Ave Dominus Nox [TERRITORY IMPACT]

[Mkvenner]

It had been in the works for some time now.

Really, it had been in the pipeline since the day day the club had been founded and the original patches had been handed out in the room that was yet to become the Chapel of the Night Lords MC, Harper Rock charter. To say that they had had humble beginnings was a slight understatement. Originally it had been just five of them - Ven, LaShana, Lyonel, Lincoln and Roderic. The Fanged Five. The founding members. Since then, members - Roderic, Lyonel and Lincoln - had left and new patches had been handed out to Dominique, Kenlie and Victor. These happy few had become the core of the club.

Over the next year, they had got on with business. Kept their noses clean, quietly earning and making their way. Consolidating what little power they had. The building they had taken over and been refurbished, eventually opening as The Handle Bar. If anything, Ven was just as proud of this place as he was of his club. It was a haven for all those that felt as though they had nowhere else to go. He didn’t care if you were a vampire, a human. A necurat or a blood thief. Even paladins were welcome to come on in for a pint. His bar was neutral ground for the entire city, a hub of communication and odd fraternity where there was only one rule - if there was going to be any violence, any at all, it was going to be Ven or the MC carrying it out. And don’t eat the humans.

So there were two rules. Sue him.

In the last few days, to get ready for this most momentous of nights in the history of their little motorcycle club, Ven had been on a recruiting spree. He had recognised that they would need, pardon the pun, new blood and so had gone out to find it. Kamikaze, John Doe, Jameson Dade and Mordechai had all been presented with a prospect cut, each one, it seemed to him at least, eager to prove why they deserved their rockers. The club had even found themselves their very own Saul Goodman in the form of Jackson Wilson, attorney at **** you. Ven was pretty sure that was a fake business card, but it had made him smile.

The night, though, was finally upon them. They had been working towards this the entire time and now was their chance. Everything was in place. Resting his gently smoking cigar in a handy ashtray, Ven reached for his phone. He called them all, one after the other, going through his contacts list to make sure he didn’t miss a single name. Tonight served a dual purpose - get the patched members acquainted with the new prospects he’d found for the club, and get those same prospects acquainted with the patch holders. That was number one.

Wanton violence and murder of the local triads was number two. He thought they’d enjoy number two.

“Church in half an hour,” he said to each one, grinning all the while, “Cuts mandatory. Grab a drink at the bar on your way up, you’ll likely need it. Lot to talk about tonight. Big news. Big, big news.”

He dropped the phone onto the table, running a hand over the club logo burned into the wood before standing and wandering over to the storage closet to find some more chairs. Since the last meeting of the Club, they’d almost doubled in number. Here, at the head of the table, was his place. Kenlie’s to his right as their VP. Dominique to his left as the Sgt At Arms. Victor went next to Kenlie as Treasurer. Next to Dom was LaShana’s empty chair for when or if she ever woke back up. It was held in trust until that time. He stood, surveying the claimed seats - comfortable black leather, soft and well worn in. In comparison the folding chairs for the prospects were considerably less inviting.

But hell, they were only prospects anyway. What did they expect? Cushions? Hah.

Returning to the head of the table, he turned the gavel over in his hands, smiling softly. With barely a sound, he returned it to its place at his right hand and took his seat, retrieving his cigar and taking a few experimental puffs. He was pleased to see that it was still lit and decided this boded well. Leaning back, his feet lifted onto the table, he settled in to wait for the first arrivals.

[Jameson Dade]

He was floating. His mouth was sealed shut, and bubbles formed at his nostrils. His breaths were not long and slow, so the bubbles didn't come out as one large, jiggly mass, but instead as small dots that quickly dissipated just inches from his face. His eyes were open, but there was none of that chlorine sting he had come to associate with public pools growing up. Darkness peered into the light. There was a saying about that wasn't there? Look into the abyss, and such and such, it'll look back at you. Except if Jameson looked into the sunlight, he'd probably end up with fried retinas or fried brains, so what did that tell you? That **** didn't work in reverse, at least not for his kind.

