Album Fic, my gift of madness for the holidays.

Punch Buggy - does anyone remember? It's that game we used to play as kids in the car when bored out of our minds. We used to call it Slug Bug Yellow, but Wiki calls it Punch Buggy.

Either . . . never mind. Punch Buggy is one of those Games of Instinct employed by Trevor and Victoria's packs up in Detroit. I'm a little rusty in getting into the Sabbat madness mindset, so here's hoping it turned out okay. The narration is a tiny bit weird, as it's a very chaotic time in Michael's unlife. It takes place shortly after Michael left the Iron Rapids Court to join the Sabbat, the court beleiving that he's simply buried himself in Potiac with the gravity of his childe's death and sire being sent into enemy lines. It was written to one of my favorite songs by Rob Dougan, "Clubbed to Death".

( YouTube Vid )

Thorn is used with much love to his writer with permisssion.

And everyone, have a lovely holiday, and if you're stuck in this snow like me, safe travels through the wintery mess!

They were driving down Interstate 96. The roar of the Hummer H1 engine was muffled by an even louder pulse that filled the warm, August sky. It was late fall, but it was a warm change of seasons, an approaching indian summer, and Michael would have considered how such a particularly stagnant image did not match the present shifting of his unlife. But as he sat in the back seat with every attempt to ignore the shrieks pushing his already acute sense of hearing, there was no room to think about contrast. It was sad, really, for in that car, in that moment, he seemed ike the odd Kindred out in a pack of Cainites.

"Cell phone," Eli yelled from the front, passenger side, and with a hard jerk, the car beside them swerved a little. The driver dropped his cellphone and blared his horn. "Pissed off son of a bitch, too."

They were playing the Sabbat version of 'punch buggy', but instead of a soft punch to the arm if a beetle was seen, distracted drivers were the object and turning them loose into a panicked road rage was the goal. It was working. The number of idiots on the road was mind-boggling for the hour, but it was a busy, obscure piece of highway filled with truck drivers loaded with GM, Ford, and Chrysler models and daily commuters. Like the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport, this stretch was a central line between Detroit and Grand Rapids, beckoning any road warrior to its vein that felt quite literally endless because while being significant, one always felt like they were in the middle of nowhere. Drivers fought valiantly to keep attention, blasting music and drinking a steaming hot cup of java that tasted more like battery acid than jet fuel from the last pit stop. They didn't need the Sabbat frightening the shit out of them, but then, did they have much of a choice?

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For those of you not in the know, that's Frank as in Castle, the Punisher. What he doesn't know he's missing won't hurt him and will blow a few holes through some suckers for ME!

Basically, this is just stating her case to someone that she thinks will listen to her. xD It also kinda sorta ties in to the original plot for the Reapers that was made... like a year and a half ago. o.o Wow that's been a long time. Anyway, no idea how this will really affect anything... >.> but Kilian is pleading "Not guilty." And actually has a pretty good point. o.o YAY! for good point. >.>

And this is where my rambling ends.

Stark Industries, Los Angeles Branch
Factory/Weapons Storage Complex
Long Beach, California
December 20th 1900 Hours

"So what you're telling me, is that you really did do that on purpose? You deliberately let loose those monsters on the population of Los Angeles? Kilian, what were you thinking?! How could you put civilians in harm's way like this?! It's unbelieveable!" Tony Stark was an old friend, and a very smart man. He was a genius, or at the very least that's what many people seemed to say about him. Despite that, Kilian found that at the worst times he could be incredibly thick about things. You damn near had to beat something into him if you really wanted him to understand what you were saying. Her arms folded across her chest, Kilian bowed her head slightly and listened to him rant with her eyes shut. After a moment, she finally let out a sigh and gave him an annoyed look.

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There is a Christmas thread, located here. It's been up for a week and so far no one has posted! I know you all are busy, but if you'd like to attend, the thread is still open for all. This is the SAME thread I posted asking your opinion about earlier this month!

These boys have been largely quiet since arriving in LA. (Quiet in my head, I mean, but quiet in reality as well, as they aren't having much to do with the vampire invasion so far.) In this post, they wanted to basically go for a warm-up run on what was supposed to be a small Black Spiral Dancer (evil, monstrous Garou twisted by the Wyrm) hideout. Things didn't go so well, as it was anything but a "small" hideout, having quite a bit more under the ground. A few small screwups lead into a fight for their lives that without help, they may not survive.

