The Lurkers' Domain

“An event to die for, eh? What else is left? Maybe I’ll go.” The costume Marnie chooses is that of Janis Joplin, rose coloured glasses, feather boa and all.

Christ snickers inwardly as he reads the invitation. Yet another example of how horribly cliched Las Vegas is, especially at night. He hadn't heard of this club - but it had been a while, and all of the information he received in prison was through secondhand sources.

He begins to wonder just how they found him. His old buddies from the Casino days sure have a good sense of humour. He isn't sure how he's going to explain his 'youth', though. But hey, a costume party is the perfect opportunity for disguise! And who knows? Maybe he'd be able to network his way into the lower levels of the Cam. After all, there were sure to be a few Toreadors wandering around like untamed poodles - overly and humping the DJs leg to play the latest club hit.

Christ takes a long drag on the cigarette he's smoking - the only thing his body can tolerate outside of blood, and a vice he just couldn't give up. Yah, he'll show up, all right. Dressed as the Man In Black, guitar and all - a tribute to the greatest guitar player ever to touch the six strings. He pops Live At Folsom Prison on, and smiles inwardly as Johnny Cash smoothly sings, "I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die."

I’m still wondering how someone knew I was going to be in town to invite me since the invite was awaiting me at the counter when I checked in at Palace Station Hotel & Casino. At first, I didn’t think I was going to go, but curiosity has gotten the better of me and I’ve decided to attend the ball. My costume will be that of Van Helsing (See these links for pictures http://media.movieweb.com/galleries/755/1602/lo/co_09.jpg or
http://media.movieweb.com/galleries/755/posters/poster1.jpg) from the recent movie with the same name.

Morgan looks at the invite resting in an ashtray through steepled fingers. Not a huge fan of crowds this invite prooves problomatic, still there is reason to stay in las vegas, and he neednt go as himself and perhaps the night will lend itself to something more interesting.

Rising from behind the desk he paces to the window and looks back at the refected surface of the table. Still unsure as to the real motives behind the invitation he decides there is no real danger in attending as long as certain precautions are maintained.

Morgan walks back to the desk and raises the phone to his ear with one hand while holding the invite in the other.

"Diana, bring the car around, we need to go see some very important people."

Patrick walks into his office after a meeting with the casino bosses around town. He walks over to his desk and takes a seat in his Leather Chair relaxing back for a moment. He leans forward to check the recent mail on his desk and notices and invitation to a ball. He Pick up the invitation and begins to read it over while relaxing back in his chair.

Thinking to himself... hmmm this sounds interesting... wonder what this is really all about... well i do suppose there will be some higher ups around and some nice Brujah as well... I suppose i could use some entertainment for a change... it's been quite busy lately with everything...Let me check and see what else might be going on first...

He leans forward to his desk and turns his PC monitor on and typing away at this keyboard pulls up the local events for that date...
"bah nothing really important... perhaps i'll go to this ball and check things out might be some new talent and opportunities around..."
He picks up his phone to call his secretary on speaker phone... "Theresa don't book anything for me Nov. 1 I will be coming in late... and call down and have the Limo detailed and restocked..."

He hangs up the phone then stands up walking over to the mini-bar in his office and poors himself a cognac then stands there sipping it slowly and pondering further about what this ball really means.

Scarlett finds herself attending to all of the last minute details that are involved hosting a extravaganza like the one tonight. Everything must be perfect, nothing out of place or surely heads will roll. Under her careful scrutiny this will be the event that is spoken of for eons. After checking all the details one last time, she retires to her suite upstairs to ready herself. Her companion has been waiting for her arrival and already has her costume carefully lain out upon the bed. Scarlett greets them with a kiss and quickly goes about the task of readying herself. Once completely attired, Scarlett bids farewell for the time being and returns to the ground floor wearing a beaded gold lame gown with an enormous headpiece completed by emerald encrusted adornments. Even in this town of glitz and glamour, such a metallic and ostentatious rendition of Queen Nefertiti will not soon be forgotten. Scarlett sits in her office awaiting for time that the opening of the doors draws near.

As usual I wake up late after a call from Scarlett constantly trying to have everything perfect. Not a fan of halloween and all I throw on my typical Skull T-shirt and Raver pants toss on the shades and the Cap that she gave me when she found me head upstairs to the first floor of nocturne and into my secion of the club to get the music ready for tonights Extravaganza.

In the dark of the seedy back streets of Las Vegas, behind her glitz and glamour runs the back bone of Her city, "Old Town" the locals call it. An old nondescript building with a single antique neon light proudly displaying "Kitty's Place." A 'gentlemans' club the wives would let it be known for decades; in truth, it's THE dirtiest, rawest strip clubs born from the mob boys imaginations during the 50's. The interior is dark, choked with cigar smoke, and the overly obvious aroma of "over partying" from the decades it's been open.
Rosalyn wraps herself in her silk red bathrobe as she returns from stage to her vanity table in the girls' shared dressing room. On her vanity table are two more bouquetts of roses from "admirers" and a card and letter from a prospective college. Her reflection speaks the truth, that these long nights and this smoke filled club do not agree with her brownish/gold eyes, they are bloodshot and look tired. She begins brushing her long red wave hair, purposely stolling trying not to look too anxious about the letter from a hopeful college. "Ah Hell." Tossing down the brush she tears open the letter and it reads:

Dear Ms. Sullivan,
Due to your exceptional GPA at your former school at Julliard, it is our regret to inform you that we will not be able to accept your application of transfer due to your permanant record; stating "incident" March 19-03.
We wish you well in all your future endevours.