He felt like he must be deep in the water, because there was no movement, no current. But he could see brightness shining behind a layer of refraction. Underneath, it looked like the light was made of water itself, but it didn't warm him. He felt cold, and it was only getting colder.

When he had been a young boy, there had been a point at which the Dades had made a pretty fair attempt at being normal. It had been during one of the few dry patches for his mom, when she hadn't been piss drunk for months, or fried out of her head on the drug du jour, and when his father had been actually supportive of her rehabilitation. He was a total shitbag, and Jameson knew that deep down. The family had inevitably gone back to its bad habits. Dad needed to make some cash, and the fastest way to do that with limited education and even more limited patience was dealing. His mother said something to the effect of 'You know being a Saint didn't save Mother Teresa', she'd said it with her hair all frizzy, and her make up half rubbed onto a hoodie sleeve. Maybe she never really got dry.

Anyway, when they were trying to live it up as normal as possible, the Dades had gotten back in touch with the other branch of the family tree. Dad's brother had a nice house and two kids, a pool. They went to visit over the summer, and while the adults were chatting away, the three boys had decided to play what they claimed was Marco Polo.

"I bet you can't do it." The accusation made Jameson's lips twitch into a defiant half smile.

"Yeah, I bet you can't." Came the mirror response from the other boy, who was a few years younger than Jameson, and the older cousin. The dare was pretty straight forward. Dive in the pool. Not even particularly hard. Except apparently there was some kind of rule against it, and Jameson found himself wondering if that was why some parents made up pointless rules. So their kids felt a sense of accomplishment at doing something totally and completely boring.

He fixed the both of them with a look that said he was skeptical they were worth taking a dare from. The oldest took it for a challenge and hauled himself dripping out of the water. He made sure the parents weren't watching, inside chatting away about how Jameson's dad was looking for a job, and how his brother might help him find something, and about how that wasn't necessary, and he would find his own way, and he had been his own man for years. Jameson's attention was split between the slowly growing volume of the indoor conversation and his cousin's theatrics. He barely saw the boy leap into the water, but after that happened, he knew he had to follow through.

Unwritten boy code. Couldn't back out on a dare if the other guy did it, otherwise you were a pussy.

So minutes later, he was on the jumping board. He'd never used one in his life, and that became really apparent after he attempted to leap off, and ended up slamming back first into the diving board. He slid off into the water after hitting his head wrong. He was only out for a second. There were muffled sounds of screaming when he woke up, and he was floating under the water. He could feel it invading his throat like he was trying to swallow the business end of a medieval morning star. He could feel it in his lungs, like big bricks on his chest. In his chest, and he was trying to suck in air around them while they pulverized the meaty sacks that should have filled with air.

He was pulled out of the water. A mouth against his. Screaming still muted.

A half hour later, the Dades were in the car, and his father was still shouting at him. His mom was crying, and dad was saying they were never going back. He didn't say it was because of Jay, but that was what the boy was supposed to feel. Except he didn't. He knew even then his father was a shitbag, who just happened to not like seeing reminders that he wasn't a pinnacle father or husband.

Sometimes when Jameson dreamed, he relived that experience.

He jolted awake when the Rolling Stones began to tell him to Paint It Black. A hand lifted to scrub through faintly greasy hair. He lifted his phone, swiped, held the thing to his ear. His voice was rough with sleep. "On my way." He hung up then, and shuffled out of bed. His windows had been special treated. He'd sawed the sil off, then covered the glass in black paint, then boarded over it with drywall. The windows were just part of the mural that was his room, with glum paint spattered in different images.

