Before Mass (Attn: Nicolo)

Moments before midnight, Anton Flores stood outside All Hallows Church drumming the few fingernails he had left against a tree. The Haunt wore his usual attire, sans the tie. This bothered him a little. His hair was still drenched in dirty river water and he ran bony fingers through the thick rainslick as he waited. He'd found the place Brother Walsh had spoken of and taken a bus here. He hoped to find that Primogen-Priest here. He wanted to get a measure of the fellow before casting his lot in with this City's Sanctified. He stands and he waits, humming a jaunty Bolero standard he only half remembers.

Nicolo pulls up in his matte black Ferrari, preoccupied with the meeting to come. He still has no clue what happened to Bishop Devoe, and what exactly the reports are regarding Bella and himself. Who was making them. And what sort of further "guidance" was deemed necessary. Sighing, he supposed he would find out soon enough.

He had only been able to heal about half his wounds from the penance he'd received the previous evening, so he was still in a considerable amount of pain. And he was ravenous as well now. As soon as this meeting was over he'd make his way down to the Rack for some proper hunting. Certainly no more paying.

Fortunately he was early for the meeting. He wanted to make sure the Church was in order and check in with the resident Novitiates for an update since it had been a while since his last visit here.

As he walks toward the front entrance, he can hear someone humming an odd, Spanish sounding tune. He looks toward the trees in the dark and thinks he sees the Nosferatu who was acknowledged at the Court earlier in the week, but he's not totally sure. He can definitely feel something grappling with his own monster.

"Buona sera, friend. Why not come into the light? I was just going in myself."

Anton's humming becomes ragged and the fingerdrumming arythmic when the Beast seethes, finding an adversary behind Nicolo's words. As he steps from the tree, the Haunt's vacant gaze roams over Nicolo, eventually settling on the eyes. He speaks in a dusty drawl, containing faint accent, where syllables are bludgeons, edged with an almost insectile buzzing.

"Buenos días, Primogen-Priest. We need words, you and I. Inside?"

As the Kindred approaches the light, Nicolo rakes his eyes across the figure before him; so much to take in, but his gaze fixates on the words dancing across the man's bare arms. So many scars in tribute to God or Longinus, it appears. Bringing his gaze back up, Nicolo's eyes meet his once more -- not challenging but not meek -- and he opens the door for him.

"Please come in then. It's Anton, is it not? I'm Nicolo." Nicolo walks through the silent, darkened church with Anton in tow, flipping on some lights in preparation for Bishop Sabina's arrival. They then come to a private office in back, Nicolo entering first, indicating Anton should take a seat. He then sits down himself, though somewhat gingerly, and again fixes his intense gaze on Anton.

"So, welcome to Sacramento, and to our Church. I'm glad you have found us. What's on your mind this night, Anton?"

Anton follows Nicolo, seating himself. The Haunt's claw grasps at a phantom tie, finding only a prominent collarbone and the beginnings of the pale ruin marring his throat. He takes in his surroundings before meeting Nicolo's gaze. He speaks.


"Tonight, Nicolo? Plenty. 'Mutual education', if you want to narrow it down some. Been an age since I called any city my home. The longest time spent outside that dark choir. So I find myself wanting to know of Sacramento's Sanctified. Hoped you might indulge me a while and speak on the state of affairs. Educate me some. Maybe ask a few questions yourself. That's if you got the time."

The Inquisitor in Nicolo was aching to be unleashed. To coax the little details out that would complete a picture for him of who he was dealing with and why this Anton hadn't had the pleasure of calling a city a home in a long time and looked like he was bathing in someone's backyard.

But Inquisitor was not his position, he painfully reminded himself, and though he really didn't know what his position was here, apparently today it was Tour Guide for the Lancea Sanctum. God worked in mysterious ways...

"Mr. Anton, I have time for any of God's Damned. I am relatively new to this city myself, but I'll tell you what I know and as far as time goes, the only pressing matter I have is a meeting with our new Bishop, who I am sure would love to meet you as well. So if you are willing to speak with me for a bit, we'll meet her together."

Now, how to explain his own presence here... "I'm originally from Rome myself. My group sent me to New Orleans to assist there, and then I was sent up here to assist as the Church was desperate for help. When I arrived it was only Bishop Devoe and Inquisitor Bella. Now, we have had Devoe replaced with Bishop Sabina, though I don't have all the details on that yet." And probably never would. Nicolo knew damn well the Lancea Sanctum did not operate like the Catholic church. Each domain was independently handled -- it wasn't like there was a Pope somewhere pulling strings. He knew of only one Kindred that would pull strings to make his life a living hell.