Sincerely
Torris Ameane
Dean of Admissions

Putting down the letter she whispers to herself; "Well Rose, 23yrs old, you work in a crap hole, welcome to the rest of your life. Told you not to get into that fight." Looking at the other card on her table, "It's probably just another lude proposition." Putting the card in the pocket of her bathrobe, she gets up to get dressed to go home, to her "other" hole in the wall. A place she calls her own, and where the only person in the whole world loves her no matter what she does for a living or how she screws up, her puppy Luna.

Petrie trundled along the alley pushing his shopping cart ahead of him. The hood of his old, oversized sweatshirt pulled far over his head and face. Several stray dogs follow in his wake occassionally nudging his legs for a pat on the head.

Stooped over the cart, he turns a corner to see three figures in the shadows of the dark side street. He freezes, disappearing into the darkness bahind a dumpster. "Go." He says quietly, and the dogs scamper away.

Two of the figures have the third cornered between two old, parked cars and the wall of a building. The voices are quiet but Petrie has no problem hearing them. "Pay up, Marko. You've had plenty of time and the boss is losing patience," say the taller and larger of the two aggressor.

"Come on, Jimmy, just another couple of day, man. I'll get him his money. My luck is changin', man. I can feel it!"

The tall one is known to Petrie. Then again, most any Kindred in Las Vegas is known to him. Jimmy Tremain. He's an enforcer for a local Kindred-run casino. Bad news walking. Tremain is smart and powerful, with the full backing of his clan in all endeavors. Trusted. Ruthless. No, Marko, Petrie thinks, I believe your luck has run out, this time.

As if reading Petrie's mind, Marko leaped over one of the cars. Hmm, intersting, thinks Petrie, Kindred that I didn't know was in town. The thug accompanying Tremain moved fast, exposing and discharging a large calibre handgun into the fleeing vampire. Like a bird struck in flight, Marko dropped to the pavement like a stone. Possibly not Kindred at all, thinks Petrie. This is getting quite interesting. Marko is screaming in the street, curling up around his wound. "Nice shot," says Tremain. "let's finish this before the law shows."
"No big deal, Jim, let 'em come. I'm hungry, anyway." Tremain only chucked and moved toward the moaning Marko.
"That silver hurts, don't it, son?" As he leaned over the wounded being, Marko exploded upward with preturtnatural streght, flinging Tremain into another car. The pistol exploded once more. The muzzleflash lighting up the darkness. Marko collapsed and didn't move.

Tremain stood and brushed off the front of his leather jacket. "Did you know he could do that, Tank?" he asked the second man, who was holstering his weapon.
"Nope," replied Tank. Now there was a name Petrie hadn't heard in a while. Last he'd heard, the infamous "Tank" had left town in disfavor with the clan. Another mystery to investigate.

As the two leg-men moved away, down the dark street, Petrie's canine companions began to emerge from the shadows, again. A medium sized lab mix barked from the area of the bleeding corpse. Petrie moved from behind his cover and walked toward the dog. The animal yipped with excitement and wagged it's tail. On the street, between the dog's feet was an envelope. Petrie reached down and opened it. He pulled out what looked to be some sort of invitation. "A masquerade. Very ironic, don't you think, my friend," he said as he scratched the animal behind the ear. "This should be quite interesting. And informative. Well, let us get this to those who know what to do with such things, shall we?"

Petrie trundled back down the alleyway, pushing his cart ahead of him. The small pack of strays followed close behind...

Rose walks out of out the club wearing her favorite jeans, tee-shirt and sneakers, with keys in hand. Letting herself into her car, known affectionately as "ol' reliable," without much thought the key goes into the ignition and gun shots fired so close she jumps, involuntarily letting out a shriek!! Hand on her chest, "God that was close" she pants to herself looking around. The labrynth of alleyways, corridors and buildings makes it impossible to locate where exactly it came from. Distinctly the sound of barking dogs directs her eyes to her left down another alley, squinting she can't see anything or anyone, but they are close. Maybe they got startled by the shots just as much as she did.
After calming down, Rose glances on her passenger seat where the mysterious lays. Last time she got a card at work it was so creepy she carried a switchblade with her for a month. A second after opening the envelope it was clear, by the quality of the paper, that it was definately NOT sent by "Joe Shmoe" by any means. It was probably the best quality Velum, linen and parchment she's ever felt, in BLACK even! Embossed gold letters in script proudly shines in the back alley light, what little there was. Fingertips trace over the lettering, a small tear touches her cheek, it was so much what she had grown up with, how could she forgive herself for taking it for granted. Who would send anything THIS beautiful?
Everyone had heard about Nocturne, many people compared it to Ceasars Palace and the Venetian, but it had a personality all its own no one would dare match. It's polished columns and marbled halls with HUGE gothic windows and arches teleported a person a million miles away. A friend of hers she dances with said it was the most 'eerily romantic place to hide secrets away in she'd ever seen.' A news paper columnist had written it as "Hauntingly beautiful."
"Ye Gads! What am I going to wear?" She asked outloud, waking herself out of her daydream. Looking at the time on her watch it wasn't very much time. The hour was too late to buy something, not that she had THAT kind of money, and not enough time to sew something nearly suitable......pondering....AH HA! In her closet she'd saved something from back during her years at Julliard. A ball gown hangs covered with dust, maybe it'll still fit. Shrugging to herself, 'Can't hurt to try.' Why not go, sounds like fun.