His hands had splotches of ink and paint. He washed his face, and tugged on clean underwear, then mostly clean jeans. He wore a plain black t-shirt and an equally plain hoodie. That was one of the mistakes some high end thieves made. Cops could track something down with fibers. If the fibers came from the most worn pants or the most worn hoodie in the country? Well that didn't narrow down a pool of suspects all that much. Personalized items. Signatures. That **** got you caught - he'd learned the latter the hard way. He could have been anybody, until he put on the vest. When he put on the prospect cut, he was one of a very small group. He still didn't know how that made him feel. Good?

Well he didn't hate it.

Maybe it would make him care about something again.

"Be back later." He said to his dog. Bucket was a golden retriever who remained mostly subdued on the bed, tucked against the other body still slumbering there. He got a quizzical look, and a cocked head. Then he was gone, out into his apartment's hallway, so he could catch an elevator ride to the parking lot. His bike was a 2011, not old enough to need any restoration, but it had been driven hard by the time he'd gotten it, so the first week after the purchase, he'd invested a lot of time into getting replacement parts and making sure it was tuned up. The guy he'd gotten it from was at the end of his mid-life crisis, and didn't need the risk or the headache from his wife telling him it took up too much space. Jameson had gotten a pretty good overall. Harley Dyna Street Bob. Jameson just called him Bob.

It didn't take him long to get to the Handle Bar. He poured himself a Jack and was at the Church a moment later. Bossman. He wanted to say, but that would probably come across like he was a punkass. That was usually how it came across. "Ven." He greeted, lifting his glass like he was toasting the man. Nervous or out of it, he couldn't decide which it was, but it made his stomach ache a little bit and his scalp feel hot. ****. He was gonna **** it up. He could feel it in his teeth. He drank deep and then dropped to sit in one of the folding chairs (which he didn't consider odd, as he had them in his own apartment in place of real furniture).

[Dominique]

HOPE and LESS formed an unbreakable grip on the massive hoist to test the stability of the current hold it had on the cylinder heads of the Magnum V-8. The owner of the ‘68 Dodge Charger R/T wanted it overhauled and running better than new. The shadow didn’t promise the customer any miracles. His wife sideswiping the fire station wall five nights back when she went on a ‘****-you’ road trip was hardly going to make the task simple. It was a shame what a little 150 proof induced anger could do. The mass of banged up machine seemed to be safe enough to proceed with the extraction. The hard part would be trying to fix what looked like a lost cause the more she stared at it.

The lever adjusted slowly and she maneuvered the engine once it was free of the car itself. Waiting for the right front quarter panel was already happening. She did not need to be another week out waiting for a left panel to show up as well. As the engine lowered and finally rested on the blue stationary electric lift table she heard the sound of her cell calling for her attention. She sighed when she caught the extent of the dents on the right side.

“What a mess.”

Inked fingers wringed the shop cloth in her hands briefly then tossed it to the table where her cell was chirping. A quick slide of her thumb while placing it to her ear had the call answered. Ven was rounding up the club. She glanced at the engine then to the shop clock that illuminated from the south wall in Vita Bella’s underground garage. The engine would wait. Business would always wait. It was the beauty of running Twisted Sister as she did. No rules but her own, no one to answer to and deadlines were all at her discretion.

“On my way.”

The sprint up the stairs took seconds and the shower that followed a little longer. Within fifteen minutes she was watching the steel door rise over the hood of the red Hello Kitty Smart Car. She felt like she was closed into a rolling skate. A far cry from her usual muscle cars it certainly was. As always she had her reasons and could be practical when called for. In this case it was for business and she had parts in the back she needed to run back to the Honeymead shop. She was pretty sure she would not be getting **** for arriving to The Handle Bar in it. However, the MADD sticker she slapped on the back bumper several months ago just might. It went with the vibe the car gave off. What outlaw would drive such a thing? Jane Dominique Doe that is who.