"In any event, I noticed at the Court earlier this week that both you and Harold Walsh were acknowledged, so I'm very much looking forward to working with you both. I'd like to see what you did previously and how best we can utilize your talents to grow our Church stronger within the Domain of Sacramento. "

"So, my turn to ask some questions then?" Nicolo grinned, but shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What city did you last call home? What position in the church did you hold? And, what made you leave?"

Anton hunches over in his seat, rolling the ball of his wrist as he gazes down on an inscrutable tapestry. He collects his thoughts and looks up, serpentine drawl rolling.

"Well now, my last city, I called Baltimore, Maryland. That or B'more, Balmer... That Bodymore parlance they got up there's truly elastic, but it's also triviality. Near every worthwhile thing on this Earth's got enough names to cover a man's skin, but what defined that city, for this Sinner, was its corruption. Over a decade I served that city as Inquisitor. Turned out to be the decade the Grandeur of Baltimore went out with a whimper. Not much of a tale to it. Heathen government. Hard times for Sanctity. Found myself owning a pair of what they call 'hungry eyes' in a blinded city. Those same eyes led me into a corner. They stripped away a facade worn by a thing calling itself my Bishop. These eyes forced my hand. I couldn't stay after that."

Nicolo's eyes danced with humor. "Well first off, congratulations Inquisitor, on your deft ability to clean up Baltimore. That must be commended. But tell me this; what made you choose such an interesting and unpolitical path with your superior? Your love of God and the Dark Messiah? Your innate need to root out heresy wherever you come upon it? Or did you have something to prove to your beloved Bishop?" As an afterthought, Nicolo added in a semi-concerned voice, "By the way, has he passed? Or is he still with us?"

Anton stares at his hands before looking up. Words are spat rather than spoken through an unchanging flesh mask. The frozen rigor rictus is unsuited to a topic which is clearly a source of bitterness for him.

"Commend hell. I failed Baltimore. All my works in that city were sullied. Over a decade spent as a liars eyes, keeping Sanctity for something poisonous. Another decade spent out in that desert, licking my wounds, trying to make sense of that travesty, thinking on how many faithful I'd condemned on a heretics say-so. How much misplaced trust had undone Baltimore's dark choir. Straight folly."

The Haunt's hands begin to punctuate his speech and the markings of Damnation move on the edge of visibility as he speaks on what drives him. He adopts the tongue of the Damnation preacher. His words are at one moment a blunt instrument, heavy with self-accusation, the next a ragged whisper, hinting at broken secrets.

"Motivations? Couldn't say. I found my calling during turmoil. See, I'm a thing forged by liars and lies. Indignity. Might've had something to do with it. And that Sanctity spoke to me. 'Sinner, I have a use for you, it's sacred work and it suits you'. I like to think that I do what I do solely for the Lord and that plan he got for our kind, but there's a furnace behind those eyes I was telling you about. No doubt about it; a hungry furnace. Time was I wanted to serve God from the pulpit, but that don't feed the furnace."

Anton's voice becomes low and weary, seemingly worn out from a trying introspection.

"I won't speak on the fate of the Bishop outside confession."

Eva heads to the church wearing black skinny jeans and soft knee high suede boots, a black hoody spattered with blood colored paint completes the look, her dark hair and dark amber eyes making her look rather haunting.

"Probably a wise idea. We both know you confess a crime that breaks a tradition, or something the locals here might care about, the Inquisitora or Bishop are obligated to make it known to a Prince's man. This is no Sanctified-held city il mio amico." Nicolo couldn't help it. He felt a very odd kinship with this Kindred. "I'd just keep those details between myself and God, if our places were reversed. You see where I'm coming from."

Nicolo then slowly raised his aching body from the chair, unable to sit in that position any longer and paced the room a bit. "I think I see how I misunderstood you at first. And I think you'll find yourself much more at peace here in Sacramento. We don't seem to have much corruption or politics, at least in our Covenant, leaving our nights free to devote to Longinus. And you know, Signore, it's a damn shame you have no interest in the sermon, as you have quite a way with words." Grinning, Nicolo shook his head. "But everyone has their calling, and for you it's rooting out the heretics, yes? Well, we could speak to Bella and see if she wants a second? It's actually not within my authority to do any this, we'll need to speak with her and the new Bishop when she arrives tonight." And then his eyes narrowed, though he laughed as he whispered, "Just, do me a grande favore, amico. Try not to kill the Bishop on the first night. Capisca?"

Anton's body emits a dull, fibrous click as he rises to his feet.