That leads me to the conditional tags. I'm hoping, if time is bendable and these players are willing, to attract the other resident Gurahl, Kacee, a resident Bastet that knows Art personally, Lynn, a resident Kitsune by the name of Sakamae that may remember Locke if she's still hanging out with Kacee, and perhaps any other WoD type lycanthropes that may be interested in joining. In addition, Locke has sent out a call for any Fae in the area to help, which would include Amarante (who may be with Lynn), and heck! Mab can join in too if her mun is so inclined as to have her within hearing range and caring. The size of the Dancer horde can grow or shrink depending on how many show up to fight it. Just note that although I described several initial quickie deaths, they are by NO means pushovers, as evinced by the fact that my boys are currently at death's door. The timing of the post is vague, and the place is vague, so feel free to work it in as you see fit. As knowledge that Locke did not have to put in the narration, the warehouse actually sits right on top of a large, shut down underground nuclear testing facility. Nuclear bombs were detonated underground here, thus making this a GREAT little nest for the Wyrm to set up in.

Hm. A note on my writing style here - it may appear dull, repetitive, and simple, at least at the start. I'm trying to experiment with how the voice of a wolf with an incomplete grasp on the subtleties of the English language would sound like, even in his head. Unfortunately, when the action started, I had to fall back on more complicated sentence structures, so I suppose I can claim that that part was less in his head and more scene setting? Eh, I tried. :P

A waxing crescent moon rode high in the sky over the silent land-of-no-trees that Art called "desert". The silence was nice. It was refreshing. It was not the crazy of the city that Locke's Sentai had chosen not to take part in. It was winter solstice night. That meant that he should be with his Tribe in a moot to rival all moots, but this year it had been put off to the new year. This year, the New Year was a blue moon, and such festivities were planned as to rival all other moots. The Fianna knew how to celebrate Blue Moon right. And Locke was going to moon bridge from San Francisco to back home for that week to party. He looked forward to it.

( FUBAR )

Name: The Phoenix Pyre
Owner: Gillian Owens
Hours: M-F 11 am - 9 pm, Saturday 11 am - 6 pm, Closed Sundays and Holidays

Open to everyone!

( Welcome and come inside )

This is just some flavor to toss in for everyone as the invasion carries on in full swing. Actually, it is less invasion now than occupation, as the post shows. This post is meant to show you how Frost's economy is now functioning, how vampires are being fed, how the humans are being treated, and how the Reapers are being dealt with.

Needless to say, Frost is looking forward to getting home to Pepper and forgetting about the meeting in the way he can only do with her. Unfortunately, I as the writer am cruel and am thinking that this likely took place right before Adrien's latest post where he wants to get Frost's blood...

Governance. It was the necessary evil that came with taking over the fucking world. The exciting part was doing it, of course. Yeah, the thrill he'd gotten when he'd first turned every vampire in the city on every human they could get their fangs into, that thrill that continued as he broadcast his killing of the major leaders in LA...that was the best part. That was the part that made him just want to go home and fuck Pepper all night in some kind of blood orgy of celebration. Of course, he hadn't, not that night. There'd been a lot of shit to do behind the scenes, and when he'd finally gotten home, she'd been passed out from her own personal celebration. Hell, he couldn't fault her for that. But yeah, it was the behind the scenes shit that none of his new subjects really appreciated. They saw the fun part when he was turning their world upside down, but they didn't see how he had to now meet with the new vampiric leaders and figure out just where the fuck to go from here. Christ. It was worth it, but it wasn't fun.

( Minutes from the Meeting )

Figure I owe a couple o' y'all an apology. I ain't dead, I promise, jus' ain't been able t' concentrate well since I got back t' th' middle nowhere where my writer's family lives. Got a new puppy, cats that ain't gettin' th' care they need, an' a writer that ain't got th' patience t' take nobody's crap. So yeah, we're workin' on replies. Hopefully we'll be caught up before Christmas.

On a side note, if anyone here uses Linux an' can tell me why my damn laptop ain't playin' nice with LJ, I'd be most appreciative. Stupid thing don' like t' separate paragraphs, even when I cut an' paste from a Word file that is perfectly edited. End up havin' t' go back an' edit new posts t' put the paragraphs in. Think my Java or Flash is outdated? Facebook ain't b'havin' either.

Oni has placed a call with a few of the city's vampire-hunters, in the hopes that the garou can gain a better understanding of what makes the Reaper-strain tick (we won't even get into "united we stand," because we already know. We just know).