Three minutes travel time and she parked without difficulty. Once inside she stepped around the corner from the front doors and made her way towards the back room of the club. HOPE and LESS took on the work of adjusting the black leather jacket on her petite shoulders. It was not coming off but getting set firmly where it belonged. With each step up the stairs she hoped to see the rest of the gang arriving or already there at the table waiting for the meeting Ven was calling. The door opened with the aid of HOPE and she stepped in allowing it to close behind her.

“Evening…”

Dominique glanced to both present in the room and found her seat. The weight of her body slid down until she comfortable and a half smile lifted to the right corner of her mouth. Her eyes focused on the door looking forward to the rest that would be filing in.

[Wilson]

Jackson Wilson flipped through the papers one last time, before heading out to deliver the papers to his client. He had set up a co-operative business entity for them. There were reasons he chose the Co-operative over a partnership and a corporation.

In a partnership, there were advantages, they were easy to start up a partnership, start-up costs would be shared equally, there would be equal share in the management, profits and assets, there were tax advantages; if income from the partnership is low or loses money the partners of the partnership could list it in their individual tax returns. The disadvantages outweighed the positives that his client wants. There was no legal difference between him and his business. He would have unlimited liability. Meaning if the partnership owed money, the partners were personally on the hook to pay. If there was ever a conflict.. and in a biker gang.. conflict was inevitable, the partnership is not easy to dissolve. And lastly, all partners could be held liable for the dumb **** actions of another partner. So the Partnership was out.

Most people think they need to incorporate when they are making a business entity. But then most people get fucked over by the corporation disadvantages. Corporation are regulated to hell and back. They are expensive. About twice as expensive as any other business entity. Record keeping becomes a nightmare. All sorts of reports and record would have to happen annually and quarterly, including shareholder and director meetings, and then that documentation would have to be filed with the government. In a timely fashion. Did a biker club fit that bill? Hell no. Corporation was out.

Wilson flipped page after page, to make sure he had covered every loophole. In his mind, Co-operatives were under utilized. Their advantages outweighed their disadvantages. Co-operatives are owned and controlled by members; there was democratic control meaning one member, one vote; there was limited liability; and there was easy profit distribution. Downside, there was record keeping required; and one member one vote, also meant, one member one share. So when the business need funds, all members coughed up the same amount of money.

All in all, for what his client wanted, there really was no other viable option. Wilson gathered the paperwork and shoved them in a manila envelope and headed to the Handle Bar. As he parked outside the bar, he thought his fifteen year old Volvo looked out of place. What did he care? It got him from point A to point B. He didn’t care if it got dinged or dented, as long as it ran and was reliable. That damn car was the only thing he came out with from his divorce. Hell. That car lasted longer than his wife did.

Stepping inside the bar, he held up the envelope at the bartender, “Paperwork for Ven.. “

The bartender, who was stocking shot glasses, looked over at the door at the end of the bar. “Upstairs.”

Wilson headed up the stairs and then into a room, where several people were gathered. Jacketed members were seated, and it felt like all eyes turned his direction when he entered. He paused for a millisecond, just enough time to make sure there was no obvious signs of blood or illegal activity taking place. If he witnessed it, he would be complicit. That would take him out of the role of defense attorney to partner in crime. He held up the envelope and made his way to Ven, holding it out to him. “You look busy.. we can talk another time.. “

[John Doe]

Jane felt a hand smack off her *** as she made her way toward the bar. She wasn’t heading there to get a drink, she could no longer enjoy the warmth a glass of spirits could spread throughout one’s chest. Instead the hand was attached to the particular refreshment she was searching for. It was nice when the prey sought to garner the attention of the predator.Turning though she found herself face to face with not one man, but five. They all looked the same. The same haircut, the same style, their clothes were color co-ordinated. Had she not just had a run-in with a gang and seen this type of thing recently she may have assumed they were here to do a dance routine for the band that was playing on the stage at the other end of the room.