Fenre's constant travelling eventually brought him to Las Vegas. He was thinking of leaving the very next night, but as he closed the motel door to move on, he saw an envelope pinned to the door; an invitation to a ball. Obviously, his presence had been noticed by someone. Fenre was not exactly traveling in secret, but this soon? He started wondering if he was getting sloppy.
Nocturne was a big place, he had heard. He figured it would most likely be filled with old and powerful Vampires. He decided to go to the ball. Might be work for him here after all.
It didn't take long to find a costume that suited him. Tightly wrapped in black-cloth bandages, he looked like some kind of arab ninja. The only thing visible were bright, blue eyes. "Ah" he thought, "brings back memories"

Marnie shook out her hair, put on tight bell bottom jeans, a tie-dye looking silk tunic, a string of bells for a belt, picked up the pink feather boa and walked out her front door, carrying the rose coloured sun-glasses.

Hoping the two Spyderco Military blades she wore inside her biker boots, the two Civilians on her wrists, and the clip-it fastened to the inside of her jeans behind the zipper were not obvious, she wavered against going back inside for more knives. "If they find one, they'll look for more. Bleh. Just those then. Maybe they'll blame any metal pings on the chains."

"CRAP! The invite ..." Marnie unlocked her front door and snatched the invitation off the kitchen counter. She folded it in half and stuffed it into her back pocket. *snort* "If the folks there didn't want jeans they should have specified FORMAL costume *mutter* as if ..."

Marnie began walking up Tropicana to The Strip, making her way to Nocturne. Every so often, she looked over her shoulders in between letting her eyes run over the streets in front of her and to her sides. She couldn’t help feeling there as a target right between her shoulder blades; it felt like it has been there ever since she woke in the hospital.

Rex woke up as the sun set safely behind the horizon, allowing the already glowing lights of Sin City a chance to shine brilliantly. He never tired of the sight, especially the view from the Penthouse. However his appreciation was cut short when his butler, Jonas, knocked on his bedroom door.

With a sigh he said, "Yes, come in."

Jonas calmly announced, "Jeremy is in the foyer and has urgent business with you."

Never good news when Jeremy visits, Rex mused to himself as he realized that Jeremy, one of Mimi's homeless human contacts, was here in her stead with news that could not wait until they could both meet. "Have him meet me in my office."

"Very good, sir," was the reassured reply from Jonas, as he turned, closed the bedroom door, and made his way to relay the summons. Rex meanwhile put together a casual outfit that would be appropriate for such an urgent meeting. No time to dress properly right now, but his silks were hardly appropriate either.

He was dressed in minutes and in the Office where he met a frazzled Jeremy.

"Don Rex, I..." Jeremy began but was cut off before he could continue; Rex said, "Please, Jeremy, 'Don' is so old world, you may call me Rex." If Jeremy only knew how ancient 'Rex' was compared to 'Don', he would have gotten the joke. But his smile set Jeremy at ease at least.

"Sorry, Rex, Mom wanted me to come by and give you this," Jeremy said as he reached into his dirty sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a black envelope. Rex instantly recognized it and knew what was inside, as he had it printed himself. He gave Jeremy a curious look and asked, "Will Mimi not be attending the Ball tonight?"

"Yes, sir, but this isn't her invitation," Jeremy said as Rex opened up the envelope to find it was indeed one of his gilt-lettered, black parchment invitations. Jeremy continued, "Petrie found it in an alleyway. He said there was a scuffle involving two hoods harrassing a 'garoo', whoever that is, and he found that."

Jeremy then reached into his other pocket and pulled out a pocket-sized black light that he picked up at the Walgreen's down the street on Halloween clearance. He was about to turn it on to show Rex the most important thing, when Rex's hand grabbed his wrist before he even blinked in shock. Rex smiled, fearing the exposure of the UV light on his hands, knowing Jeremy meant no harm and did not want to alarm him.

Jeremy swallowed hard and handed the light to him, saying, "Um, Mom said it has a number in invisible ink written on the back, but hers didn't. She wanted you to see it."

Rex set the card face down on his desk and turned on the black light. Sure enough, the number 8 glowed under the UV light, but it wasn't handwritten; it was stamped. A common dial stamp printed in ultra-violet ink, used all over Las Vegas to mark guests at clubs, bars, etc.

Rex turned off the lamp and clenched it, saying, "I think I'll keep this, so we can check other cards. I am not sure what is going on, but I will find out. In the meantime, let Mimi know it's appreciated, and extend the invitation to Petrie as my thanks."

Jeremy stood up, knowing his meeting was completed, "Will do, sir." With that, he let himself out of the office, where Jonas was waiting nearby to escort him out.

