Post by mccabethemerciless on Sept 28, 2020 3:15:40 GMT -5
Venezia, the jewel in the crown of God's creation. A city of prosperity and harmony where there was a place for every man and every man had his place. Some Cainites speak of Constantinople, or Carthage, or Rome. But the real city of the damned, the true paradise in which Caine's childer would prosper and their mortal charges along with them was Venice, and cut the tongue from any fool's head that says different.
Rizardo loved his city, it was perhaps the only thing he had ever really truly loved.
The same couldn't be said for all of it's people, however. The old woman from the glass curtain, the one who in her way was a not insignificant breach of the Masquerade (and one whom the drunken Sherrif had entirely overlooked in his stupor) had prattled on incessantly from the moment they had left the establishment. She clung to his arm like a cross between a frightened baby and lovestruck young girl, it was pathetic, and the whole time she prattled on.
Rizardo's face barely contained his disgust as the scent of old piss and shit wafted up from the old woman, she was at that age where things just didn't work the way they were supposed to. It was disgusting. Killing her would be a mercy he supposed.
Slowly, for the doddery old bat could only move slowly, they approached the meeting place where Cosimo waited with a comandeered gondala, the Gondaleer himself was a picture of exhausted irritation, no doubt Cosimo had dragged him out of his home, Rizardo would make sure that he was paid well for the inconvenience.
Cosimo greeted his domitor with an elegant bow, the Gondaleer following suit and Rizardo favoured the pair with a much more shallow bow in turn, the old woman was begining to stink to high heaven and it was a relief to hand her over to Cosimo who gently helped her into the boat, only for the old bitch to fart (he hoped she had just farted) from the exertion of it. Cosimo kept his face straight but his eyes were alight with mirth, the Gondaleer seemed to be trying to imagine he was elsewhere as he pushed away into the canal.
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Rizardo sat in a plain wooden chair, stripped naked and smeared here and there with the old woman's blood. He sat there for a long time gazing at the woman's remains neatly organised into different reagents upon his altar. She had screamed at first. They always do, then they decend into frightened babbling, pleas and threats next, before the screaming resumed. It was usually enjoyable but tonight had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not merely because her vitae tasted of sickness. The Camarilla clearly held delusions of lordship over Venezia, that feotid stable of fops and bootlicks, whores to their inner council, they would need to be dealt with in time. For now though, gathering favours and incriminating information was key. Evidence can always be fabricated as and when you needed it of course, but it was so much more effective if it was based on a verifiable misdeed.
He rose to his feat and walked to his altar his eyes sweeping over the assembled reagents. Four jars of congealing blood, maybe eighty pounds of meat, and then her hair and bones. Of course the skull took pride of place, he would need these tomorrow night. His face lit up with a malicious gleam as he picked up the skull, he sincerely hoped that the torture was enough to make a wraith of the old woman, slowly and tenderly he ran his tongue over the grisly skull, savouring the lingering traces of blood, fat and flesh. This woman will prove far more useful in death than she ever could have in life.
Rizardo's face barely contained his disgust as the scent of old piss and shit wafted up from the old woman, she was at that age where things just didn't work the way they were supposed to. It was disgusting. Killing her would be a mercy he supposed.
Slowly, for the doddery old bat could only move slowly, they approached the meeting place where Cosimo waited with a comandeered gondala, the Gondaleer himself was a picture of exhausted irritation, no doubt Cosimo had dragged him out of his home, Rizardo would make sure that he was paid well for the inconvenience.
Cosimo greeted his domitor with an elegant bow, the Gondaleer following suit and Rizardo favoured the pair with a much more shallow bow in turn, the old woman was begining to stink to high heaven and it was a relief to hand her over to Cosimo who gently helped her into the boat, only for the old bitch to fart (he hoped she had just farted) from the exertion of it. Cosimo kept his face straight but his eyes were alight with mirth, the Gondaleer seemed to be trying to imagine he was elsewhere as he pushed away into the canal.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Rizardo sat in a plain wooden chair, stripped naked and smeared here and there with the old woman's blood. He sat there for a long time gazing at the woman's remains neatly organised into different reagents upon his altar. She had screamed at first. They always do, then they decend into frightened babbling, pleas and threats next, before the screaming resumed. It was usually enjoyable but tonight had left a sour taste in his mouth, and not merely because her vitae tasted of sickness. The Camarilla clearly held delusions of lordship over Venezia, that feotid stable of fops and bootlicks, whores to their inner council, they would need to be dealt with in time. For now though, gathering favours and incriminating information was key. Evidence can always be fabricated as and when you needed it of course, but it was so much more effective if it was based on a verifiable misdeed.
He rose to his feat and walked to his altar his eyes sweeping over the assembled reagents. Four jars of congealing blood, maybe eighty pounds of meat, and then her hair and bones. Of course the skull took pride of place, he would need these tomorrow night. His face lit up with a malicious gleam as he picked up the skull, he sincerely hoped that the torture was enough to make a wraith of the old woman, slowly and tenderly he ran his tongue over the grisly skull, savouring the lingering traces of blood, fat and flesh. This woman will prove far more useful in death than she ever could have in life.