her notice would catch just from the corner of her eye a round thermometer set into the wall like the door.

@praisin-caines

This was a bad idea. Hazel was making her way to the diner- her hosts believing she is on her way to Chicago. Well- there is some truth to that. But cars need gas, and thinbloods need coffee. Whispers and warnings rung like thunder behind her ears- but she refused to listen. That coffee recipe was going to be hers.

A whiff of BBQ lingers in the air behind something like petrichor, but neither would evoke the usual fondness associated with such smells. There's something not quite right. Something fundamentally foul in this air.

She'd see the warped tables and chairs- diner quality metal melted in various states from what must have been a monumental heat. There's evidence that perhaps meals were being enjoyed beforehand- quite a crowd, really, if one takes into consideration the remaining place settings, dishes black with soot, what used to be food now unrecognizable as such.

If she gets close enough, some of the chairs are covered with a substance found to be unpleasantly greasy and thick. It, too, is as blackened by soot as the rest of the restaurant but closer inspection reveals it as the source of the overarching smell.

Perhaps best not to dwell on it.

If she heads into the kitchen area, the office area, she would find nothing paper to remain. No books could have survived this. What little hasn't been melted has been soaked to the core.

There's what must have been the walk-in freezer, door huge and fully metal, appearing scuffed and undamaged at the back of the kitchen. A massive padlock holds the door.

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!

It's been alright. Had to close one of our locations, but ain't no skin off my back y'know. Main locale is as jumpin' as ever and we even had our biggest order ever with some out of town visitors so things are good good.

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!

It's been alright. Had to close one of our locations, but ain't no skin off my back y'know. Main locale is as jumpin' as ever and we even had our biggest order ever with some out of town visitors so things are good good.

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!

So it's time for our brand new Hump Day Specials!

2-for-1 Chicken Finger Baskets all day!

After 7, preferred customers drink free!

Hogfat muffins two for a dollar!