Rex's mind began to turn. His list was small, extended to his Primogen, some local investors, and a few choice others. He asked Jonas to deliver the invitations and he said all reached the guests with proper acceptance received in kind. None of them were marked by him or Jonas. There was only one possibility -- the Printer. It was a local business he used many times before, but now he feared he had to suspect some kind of interference.

While this was upseting enough, the news of two "hoods" accosting what he could only assume was a Garou werewolf in town was more disturbing. This would require some investigation as well. It was now just after 6 PM, and the Masquerade Ball was to begin in six hours. This would require some favors to resolve.

The night was still in Stella's part of Vegas. She liked it that way, easier to collect her thoughts. This lively city left little space for those who walked alone, she had managed to find a place all her own. As she woke, she listened intently for the happenings of the evening; two gun shots off in the distance. She could tell that the sharp sounds startled a few; however, many were oblivious to their presence.

She quickly called for her attendant, Antonia, to bring her the messages from the previous day. Bill after bill poured in, and a call from this venue or that. Then she happened upon a small black envelope. Openning it slowly, she knew who it was from. The sight of the invitation reminded her of her activities for the night; she was off to Nocturne for the masquerade.

Antonia was bustling about in the closet to ready Stella's attire for the evening; a long navy blue gown, full length matching gloves and an ornate mask completing the ensemble.

"Antonia, is my limo ready?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Thank you, then that is all."

Stella dressed slowly savouring her current state of sollitude. She knew all too well her evening would not remain quiet and she enjoyed the time she had alone.

Gregory Vendredi was looking forward to the evening at the Masquerade Ball. He hadn't been out in the public eye in a decade. Luckily his contract with the Stardust included a suite, His suite now for more than forty years. With this new club, Nocturne, he saw this Ball as a chance to dust off a few acts and see if he had it in him for a comeback.

He was busy laying out his Sultan costume, one of his original outfits from his 60's shows, when Rex called him on the phone.

"Good Evening, m'Lord," Greg answered.

Knowing his line was unlisted, Rex asked half-jokingly, "How do you do that, Friday?"

Greg hated it when anyone called him 'Friday', the english translation of his family name. But moreover, he really hated it when Rex called him that, because it meant he needed to ask a favor of him. Greg smiled and replied, "Trade secret, m'Lord. Ready for the shin-dig?"

"That's what I'm calling about, getting things ready. Can you still cast that protection spell you used when you thought you were being hunted?

That brought up nasty memories, but he had to think about what he needed for the spell. Walking over to his wet bar, and opening cabinets revealing herbs, gris-gris, and other magical items, he rummaged until he found some black feathers. Triumphant, he said, "Yes, I have the Raven's feathers I'll need, and some of my vitae. It'll take about four hours to cast. What's up?"

"I need you to get to Nocturne right now and secure the building. As many floors as you can. Someone has forged invitations to the Ball, and I need to make sure we have some modicum of protection. I'll let Scarlett know you are on your way."

Greg cautioned, "Rex, you realize once inside, while no one can read us or sway us, I won't be able to either from the inside, to find out who's behind this."

Rex agreed, "I know, Friday, that's why I need you outside with the security scanning the guests."

Greg sighed... that was the favor, not the spell. That meant no shmoozing, no comeback. Hearing the sigh, Rex added, "And I'll talk to Scarlett about adding you as an act at Nocturne. Your Friday nights still free?"

Greg laughed, "Cheap, but never free, Rex."

"Good man, Gregori, thank you," Rex accented his French name, "And thank you again for the wonderful announcement you made last week. Brilliant. You haven't lost your touch."

"Thank you, my Lord. I'll get right to work on the ritual," he said before he hung up the phone. So much for the song and dance, it's time to pay the piper.

Digging frantically through the closet, Rose paused for a moment when she saw the gown. Cardboard boxes falling, something made of glass just broke, a lamp cord caught on the dress for a second, she hoped getting it on won't be nearly as difficult as pulling it out; she giggled to herself from that little play on words in her head.

A quick glance to see that it is in still good shape (and her closet wasn't...maybe that IS in good order for a closet) she shoved it into the biggest torn duffle bag she owned. Rummaging through the house, she collected a few choice items, make up, face wash, comb/brush, hairspray...shoes...where are the shoes? "Oh double crap!" She had just remembered that the last time she wore the dress it had rained and her shoes were ruined as a result.

Plopping down on her bed, which doubled as her sofa, she dumped out all the money she had from her purse and pockets, just enough for one pair. Luna jumped on the bed, placing his head upon her lap, tail wagging. His overly dramatic eyes pleading with her not to go, just stay there so he can play ball with her, "Oh no you don't, THIS time it's not going to work. I'm going out tonight and you are going to 'mind' the house, not 'tear' the house while I'm gone." He jumped down on his little stubby legs, and with one sniff of the dress in the duffle bag, his little teeth clenched down on the hem and he started trying to pull it out of the bag. *RRIIIIIPPPPP

"LUNA LET GO!" She yells as she gently puts her fingers into the puppies mouth releasing the vice grip. *Sigh, "Guess you really don't want me to go, huh?" Tearing off the rest of the hem she starts brain storming about how to make this NOT noticeable.
With a sweet kiss, she says goodnight, leaves the kitchen light on, and locks the door behind her. **If Puppies Could Only Talk** Luna thought to himself in the empty kitchen.