This wasn’t part of the plan. She had planned to simply seduce one lonesome man and let him take her outside away from people where she could feed. She had never been into the more violent approaches of the one who had turned her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It was a thrill to give herself completely over to the hunt, to the beast within her, put there by the dead blood of her maker. When she had turned though she had become one of those vampires who walked closest to death, a necromancer. Flesh and blood things were her purview. She could heal their wounds and even see the spirits once they departed their mortal shells.

The look in the eyes of these youths were the same as she had seen on the face of both her sire and his thrall. Lust and the potential for violence danced in their gazes one and all. She felt a hatred arise within her. They weren’t just men out looking for a quick score with some willing girl. They were out planning on taking what they wanted whether some girl was willing or not.

Jane was not easy prey, no weak and indecisive girl like she had been growing up in a shattered household. She was no longer mortal and she would not quake in fear at a look from her food. She would not run from these bullies, these thugs. She looked back at the pack of snickering jackals and sneered at them. “That’s as close as you boys are ever likely to get.” With a smirk she tossed a wink and pushed through the crowd heading toward the exit.

She knew the five Chinese gangsters had pushed off from the wall and were following her. She made no attempt to rush through the bodies moving around her, she actually slowed enough to ensure they could follow her outside. She was a walking conflict of emotions and hunger within. Searing rage mixed with an icy hatred filling her heart more and more with each step trying to compete with a cold certainty of what would happen next and an emptiness in her belly, a thirst that was nearly all consuming. Hot blood would soon pass icy lips and she would turn herself over to the ravenous beast within.

[Mordechai]

Things had changed. His solo quest to destroy the criminal empire of the Lionelli family was stagnate. No one knew where they had come from, nor what their intentions were, But the laconic killer believed in status quo. Too often he had seen change in the cities underworld bring more peril to those few he called his own. He had made it his task to eliminate risks to his kennedy, to his few friends, before they even knew there was danger. Bud nipping, so to speak. When there were buds that needed nipped, he was fine with being the pruner. It was a major reason he had opened his second business. They specialized in pest extermination. Two legged pests. The Lionelli had proven to be a vampyric version of the cockroach. Every night. Every night when the sun set, sometimes before it had started its dip to the horizon, Mordechai had loaded magazines, cleaned and oiled his guns, masterfully honed his blades, and decimate the Lionelli populace. It was an unending task. Months later there were as many as he had found the day his steps had led him to this mansion in the north. Cockroaches, damned, indestructible, clordane resistant, fertile spawning cockroaches.

A week ago, a trip back to the apartment for more ammo, had been extend to include a trip around the corner to a local pit, the HandleBar. There had been few customers, and the normally laconic killer had struck up a conversation with under worked bartender Mkvenner, Ven. The conversation had drifted, and it turned out that Ven was the owner as well as the tender, and he rode. The new acquaintance had a second job, as leader of the Night Lords. Mordechai had for perhaps the first time in recorded history, made an unplanned, unresearched decision. The killer had decided that a pairing with the club, would be mutually beneficial, and acted upon the assumption immediately. His decision had become cemented in his mind shortly afterwards, when a familiar tattooed pixie had appeared, and it was explained that she was not only also a member, but the de facto seargent- at- arms.

Feathers ruffled as he shifted position. The killer was perched in his favorite 'musing' spot, settled atop the abandoned powerplant's crumbling smokestack, buried within the guise of a massive South American harpy eagle. Altitude and swirling snow hid the non- indigenous avian predator from the eyes of the sheep that plodded the streets below. A break in the flurries coincided with the break in his musings ant the eagle flexed, a snapping flap of its wings sending snow glittering in the faint light as it drifted to the ground far below.

Sharp eyes searched the night when a sudden tingle deep within his conscious alerted him to an incoming text.

“Church in half an hour. Cuts mandatory. Grab a drink at the bar on your way up, you’ll likely need it. Lot to talk about tonight. Big news. Big, big news.”

