--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
Wendigo: His expression did not betray any annoyance, and he managed to land his offhand in his pocket, rather than reacting with a sidearm at being touched. "They already know," he replied. "No sense hiding the matter. Might goad them into a mistake." He paused. "Also, this..." he added, drawing a circle around his face with the binoculars, "Not mine. Never wear it out."
He was too busy calculating the possibilities in his mind to dwell on the intrusion into his personal space. "Might even be on same side." If the reporter had eluded the White Hall crowd after discovering something, they would be looking harder than he was. A common goal with the enemy? Such an alliance could only end with betrayal. "Interesting..." he admitted.
Macaria: She shrugged slightly; her only admission that he may have a point. If they were what she, and now he, suspected then yes, they would already know. Which rather begged the question of why they had not yet done anything about the pair’s presence and not so covert observation. And also whether or not she could learn the trick with the faces - she had a feeling that it could be incredibly handy.
“I doubt that we are on the same side, truly, I mean. The enemy of my enemy may be my friend, but we must ask ourselves as we stand here across the road from a group of heavily armed men, who is our true enemy and what is it, exactly, that this reporter may know?”
She paused, her own question raising more of the same for herself.
“Do you not think,” she began slowly, “That it is rather convenient that a reporter, a person with no business being in the Mausoleum, somehow managed to get past a
military cordon set up to protect the humans from the creatures within, despite likely lacking the skillset to do so? And then, to compound this, went missing.”
She paused, the pieces falling together as she spoke.
“And all of this a short time after the election.”
Wendigo: "Journalists are parasites," he noted. "But parasites can be crafty." He had dealt with dozens of journalists in his role at Groom: none of the ones who came on their own ever meant well by them. The only good ones were the ones they had approached themselves... that told the stories he brought them in to tell. The question was,
what story was this reporter telling? A story the government didn't want told, clearly... but was it a story of vampire actions, or theirs? A Masquerade Violation in either case, but perhaps it was a story that could be turned to their advantage. "You think Bancroft is to blame?"
Macaria: In truth she had no idea what to think. As a general rule, she kept herself fairly insulated from the goings on in the city unless they directly effected either her or her work with raising the dead. That way, as few people as possible knew what she was doing and that cut down drastically on the likelihood of mobs of townspeople waving pitchforks and flaming torches turning up on her front door. She considered this to be a good thing.
So she shrugged, once more, in answer to his question and then went with the truth.
“I find myself not knowing what to think. We have little to work with, too little. Until roughly ten minutes ago I was not even aware that a reporter was missing. We need data. Intelligence. Information. As it stands, we do not know enough and what we
do know leaves far too many possibilities for my liking. This thing could go too many ways as it stands.”
Wendigo: "Never know enough," he admitted. "Too many opinions with us. Not enough facts. Everyone waits for answers. Little action." He paused. Now was not the time to pontificate, but old habits died hard. Words were the problem, he reminded himself, not the solution. It was the very reason he had withdrawn so far from the Community. He tucked the binoculars back into the bag... waiting for someone else to produce actionable data might be an exercise in futility. "You been inside recently?" he asked.
Macaria: She shook her head, “Not recently, no.”
Heckle and Jeckle, her zombies, had been in there recently of course but she was not about to admit that to the man. Sparrow had taken the news of her activities with the risen dead well, but had cautioned her on the problems that came with what many of their kind might see as a violence of the vampire secrecy laws. And so, on this one, she kept her own counsel.
“The last time would be before all of this nonsense with the reporter,” she continued, “So it was much quieter. And less potentially fatal. If ‘fatal’ is a word which even applies to us anymore. But you see what I am saying. Are you thinking that an increased presence on the outside might mean the same for the interior?”
Mordechai wrote:"Aerial surveillance commencing" was broadcast to the minds of Wendigo and Zodiac, as he dove out the window of his apartment.
Wendigo: Wendigo hummed thoughtfully. "Know soon enough... eyes in the air now." He cast a glance skyward, but saw nothing yet. "Depends on their goals. Might be digging... might be looking for something that dug out." The best case scenario was that this reporter was investigating the military and was caught. After all, the military clearly knew of vampires: too much resistance to deny that. The worst case, of course, was that the reporter had eluded them and was now free in Harper Rock. "Going in might tell us, but no rush yet."
Macaria: Macaria nodded thoughtfully. Might as well wait and see what their ‘eyes in the air’ would tell them, though she doubted it would be anything more than what they could see from here, other than a pleasant view of the rooftops. She said as much.
“A fair point. With either option, it most likely did not end well for them given the locale. If they are, indeed, digging then what they might release from a place in which mooncalves roam free hardly bears thinking about, and the same goes for what might have escaped,” she paused, realising that the inevitable was, well, inevitable, “Regardless, we shall need eyes on the inside before the night is out. For now, we may as well see what the aerial view can tell us.”
A smile flashed across her features ever so briefly.
“So, what do you reckon the most common type of roofing is in this part of the city?”
Wendigo: He nodded. He was already in the process of calling for backup, although he was too surreptitious to use his phone... especially if there was military involvement. Reaching out with his mind, he found his only surviving childer, Day.
"Military trouble at Mausoleum," he sent.
"Could use help."
He paused, looking back at the encampment. "Suspect adequate force is coming," he said. "Don't know about roofs... tend to fly."
Macaria: She was shocked by this, if she were to be honest. Not that he was able to fly, that seemed fairly understandable in a world where vampires and magic were verifiable things, but that he did not seem to be interested in his surroundings when he did. So she simply nodded as he spoke, a little grateful that there would be others around to take some of the focus from her and her troubles with Heckle.
“Wonderful,” she stated flatly, “At which point may I suggest that we enter via either the sewers or a suitable back way, far from the eyes of the men with the guns? Bullet holes are not the best thing in the world, you understand.”
Wendigo: He shrugged slightly: an apparent effect of wearing someone else's body. "Haven't shot yet," he noted. "Won't start in public space: against the rules."
In many ways, the government forces were much like the Masquerade-serving vampires, he mused. They were both trying to keep secrets from the humans. Unfortunately, their reasons for that were quite different.
"Can head towards sewers though..." he started again, setting aside the useless thought. "Think another of ours over there." He hoisted the bag back onto his shoulder and acknowledged the distant giant with a subtle wave.