The front of Nocturne was absolutely aglow with black lights, which gave the white marble an absoutely eery glow. White cauldrons with flames coming out of them atop of marble columns lighted the way for the guests limo's to pull up to the door where there was a valet and doorman to greet you. Rose parked across the street at the Excaliber to dress in their ladiesroom. No way could she drive dressed up in her old car.

From across the way, she could make out probably one of the most beautiful women she'd ever laid eyes on getting out of her limo. She wore a stunning long navy blue gown and long matching gloves. This woman seemed so regal being escorted in through the front doors, carrying a gorgeous mask that matched her dress. 'Were there Royalty going to this Ball too?" she whispered to herself outloud unintentionally.

Suddenly feeling a ball well up in her throat from nerves, her hands beginning to shake a little. 'Her mask alone must be worth more than my folks house. There has to be some kind of mistake. Maybe it was a sick joke."

Pulling out the card still inside the envelope "Why come all this way and NOT go?" Still looking down at the invite in her hand she turns around quickly and bumps into a man, dropping her invitation. "I'm so sorry, excuse me." She says hastily picking up the invite. Standing up he was smiling ear to ear wearing a jesters cap, assuring her he was ok, no harm done. Excusing herself one more time, she rushed to the ladies room inside the Excalibur's casino to change, determined to have a good evening.

Her knees were knocking but she felt comfortable in her old favorite ball gown. A stunning form fitting ruby red strapless ball gown with layers and layers of silk organza gently swaying with her movements and sweeping the floor. Her ruby earrings, a treasured gift for her high school graduation, matched the ruby jewels scattered throughout the top of the dress, sprinkling all the way down to the bottom of the dress.

When she first saw it after her mother had it made, her brother teased saying it looks like tiny blood droplets glittering in candlelight. Rose tied her hair up with the torn hem in an updo and the other bit around her neck as a red choker. Complete with make up and new (unbroken in) shoes. "Come what may." whispering under her breath.

Far above the streets, Fenre crouched down on the roof of a nearby building, watching, to see what he would be encountering in there. A Limo rolled up, and Fenre watched with interest as a woman in an elaborate and beautiful costume stepped out. “Vampire...” he whispered, as the woman was more gracefully sliding than walking into the building. Some woman nudged into another, down there. Apologies. “Humans too...” he thought, “Good”. An all-vampire crowd was a very dangerous crowd.
He surveyed the floors, the architecture. He couldn’t see any guards at the windows, no stereotypical bulks with earplug dangling and sub-machinegun strapped at the waist. Or were they just very skilled; hidden? “No need for many guards..?” There was something that tickled his brain about the building, something was a bit off.
Almost exhilarated with expectation, Fenre played out possible situations in his head, eyes scanning the entrance.

First the invitations and now the guests, it seemed that nothing about tonight was going to be simple. Morgan paced the floor of his office, eyes fixed on the un-opened package that had awaited him upon rising. Of course rex had given the ok to contact him, and he said that payment was not to be taken into consideration, but still, Morgan knew that if he called in this favour he would soon be drawing attention to himself from unwanted sources. Still Logan and Clark knew their roles for the evening and the girls were already at the club finalising the entertainment. But still the package troubled him, deciding it was time to open the package Morgan drew the silver blade from the desk drawer. Moving un-naturally fast the envelope was opened, emptied and placed back on the table within seconds. Inside was what he had expected, a simple one word message and a "gift".

The card was plain, no insignias and nothing on it apart from the single word, that one little word that could be the start to allot of trouble. Dropping the card onto the desk Morgan turned to the gift, it was small and wrapped in brown paper, by smell alone Morgan could tell it was fresh. Sighing he sat behind the desk and reached for the intercom,

"Diana, could you please contact Rex and let him know that my associate will in fact be attending the function tonight, oh and make sure that Louise and Claire have everything ready by the time I arrive."

Morgan turned to the large windows and looked out across the night, thousands of mortal lives, scores of canites and of course one elusive Garou, tonight was if nothing else going to be interesting.

Morgan turned back to the desk, both hands spread on its cool marble surface, he looked at the card once more, the single word spoke volumes to him.

"tonight"

Marnie stopped at a convenience store and purchased a packet of cigarettes along with a cheap lighter. Smoking, she made her way to across the street from Nocturne, got comfortable against the side of a building and watched the front doors. She really wanted to know more about this shindig and who was throwing it. Knowledge was power, and Marnie certainly needed all of that she could get these days. At the very least, the power to keep herself safe and find out what happened that night three weeks before.

*drag on the cigarette*

“With my luck, everyone will show up in jewels and glittery shit, and I will stand out like a sore thumb.” *sigh* “Brazen, my girl, Brazen your way through it, you’re not poor, you just don’t give a damn …” Marnie muttered under her breath. She smoked and waited, watching the doorway and the surrounding streets.

hmmm an invitation.

It never ceases to amaze me how social a group of iconoclastic loners are.

One would think that if they were truely loners they wouldn't set themselves up to packed together like this.

I suppose it's akin to walking through the woods... always take a buddy not because you and your buddy can fight off whatever comes your way but because if you have a buddy you only have to run faster than him.

I should go tho it's the nature of the beast avoiding it won't change things. It will meerly make one stand out and the nail that stands is soon pounded down.

