I’m never really sure what she’s thinking, normally I can cold-read with the pros, but that Beauty, sometimes I think she wrote the book on cold.

Some years ago, I had inadvertently dripped some of my
blood on some of the mould that seems to be able to grow anywhere down here while feeding one of my pets, and it rapidly grew, seeming to take on new properties for a few weeks, and then promptly died. I have learned since then through rigorous experimentation that it has something to do with its natural- albeit very short- life-cycle.

The blood seems to lend it’s inherent strength and longevity to the organism, but is still limited by the organism itself.  I tried for years to keep a ghouled hummingbird, thinking that they would prove to be excellent spies, but the little buggers need blood constantly to stay alive. It seems to be a matter of metabolism.

Of course none of these projects has left me with anything remotely useful, other than a laundry-list of things that don’t work. After a great deal of research, I at least found out that I was not the first to stumble upon this oddity. “Mandragora” is the preferred technical term apparently, though aside from other’s failures, I have discovered little else on the subject.

See since all this talk of Sabbat boxin' us in started up, I have found myself becoming a little antsy. Not cause I’m afraid the boogey-man is gonna get me… I AM the goddamn Boogey-man. More because I don’t like being told what I can’t do.

So I figure, with my knowledge of architecture, my blacksmithing skills an’ access to the blueprints of the underbelly of this city, courtesy of that computer-whiz, Grey I ought to be able to tunnel us a backdoor outta this hole ‘case things get ugly ‘roun’ere. An by us, I mean US. Not that most of the other clans in this city ain’t been decent as they know how, but they ain’t shown any love fer ol Mister Hyde neither. We Nos gotta look out for our own.

Problem is, I keep breakin’ off tools tryin’ ta get this hole goin’. They just can’t keep up, I can snap the haft of a maul like it was a piece a’ straw. Wood, fiberglass, don't matter. I’ve tried hammering out my own steel handles, but they might as well be rubber.

So to make a long story short, I did a little online shopping and ordered some dragontree seeds, Paulownia Kawakamii being the proper name, they are supposed to be a fast-growing, long-lived source of exotic hardwood. Maybe with a little encouragement, I can get what I need out of them.

Course most of my seeds showed up non-viable, and considering the ridiculous amount of planning I have to go through just to get a package delivered (you can’t exactly convince a fed-ex guy ta’ go trouncing about in human filth jus’ta deliver a parcel, well ya could, ah nevermind), I wasn’t about to wait another six weeks ta get new ones.

So I sent a message over ta that weirdo Userp… uhh, Tremere, the one people say has a green thumb, offering to trade secrets if he can convince these dead seeds to grow. Course I don’t have any at the moment, but he needn’t know that, I’m an honorable chap an’ if he wants to know the dirt on someone, I’’l do my damnedest to get it for him, everybody’s got dirt on ’em.

‘Course when I informed beauty of all this, I just got that look. I still don’t know what the hell that means. Is it “you’re boring me to tears with your senseless prattle, Shut. Up.” or “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know” or is it “that sounds intriguing dear, but why don’t you pester me when you actually have some results.” I suppose I should just ask her sometime, save myself the headache a’gettin’ chewed-out over somethin’ stupid again.

Speakin’ a’ which where the hell is she… Hyde wanders into the antechamber and calls out, somewhat timidly though his booming voice still reverberates in the large room…

“Beauty?”

Beauty probably wouldnt explain the look even if he asked. Shes a cold gnarley bitch but she is very good at what she does... A political nosferatu, who would have guessed.

She is in the hovel, traveling being difficult these days what with the cameras being set up everywhere along the sewer lines... but its being taken care of. She traded some information in exchange for the tremere's help...

Now if the'd just stop dragging their feet...

'What?' She calls back, lounging inside a burned out car that must have been a chore and a half to get into the sewer, nevermind all the way down here...

At this, Hyde ambles over to the burnt husk making a couple of awkward attempts to slide into the passenger seat through the missing door before peeling back the dented-in roof of the car a bit so he can fit. Readjusting what’s left of the rearview to make eye contact with Beauty in the backseat, he says “Ello Lovely!” in a jovial tone, shooting her a grin.

Regardless of her appearance, Hyde has always genuinely found her beautiful and told her as much, on occasion, though he doubts she actually believes him. Over the years he has learned, mostly from her, to see past the surface of things. It is her character that is beautiful, despite her baggage and occasional ice-queen-thing. Hell we all got baggage, but sometimes, just sometimes, I think that us Nos might be the lucky ones. There is at least that one thing that we can’t bullshit ourselves about, staring us in the face all the time so’s we don’t forget.

He breaks of from his second of musing, and continues… "I’ve been a bit preoccupied of late, but with most of my projects in limbo at the moment, is there anything you want me to be doing?"  

--Last edited by mourningstaar on 2008-04-12 11:21:56 --