She's contacted Blade and Selene, directly, but that doesn't mean they won't bring a buddy so this thread is conditionally open: Anyone that Blade or Selene might have told about the meeting is welcome to show up. Please drop a line here, first.

It had been easier than she anticipated to swallow her pride. Wolverine didn't gloat, didn't dwell on useless 'I told you so's like the average man might, so when Oni finally worked up the will to admit to him that she'd been wrong he hardly batted an eye at her. Could he blame her for her knee-jerk reaction to his 'Not all vampires are evil,' and 'Maybe you should talk to them,' speech when she'd just been filleted by one not more than a week prior? His timing had been piss-poor, he could see that now and, stubborn as she was, perhaps it was enough for him that she came to change her mind at all-- That she was willing to do what it took to unravel Frost's choke-hold on the city, even if it were the very last thing that she wanted... That she came to him for help.

The Ahroun might argue that the decision to reach out to LA's hunters and daywalkers had been taken out of her hands the night the Reapers ascended from their sewers to add to the mounting body-count, ( but he knew better... )

Nica was the first to arrive at Browning Medical Associates, and she gave a few brisk orders to the middle-aged woman behind the main desk.

"Miss DeVries is on the way in. We need the large conference room, two pots of coffee ... the good stuff, I sent over a few bags last week. Send out for pastries, make sure the Infocus is plugged in and working."

"That's not my job. I'll have you know -- "

"It is, today." Nica showed her corporate ID to the woman, who wiped the indignant look off her face and got to work.

Nica Marchese slipped out of her ankle-length wool coat and unwound the crimson scarf below it. She looked sharp in a tailored Versace suit in black pinstripes and a white silk blouse, the heels of her pumps bringing her up to a respectable five-six. Her heels clocked on the tile floor as she headed for the meeting room, ignoring the faint smells of alcohol, bleach and formaldehyde that crept into the otherwise more pleasant parts of this building.

Inside the meeting room, she set up her laptop, plugged in into the projector and poured herself a hot cup of Kona, adding just a splash of cream and a bit of sugar. She wasn't sure if the projector would be needed, but it certainly didn't hurt to be prepared.

"Showtime," she said quietly, and smiled.

Oh hai!  It's me again.  Bobby has to tell Mab about his triumphs with the gorgon, so here we have another phone call.  That produced good results the last time.

It took Ada less than twenty minutes to vacate Bobby's apartment.  The threat of death had been very real to her; she could see it in his eyes.  Once Bobby felt safe that she had actually left, he grabbed his cell phone and ventured out to reclaim the rest of his apartment.  First, he dialed Mab.  He wanted to talk to her in the worst way.  And he wanted to go outside in an almost worse way.  He'd been cooped up too long and was feeling restless.  As he waited for Mab to answer her phone, he tidied up his apartment.  He wasn't even sure Mab was going to answer at all.  And if she didn't, he'd call back.  And if that failed, he'd go on a walk by himself.

Katja calls a meeting at at Browning Medical Associates to discuss a proposed acquisition. Setting may later expand into the streets and open up to more characters.

Ding-dong, the bitch is gone.  Ada, the German former obsession currently being a parasite has been officially kicked out

Finally, after days, I emerge from my office.  I've been holed up since at least Friday, only venturing out to shower and only doing so when I knew Ada was otherwise occupied or even out of the apartment.  I never left my office to sleep; I've stopped sleeping.  I've been trying to avoid Ada at any cost.  It used to be that I couldn't get enough of her, but now?  Now I can't stand her.  I found someone better, someone to replace her in my life and now she's standing between me and what I want.  What I want is to have my wife back.  Ada prevents this.  And today I need to do something.  She needs to leave.  I need to be proactive about this, too; I have to go look for her.  However, I never get the chance to.  No sooner do I shut the door to my office than I'm attacked from behind.  She's lucky I knew she was around here somewhere because otherwise, I would have punched her in the face.  The potential for humor would have been great, though.

She wraps her arms around me before I have a chance to react and then she slides around to the front.  She presses her hand to my chest, over the handprint I'm still very aware of.  It burns, her touch.  It burns literally and psychologically.  I don't want her touching me.  "Do.  Not.  Touch.  Me," I growl, yanking her hand away from my body.  She has no rights to touch me, especially there.  And she actually has the audacity to look hurt.

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