A small female dressed head to toe in skin tight leather taps Marnie on the shoulder, she points to a limo parked not far away and to the passenger sitting in the back.

"if you would please step over to the car" she asks quietly while at the same time gently pushing her away from the wall and guiding her over to the open window.

Raising her eybrow, Marnie flips the cigarette into the street. "Only if you have a badge under all that damn leather."

The woman suppresses a small laugh,

"No badge, but in this city I don’t really need one, but please, follow me to the car and no harm will come to you, you are simply requested to speak with my employer, nothing more.”

"Why? One good reason why I should? Or shouldn't? And who am I anyway that your employer wants to speak with ME? I'm not a prostitute. I'm not a mule. What does that leave?"

The woman squeezes her arm gently, but with enough force to let her know that she is being polite but it has its limits.

"That you will not be harmed i know for sure, however only he knows what he wishes to say to you. please, follow me to the car."

The woman releases her arm slowly and walks back to the car and gets inside.

"Oh HELL no, i don't even begin to think so," Marnie mutters, quick stepping, walking into the crowd in front of Ceasar's Palace. "Who the hell was that pushy bitch?" Marnie thinks. She is curous about who wants to speak with her, but not anywhere near curious enough to follow some pushy stranger into an unknown vehicle on good faith alone. *snort* "Good faith my hider-holster ... " could be heard by any listening closely.

Marnie hangs out in the crowd in front of Ceasar's Palace, keeping an eye out for any other wierdos who may approach her tonight. She decides to wait until about quarter till midnight and head back towards Nocturne then.

Diana sits into the car and watches marnie walk into the crowd, she scowls towards her and rings her hands around the steering wheel.

"Diana I thought I told you the young woman was to be asked to come to the car, nothing more."

Diana opens her mouth to reply but it is suddenly closed again by an unseen blow.

"No excuses Diana I saw what you did, I only hope she will be more open to me by our next encounter, now please move the car away from the front and tell Logan to stop following the young lady."

In the basement of the Las Vegas School for International Studies, Petrie looked attentively over the shoulder of the young Nosferatu who clicked away with the mouse. The glow from the 21" flat panel cast both vampires into an even more eerie visage. "New rig, eh, Klaus?"
"Yes, Petrie, it's the latest and the greatest!" said Klaus enthusiastically. "It's got a 3.5gig processor with 1024meg of RAM, dual graphics.." Petrie cut him off with a gesture. "I'm sure it's all fascinating, son, but have you come up with anything on Nocturn, Tremain, or why he'd be roughing up a Garou that shouldn't even be in town?"
"Um..heh...not really, Petrie. The Garou was probably Glasswalker, but I don't need the internet to tell me that. Vegas is a city, and the rest of the puppies really don't work the cities the way he seemed to be. Funny thing, though, there is no police report about the shooting. No report of shots fired. Nothing. I had a couple of Mom's homeless guys go check the alley after you got back." Klaus reached across the desk and slid two shiny objects into the light of the monitor.
"The men dug the rounds out of the body of the were?" Petrie asked incredulously.
"No, Petrie. There was no body. They found blood stains, and these. Crazy, huh?" More like curiouser and curiouser, Petrie paraphrased in his head. "Looks like we have tough sucker still running around out there, huh? Watch the moooon, and stay on the path. heheh"
"Cute, Klaus."
"Hey, that was a great flick, Petrie and you know it." Petrie gestured at the monitor,
"Remain on task, please Klaus."
"Yes, Petrie. I'm digging as hard as I can, but I think some old fashion streetwork is going get better results. Except for the Nocturn thing, I'll get some info on that for you eventually." Just then, the computer intoned in a singsong voice "You've got mail!" Petrie's brow rose a bit.
"AOL, Klaus?" Klaus just shrugged as he clicked to his inbox. "It's from one of Mom's hacker-guys, Petrie. Probably from her through him." Petrie read the message as it appeared on the screen:

Petrie, it seems you've been invited to the ball at Nocturn, my dear. Rex is quite intrigued by your findings and has given us a unique opportunity to see how the other clans will interact with each other at such a funtion. I get the impression that there is more going on here than meets the eye, as usual. Please find something nice to wear and attend as my representative. Keep those keen eyes and ears of yours open, of course. - Miriam PS: No Nixon mask, Petrie. It just not befitting of you in my stead. I've left something for you in your sanctum. Enjoy!

How could she have known what he was up to, much less what he'd planned to wear. That woman! he thought mirthfully. Petrie had planned on attending, invitation or no. He guessed that she knew him only too well. Now that he was officially on the quest list, things would be much simpler. "Keep at it, Klaus. Call me on my cell if you come up with anything." He walked up the stairs to his quarters in the abandoned building. He opened the door to his office and hanging on a coathook was the "something" Miriam had mentioned. "Phantom of the Opera," muttered Petrie. "How quaint." Miriam always did have an ironic sense of humor. Petrie looked at his watch and began to change into his costumr.

In a mad dash John was going through music getting everything ready so as not to dissapoint Scarlett. She had been so kind to him since the time he stumbled from the dumpster almost 6 years ago with no idea how he had gotten so far away from his home and had felt so different. He went through the request list. Mostly poppy crap he mumbled to himself. Maybe I should liven it up being that its Halloween he chuckled to himself at the joke and moved to the elevator to discuss with Scarlett her plan for the ball.