Talons opened as muscular legs drove the raptor into the air, powerful strokes of the sweeping seven foot wings drove the killer ever higher in a circle riding the thermals rising over the still unfrozen river, until with a piercing shriek the mighty avian behemoth drove southward, speeding over the sleeping city. Rolling into a sloping dive he entered redwood airspace, the harpy tucked its wings, speed increasing as he plummeted through the once more swirling icy crystals. Target in sight, the might raptor flared up, wings fully extended, then disappeared as a seven foot plus three hundred forty pound vampire took its place and landed on the roof with a gentle thud, knees bent to absorb noise and impact. From there it was a short drop to the empty streets. Pacing quickly through the bar, Mordechai passed straight to the back room, then padded silently up the stairs, stepping into the 'church' "Present" slipped from his lips in a low growl as he assumed an almost sentry like position against the wall at the top of the stairs.

[John Doe]

As Jane moved from the bar with five men in tow John watched from a balcony above. The music in the place was more her style than his, hip hop or R&B weren’t his favorite genres. He was more into the rock n roll and country, anything with guitars and a good set of lungs belting out a message or freedom. The rap genre was too disrespectful to women and John never grew comfortable with the racial undertones. He’d suffered enough hatred in his life contained within four walls, he didn’t need to hear it in his music. He also wasn’t a fan of people bragging about what they had and others didn’t and the whole ghetto hood rat sob story never appealed to him when he himself had grown up with nothing himself.

The fact of the matter was, nothing about his past appealed to him outside of his sister and at the moment she was being trailed by five guys who were looking at her the same way ******** number 2 and his loathsome little thrall had before they did the bad things to her. The irony of the situation they were in in their own warped relationship escaped him of course. John could easily see the danger signs in others but missed them completely in himself. At the moment all he knew was he needed to protect Jane from these five punks.

She was leading them toward the exit. Smart, get them outside and alone where john could handle them. He made his way toward the stairs quickly, though not quickly enough to draw attention pushing through the people crowding the place. He lost sight of them upon reaching the floor and began making a beeline toward the exit.

In John’s head the scene about to happen played out in slow motion. The five would likely take a moment to scare Jane, taunt her as she led them deeper into the nearby alley, John coming up silently behind them. They would speed up, close in, maybe catch her at a dead end. They would make comments about what they intended to do to her, push her, grab her. They would force her down and then they would do the same thing their stepfather and his master had done. Before that could happen though John would draw his gun. The scene went slow motion in his mind, the weapon coming into view and kicking each shot, the gangsters falling as trails of blood flew from erupting flesh, from suddenly misshapen heads…

Finally he got out of the club and looked around. There, an alley nearby. He knew Jane and how she thought and he picked up the pace as he approached.

The scene he walked in on was nothing short of total carnage. Three of the gangsters lay broken, all of them bleeding, one was cowering in the corner against the building and the last was twisting in Jane’s grip as she latched her fangs into his throat. It wasn’t to drink, she simply tore away, showering the pavement with a bloody trail, nearly black in the dim light.

As she turned to the last of them John finally noticed the symbol tattooed on the man… they weren’t just street punks… they were Yongheng Triad… the ones from the dock gang fight. “Jane wait!”

Instantly Jane stopped and turned to him, blood caked her face and for a moment John was terrified of her. It passed in an instant. This was Jane, she loved him, she would never hurt him. Relief flowed over him and he relaxed visibly, unaware that he had stiffened. “I have an idea for this one. Much better than just killing him…”

John’s eyes locked with the terrified young Asian gang members wide-eyed gaze and to the young Yongheng Triad thug, John became everything…

“Let's assume you should tell me every bad thing you planned on doing tonight…”

As the gangster begins to speak John’s eyes widen in surprise. He and Jane exchange a look as the young man pours out plans about a weapons shipment. “Well now… talk about one hella coincidence.”

[Mkvenner]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

* Mordechai slips up the stairs

* Dominique pulled out her cell phone and swiped the screen shutting it off. Slid it back into her jacket pocket and settled back.