"Never without cause. And that cause'd need to be overwhelming to butt heads with the Traditions. But I had other questions. Relationships with Sacramento's other covenants and the fate of your last Bishop being chief."

Eva heads into the church and finds a seat at an empty pew at the back.

Pointing back to Anton's chair, Nicolo shook his head "No, no -- please sit. I wasn't chasing you out. We can talk as long as you like. I might not know the most accurate answer to the relationships question, being a bit new myself, but as far as I have witnessed, all the covenants have gotten along reasonably well here. Nobody seems to outright hate us, at least, no one will say it to your face. Lot's of Kindred love to whisper though. I guess that's just the nature of Kindred wherever you go."

He sighed then, and sank carefully back in the chair. "But as far as the last Bishop goes, your guess is as good as mine. She was here the last time I checked, then I got a phone call from this Bishop Sabina telling me she was coming in this week and to meet her tonight. So as I mentioned before, we'll get to meet her together if you care to stick around." He looked down at his watch. They still had some time. "She won't be here for a little while longer though, so what else would you like to know? How are you set up as far as a haven? Would you like to stay here at the rectory?" Nicolo looked curiously at Anton's slick hair and worn clothes.

Eva sees that Mass is not going to start any time soon, so she goes home.

As Anton is speaking Nicolo feels a sudden silence pressing uncomfortably in against him -- the kind that precedes a predator before his attack. His muscles tense and blood flows to invigorate him for a potential assault.

He looked around, listening carefully for something. What? He wasn't sure. Then his dark eyes met Anton's in a conspiratory lock. "You felt that, didn't you?"

But before Anton could even answer, Nicolo was pulling out his phone -- it was heralding a txt, and apparently another he'd missed.

"Signore Anton, I'm so sorry. I don't know what has happened, but it must be something big. I've been called to the Chapter house to meet with the other Primogen. If you give me your mobile I'll fill you in as soon as I have details." Nicolo rethought that for a moment, "Or, if you prefer, I will just call you at the rectory. Choose any empty room and make yourself at home, please. Should the Bishop arrive while you're here, could you let her know where I've gone?"

Nicolo reached to shake Anton's hand firmly, then left immediately, txting as he moved toward his car.

Anton nods, wearing the same old slack smile throughout the handshake. He'd certainly 'felt it' and it hadn't been pleasant, but why should anything, good or ill? He couldn't recall any one act in his many, many years which could be deemed completely pure. Indeed, many would seem outright heinous when taken out of context, but all had served God in some way. Perhaps that skinchill had come from God.

Alone in the office, the Haunt chuckles, heavy and ragged. He laughs to himself. At himself, for attaching such grand conjecture onto whatever he and the priest had just felt. Nevertheless he mutters Latin and directs his colourless eyes at the twisting scripture consuming his arms and hands. Perhaps he'd find answers in there somewhere.

Anton awaits this new Bishop he's been hearing so little about.

Bishop Sabina arrives at the church and enters the doors saying a slight prayer as she enters she knows that most churches are set up very similar so she heads to where she believes the offices would be entering through a door she sees a man sitting in the room alone.

As she walks up to him she speaks "Sir my name is Bishop Sabina is Priest Rossi in?" she asks looking the man over as she stands there near him.

Anton looks up from the swimming flesh tapestry, clearly interrupted in the middle of something solemn and personal. The pieces of face that frame his lifeless charnel grin are cold and severe. He feels no tug from the sinning Beast.

"He isn't. Called away. 'The Chapter House' I think he said."

The colourless eyes of the Inquisitor fall onto the apparent Bishop with a strange kind of glassy curiosity.

"Well sir is there something that I can possibly help you with if not I do have another engagement that I must attend." Sabina asks as she looks at the man with a hint of impatience in her voice but still pleasant.

The markings writhe faintly like dead skin shifting over a larval feast as the Haunt stands to his full height. The woman spoke to him as though he was delaying her and had offered little more than a name and a title. His voice crackles from latin whispered over a branded arm into oily english.

"Not at this time, no. Is there anything more I can help you with?"

"Well if there is nothing at this time then I will be off if you do happen to see Priest Nicilo let him know that I will be returning shortly." she smiles at the gentleman turns and leaves the office.

"Oh, I will." The Haunt croaks, seeing her out. He returns to the office awhile, where he reads from and whispers to and stabs at a particularly strange patch of skin with a hooked finger. After a time he fishes out a card from his shirt pocket, wrapped in crumpled scrap of paper bearing the address of the building he sits in. He gazes over it before finding a phone. As he dials the number on the card, it occurs to him that he hasn't used a telephone in about 15 years.