The time is about eleven o'clock, but it feels like two minutes to midnight, as Christ waits for his trump card. The man behind the scenes. The watcher. The gent he'd met in prison many moons ago, and the only one who knew he'd turned.

Christ starts to grow impatient, shuffling the six-string acoustic strapped across his shoulders to a more comfortable position. He checks his pocket watch again, taps out a Marley, fumbles with a book of matches. The sharp, metallic click of a Zippo rings out and a dancing flame appears suddenly, burning across his eyes and dangling cigarette simultaneously, momentarily entrancing him as he watches a dark hand snap the lid shut, forever smothering the Zippo's fire of life.

"Don't you know those things'll kill ya?"

Christ inhales, not skipping a beat, "You were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago..."

"What the hell do you care about time? You ain't exactly gainin' in the years."

Christ ignores the touch of bitterness in the barb, as he silently hands the invitation over to his shadowy companion. "What do you know about this place? This...'masquerade'?"

"Ah. That'd explain why you look like Cash's asthmatic younger cousin...yah, I've heard of this place. It's a leech-haven. Owned by leeches, caters to leeches, and smells like leeches." He snickers, "No offense."

Christ sneers, "None taken. They ARE leeches. ALL of them. But they will soon be MY leeches." He takes the invitation back and taps it pensively against his lower lip, "Interesting, though - why would the cam send me an invite? Think it's 'cause of Sonny's boys from way back when?"

A large, hulking man steps out of the shadows. He removes his Bronco hat and wipes his brow, then replaces it, tightening the strap. "Dunno. Doubt it. Be careful of that place, boy. Remember that you're the stranger here."

Christ drops his half-smoked cigarette and crushes it with the toe of his left Rattlesnake. "Any advice?"

"Yah. Look for a guy named Johnny Sparks. He's a shaker in the bootleg scene. Kicks around with some of the baccarat honchos. Tell him the Wolf-Man sent you and that you did forty-plus years in Nevada Correctional. Oh, and pay respects to Vendredi. The Tremere can probably help you, and with what you know, you just may get an intro to the Prince..."

"Vendredi? That his first or last name?"

"What do you think? Last." He mutters 'monkey' under his breath and shakes his head in disbelief.

Christ grins, "Yah, thanks, Wolf." But the man has already disppeared back into the shadows. Christ shakes his own head, lights another smoke and shuffles his guitar across his shoulders again. He stands there, smoking and thinking, for a few moments, then crushes the smoke and empty pack, and pads silently away, leaving only a hint of red cardboard and ash in his place.

Only an hour before the Ball was to begin. Rex had to get going, but he was waiting on Corey. The last few hours had seen a flurry of activity in his office and in the streets.

Morgan Duan had contacted Rex through his usual channels and they both expressed their concern over the forged invitations. Rex decided the evening was too important, to his own ego more than anything else, to cancel the event. Besides, that would only tip their hand and give the person behind this a chance to get away without being discovered. Rex's own penchant for solving a mystery would not let that happen. He would keep the Ball rolling, to butcher an expression.

Morgan has acquired the services of someone who will be useful in keeping a tight watch on the security of the event. Rex had already set up a check closet and security station within the doorway on the first floor. There are no visible guards outside the building so as not to alarm the locals who still do not know about the Ball.

When the doors open at midnight, there will be no fanfare, but the doorman is instructed to let in anyone with an invitation. Anyone else will be asked to return the following night for the Grand Opening Bash -- the official party that Scarlett wanted to throw. This evening was Rex's affair, and he was furious that it had been undermined. Someone went to a lot of trouble to duplicate the invitations. But the invisble ink stamps on the back will be discretely viewed at the check closet.

Everyone who comes in will be asked to remove their weapons and check them in. Thanks to Gregori's ritual, both the first and second floors of Nocturne will be protected by an all encompassing spell to prevent anyone from attempting to use mental abilities to suggest they have no weapons. Unfortunately, the same spell prevents anyone inside from determining if the person answers honestly about having said weapons.

Rex is gambling on Greg's ability to determine this outside the building, reprising his role of welcoming everyone to the club. He will report to the guards inside who has what, if possible, and they will request that they be turned in, or those guests will not be allowed entry.

Once inside, after any weapons have been checked in, and receipts given, the guests will pass through the museum on the first floor, up the gorgeous spiral staircase, into the Ballroom, which will be where the action is. The dinner will be catered by Epicurious, which will debut their chefs' amazing abilities to fix anything the guests wish to eat.

The restuarant's kitchen is on the twelfth floor, however, so guards have been posted at the service elevators on both floors. Gregori cast his ritual in the kitchen as well to make sure no chefs could be persuaded to poison any of the food. He also cast it in the service elevator, linking these floors and passages securely.

Morgan has assured Rex that his mysterious associate will be most useful in handling any unexpected circumstances. Rex assured Morgan that he will leave this aspect of the security into his hands, with any payment necessary at the completeion of his duties. When his associate however discovered there was an Assamite who received an invitation, the price was raised. Not knowing what to expect, Rex assured Morgan that any extra cost involved in dealing with any threat from an Assamite would be paid.