* Mordechai leans against the wall by the stairs "Present" he growled out* Mordechai stood up, and slipped 2 custom guns from beneath his leather stepping forward to lay them before Ven, “Here are a few more"

* Wilson had entered, unaware that there was a meeting take place. He carefully heads back the way he came.

‹Mkvenner› Right, seeings as most of us are here, let's get going shall we. Wilson, stay brother. You're a part of this too. You should hear what comes next.

* Dominique eyes lifted in time to track the tall male who was as warm blooded as one could get.

* Mkvenner eyes the weapons on the table in front of him, "And one of our new brothers keeps giving me weapons. I like this guy."

* Wilson looked at Ven, and nodded briefly before taking a seat, a non-important seat. One of those.. uncomfortable ones.

* Jameson Dade straightened up a little bit, his drink curled into his hand, which was in turn curled into his chest. He'd wanted to look cool, but there was absolutely no way to look cool on a folding chair.

‹Mkvenner› before we get going with Church, there's some new prospects in the room. Most of you guys in fact. So, introductions first and foremost, I'm thinking.

* Mordechai raised an eyebrow, apparently a few of the members still saw the sun

* Mkvenner he paused, "You know me. I'm Ven. Bar owner and president around these parts. To my left, the lovely Dominique. Sergeant at Arms of the Night Lords Motorcycle Club. But she can introduce herself better than me," he nodded to her.

* Dominique rolled her shoulders back a bit and smiled to those new faces.

* Jameson Dade smiled back at Dominique, resisting the urge to wave a hello. Instead, he decided to just listen for the moment.

* Wilson looked at the female, she was pretty. She was the type that would get you killed. Big eyes, ready smile. You found yourself doing things to impress her, next thing you know.. you're doing 15-20 for armed robbery. He nodded politely at her.

* Dominique nodded. "Dominique. Some know me by other names but welcome to Night Lords. I am here once walking in the doors like you. I can say it will be the place you will consider home one way or another. But you will be earning it too. My blood for yours in return. No one rides for free."

* John Doe wanders in from downstairs and glances around. He almost slinks over to the table and quietly takes a seat. A moment later his sister joins him. She looks to the other vampires present and gives a smile before seating herself next to John.

* Dominique glances slowly to the suit next to her and eyes him slowly.

* Mordechai watches as the crowd grows, stepping back to the wall again.

‹Mkvenner› We have other patched members, notably our VP and treasurer, but they couldn't make it tonight. You'll meet them soon enough, I'm sure. But these guys, Dom... these guys are our new prospects.
* Mkvenner gave them a grin, "Introduce yourself lads. Let's get this ice well and truly broken."

[Dominique]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

* John Doe raises a hand in greeting. Jane, the female vampire with him waves "I'm Jane, this is John, my brother. He's a little shy around new people."

* Dominique looked to Jameson and nodded up then did a double take at the one nearly as tall as the ceiling. Mordechai. There was a big big round of whoop *** under that cowboy hat he was known to wear.

* Wilson 's gaze at the female was broken, when he caught the movement in another part of the room. A monolith of a man. Bloody hell that man was big. He made a mental note to never cross that man.

* Jameson Dade moved to stand, putting his drink down where his *** had been just seconds before. "Name's Jameson. I'm a new prospect, so I guess Ven saw something in me. I can do a bit of this and that, hope I can make you guys proud." Short intro, and then he was moving to sit again.

* Dominique takes a glance to the one calling herself Jane and feels a twitch to her upper lip take hold. John. Her grandfather passed through her mind quickly then was gone.

* Wilson looked at Jameson, then at Ven. "I'm Wilson. I am the cooperatives' attorney. Co-operative.. because that is what you are.. a business cooperative. I would like a chance to meet with each you at a later date, to get an idea of what sorts of things I can help you with."

* Mordechai straightened up from the wall, tipping his stetson towards the two females. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward then paused to reset his hat. A low rich voice graveled out a greeting "I am known as Mordechai."

* John Doe glances around at everyone, his eyes never lingering very long on any one person. Too many vampires. The wave given by his sister marked them as such, the smile meant there were humans here too though. Looking around he tries to figure out which is which.

‹Dominique› "I think this looks like a great mix. Her dark eyes moved casually to each one then finally found Ven. a smile produced some dimples and she winked. "Nice prospects. Where do we begin?"

* Jameson Dade smiled at the idea of an attorney helping him. That would certainly have been a first. "Nice to meet you all." He added belatedly.

* Mkvenner grinned wickedly, "At the beginning, just like always." He brought the gavel in his hand down onto the table with a resounding crack, "Church is open. For those of you as are new to this, this is... think of it like a board meeting, yeah? We talk, we tell each other the news, we take a vote. Club moves forward. First up, bit of basic interest for those of you as are prospecting for us. Dues. Nothing special, just keep the club running money. Five hundred bucks each, first of every month. You guys all good with that?"

* Mordechai rolled his ankles comforted by the scrape of the fairbairne sykes tucked into his newrocks, then once more took position at the top of the stairs.

[Wilson]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

* Dominique glances to the Wilson lawyer and believes he could find a way to get $500 out of the one next to him and pass it off as paying his dues. Lawyers were slick like that.

* Wilson took mental minutes. Cooperative requires all member to contribute equally. First order of business, establishing the revenue amounts and deadlines. Check.

* Jameson Dade nodded. Five hundred a month seemed a little light, but he wasn't about to complain. "Paid to the treasurer?" He asked, just for clarification. Ven had mentioned they'd meet him or her later.

‹Mkvenner› Normally, yeah. But he's been... let's say narcoleptic as of late. Pay it to me instead for now, until we can get Vic back in the fold, yeah?

* John Doe 's sister nods. "That sounds fine to us." John looks to her and then nods too. "We can do that." His voice is as quiet as his entry, he's obviously nervous. Jane on the other hand is quite happy being with her kind. She places a hand on John's shoulder comforting him while she tosses a smile to Mordechai. "Nice hat," she says sweetly.

‹Mordechai› I assume, you accept annual payments?

‹Mkvenner› As long as it gets paid, we're all good with that, brother.

* Jameson Dade offered another nod, lifting his drink as if to say 'Here's to him', and then he took a sip. "I do like paying in lump sums."

* Wilson glances from Jameson to Ven. Internal controls are lacking; due to the treasurer being ill. He gaze moved to the monolith who was ready to pay a full years amount. Much be damn nice.

* Mordechai turned his head giving another nod to the female at the table.

* Dominique watches John and Jane and tries to figure out the curious balance going on.
‹Dominique› "We do collect after a certain period."
* Dominique smiled. "If you forget, don't worry...we won't."

* Mkvenner gave a smile, "Good, now that that's sorted... let's tell you a little bit of what it is that you've gotten yourselves into. Like you've probably noticed, we're a mostly criminal enterprise, that's why he's here," he nodded at Wilson, "to give us some legit business savvy and protection."

‹Mkvenner› Now what this means for you, is basically... keep doing what you do. That's your money. Now, where it gets interesting is the business you bring the club. That gets split even among all of us at this table. Club action is club action.
‹Mkvenner› You guys all good with that?

* Jameson Dade turned his attention to Wilson then. Right. The go to guy for 'oops I fucked up'. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use those services too terribly much. "I'm good with that." He answered from over the rim of his glass.

* John Doe remains silent, Jane once more speaking for them both. "Absolutely darlin', we're here to play ball." She taps John on the shoulder. The motion seems to galvanize him and he sits up straight. "That sounds good."

* Mordechai nodded, keeping an eye on the human shark. calmly he slipped one of the fairbairns from his boot, picking a shred of lionelli from under his left fang.