This raised a new issue with Rex. While he was a rich man, he never kept personal bodyguards. His haven was secure, and he hired guards whenever he needed them. However, he had already exhausted his compliment of guards from an organization he trusted explicity now in securing Nocturne. With Morgan's acquiring the services of additonal security to keep unforseen risks minimized, he decided perhaps he needed a bodyguard. How was he to know what the goal of the forger was. Could this be a coup to wrest control of Vegas from him? Or worse?

He only trusted one person well enough to call in on such a favor. And it would be a favor. Another one. It seemed to be his night for using them. He picked up the phone and dialed the number pensively.

"Southern Nevada Zoo, Night Custodian," said the gruff voice on the other end.

"Nico, " Rex said, "have you decided to accept my invitation to the Ball tonight?"

"Dom, I told you. I don't do dancing," he laughed.

"Something's come up, Nico," Rex sighed. "I need a shadow."

"A guard dog, you mean. Someone pissing on your turf?"

Rex winced. Rex and Nico weren't exactly friends, but they helped each other out many times, out of mutual respect. Rex never begged, and rarely made an order. He only asked one more time, and would accept Nico's decision if it was shot down. He answered, "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. Will you be there?"

Nico smacked his lips and he pondered Rex's position. He had to be worried to call him, so he agreed, but joked, "Yeah, I'll go, but I ain't got nothing to wear, Ese."

Rex smiled, "I'll have Jonas get something for you. Meet me here at the Palace."

Nico laughed, "Hell no, he'll have me dressed in a suit like you."

"What better costume for you, Nicolas? Just stop by, you can pick whatever you want," Rex suggested.

Nico agreed, "Yeah, gimme a few to square things here at the zoo."

"No problem, good bye," Rex said.

"Bye, Dom," Nico ended and made his last rounds at the zoo.

Rex felt a little better, but not much as he hung up the phone. That just left Corey. Jonas walked up to the office and confirmed there was still no word from him. Rex thanked him and let him know Nico would be by soon to grab an outift and join him at the Ball.

Here was her response:

William having decided to go to the ball readyed himself.

appearance is everything... not like the... no there's no time to think about that focus on the matter at hand.

The clothes make the man and well these were perfect. Old enough to suggest age and power but not so old as to suggest stagnation and senility. Now everything else must fit there mustn't be a single thread out of place for these harpys would tear at any thread till it all unravels.

Corey Bantes was running late. But he had a very good reason. One which Rex would understand, even if he would be chastized. Cory's favorite band, Richard Cheese and Lounge Against The Machine, played a special engagement at The Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. Their "lounge act" turns covers of ANY song, from alternative and heavy rock to 80's pop, into ultra-smooth lounge kitsch. To Corey's ears, they're the cheesiest, a flavor he prefers to the bitterness of the usual fare in town.

Normally they play at the Sunset Station Hotel and Casino in Henderson, but they had been on tour promoting their latest album, "I'd Like A Virgin". Their being on the strip this weekend was a rare treat. They ended the show with with the ultra-lounged-out "Down With The Sickness", which was actually on the "Dawn of the Dead" movie soundtrack. They're getting recognized and they deserve it, as far as Corey was concerned.

But that actually wasn't the real reason he was late. When he came downstairs from his room at the Excalibur, he accidentally bumped into a lady in the lobby of the casino. He made his polite apology, tipped his jester's cap, and was about to head over to the Palace, when he noticed that she dropped a black invitation.

When she excused herself to go to the restroom, he grabbed his cell phone and tried to call Rex. His phone was busy, so he called Ruby, Rex's date for the evening's gala. She owns and operates Ruby's Ranch just outside of Clark County, one of many legal brothels in the state. She told Corey that she actually was not going to be able to make it to the Ball, and she too tried to call Rex but could also not get through to him. He must be very busy getting everything ready for the Ball they agreed.

Ruby comes into Vegas for only a few reasons, the usual is to spend time with Rex, as she is a member of his Harem. But on her last visit a couple days ago, she stopped by Kitty's Place to see how Kitty was doing. While they, she spotted Rose dancing and could not take her eyes off of her. For such a new addition to the club, she had all the right moves. With the right connections, she could go far. So she arranged for Rose to get her invitation to the Ball, meet with Rex and Scarlett, and perhaps find a better place to dance.

Corey understood what she meant when Rose stepped out of the bathroom in her stunning Ruby red gown. "Cherries all over her, Ruby. Did you pick the dress, too?" He asked.

"No, I left her a note, but whatever she's wearing, I didn't provide," Ruby admitted. "You think Rex will like her?"

Mockingly wiping drool from his lips, he said, "He likes cherries, yes."

"Good," Ruby sighed, "make sure she gets to the Ball safe, OK?"

"I'll do my best, night," Cory said and then hung up. He tried to calm himself down. He didn't want to scare her off. He slowly approached her and said, "You're going to need a mask."

She looked up, obviously nervous, but she recognized the man with the silly jester's hat and asked, "Excuse me?"

"For the Ball," and he pulled out his own envelope to show her that they had the same destination, "It's a Masquerade Ball. There's a great store at the Venetian which sells beautiful italian masques. I have to get mine, too. The name is Corey Bantes," then he bowed a silly but handsome gesture, "Court Jester Extraordinaire, and you don't want to be late for your very important date."