Another one Bites the Dust.

[Iota]

Antonio Bellanoche was a 300 year old Toreador, he claim the title of Baron of Stony Point shortly after becoming an elder kindred. He had always been a part of the Anarch movement, as his sire was amongst the first to join the original Anarchs when the decleration was created. He never had the grand desire to rule over a large city or province, he just wanted a place he could call his own and have little to no interfenrance from the Camarilla or the Sabbat. This option presented itself when he moved to the Americas just over 200 years ago.

As time went on, Antonio set up a Jewellry store named "Bellanoche Jewellry", perhaps not the most creative of names, but it served its purpose. The main office door was down the alley, this was the door that lead straight to the Baron's office and had a open door policy.. at night. Antonio had kept his domain relatively ahrm free, the Anarchs were the traditional sort and just wanted a quiet life, they had no real issues with the camarilla aslong as they didn't try to invade his territory.

It had been noted by a few higher respected Anarchs in the vaccinity that Antonio's recent behaviour has been rather unstable and that he had been saying things that went against his better judgement. IT is believed, if the whispers told were to be true that he had aspirations to become greater and eventually move in for the kill at New York City. Now, this was a suicidal mission for any kindred, especially one who controls a lightly populated town in the middle of now where. Perhaps it was the seclusion or boredom that sent him this way, but he was finding it difficult to maintain his focus, it would only be a matter of time until some one stepped in.

This night started off pretty much like any other, kindred would come and go, request this that and the other. It was one of the many chores the head of the local town or city would have to endure. It was a normal night, until of course a young flegdling came to Antonio to report that his mission to acquire an important item to secure a business deal had failed and the item in question was 'accidently' destroyed.

"How dare you... you come here and destroy the very thing that i asked you to return.." The Baron stood out of his chair in quite an angry state, he threw his computer monitor across the room with relative ease, it crashed against the wall and pretty much feel apart with the force of the collision. "I..I.. I'm sorry sir..it-" the poor young kindred tried to explain before he was rudely interrupted "Save it.. you have failed me, the domain and Anarch society!" With the end of the statement, Antonio launched himself at the young kindred and dug his fangs in deep, drinking all the blood the unlife body had to offer. The Baron had commited an illegal act with this move and if any one found out, it would be dire days for the Baron.

[sletzo]

For a year now, Chris had been living a more active life. Of course, to anyone who didn’t know him, that would seem to suggest he had spent almost 400 years in Torpor, considering how quiet of an unlife he led. But for him it was more active. He was actually -involved- in the world. Most of his unlife was spent living in seclusion out in the wilds. Not an altogether unusual unlife for a Gangrel, but it meant that his reemergence into the world at large, was still quiet. He had met with the Baron all of one time, having no great desire to take part in politics, which was the prime reason he considered himself an Anarch if anything…because it offered him the freedom to be slightly apart of politics, but not all together involved. He wasn’t serving any Ventrue and doing their bidding, neither was he making others do his bidding.

Since returning to the world at large though, he had achieved more than a few minor goals he set for himself. He could ride a motorcycle now, and -that- was something that was quite difficult for the elder Gangrel to learn. Not only was it difficult to even be around Motorcycles at first, just because of the sound and smog they created, but to learn how to ride on one without falling off…well suffice to say, he had landed on the hard pavement a few times. Along with this, he had made an arrangement with a human that gave him a small haven to keep himself -above- ground when he slept.

As a result, when he first met the Baron, he wasn’t as covered in dirt and the like as he might have been. He also drove into town when he met him, instead of flying or walking in. He was still plenty dirty sure, as was his bike, but nowhere near as dirty as he would’ve been, had he not spent the last few years learning these skills.

That first meeting was short and to the point. It was merely a formality anyways, few could tell a Gangrel, an elder Gangrel at that, that he couldn’t reside where he chose. And even fewer would dare to do so. The Gangrel world wasn’t quite like the rest of the Kindred world, if you wanted to tell a Gangrel anything, you had to establish yourself as being the more dominant first…and that meant a fight. The Baron hadn’t been inclined to establish that, so he could deny Chris.

However, since that first meeting, Chris hadn’t ventured in to meet with the Baron at all. He never spoke to him and it was a safe bet that if he encountered him in the streets, he might only -just- give a small nod of acknowledgment before he continued on his way. Altogether it wasn’t a tense relationship, it wasn’t a relationship at all.

Though the Outlander hadn’t spoken much at all with the Artist, that didn’t mean he ignored other Kindred in the smaller town. He spoke with them on occasion and even did something close to befriending them. It was because of this that he first heard of the rumors that spread about the Baron. The man was rumored to be priming himself for a war he couldn’t hope to win. A completely unnecessary war that would cost other Kindred their very unlives and leave the few Anarchs in the area, with even less numbers and less area that was theirs.

It was for this reason that Chris was heading to the Toreador Baron now. He would try to advise him -against- such a disastrous course. And if that failed, he would announce his leaving. He didn’t want to leave, but he wasn’t going to stick around to be dragged into something like that and he certainly wasn’t going to fight any such wars. Not for this Toreador, not for any Kindred.

As he was entering the Baron’s office, he heard very vaguely what was said. Someone failed with some minor task apparently. Not one to be all that concerned with it though, he entered anyways. If this was a private matter, the Baron would have to say so, and if not it would wait until after Chris had said what he had come to say.

What he finally saw after he entered…it was far from what he expecting. The Baron was -feeding on- the younger Kindred and more than that, he -wasn’t- stopping. The Elder Gangrel was taken aback briefly, and just watched for a moment. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps the Baron -would- stop before…before he had committed the worst act known to Kindred. Even one so removed from Kindred society as Chris had been knew just how heinous this was. He didn’t stop though.

His sunglasses that so carefully hid the animal inside, that had bled through to the surface, were removed. His hands grew into Feral Claws with the use of the power of his blood. What he just witnessed was so wrong that the usually patient Gangrel wasn’t going to hear any excuses or denials. He saw it with his own eyes and he would either punish this fiend or die trying…some things just could -not- be forgiven. He had entered quietly enough, not really trying to, but when you spent the majority of your unlife being quiet, you just naturally became a quiet person after a few centuries. As a result, the Baron didn’t notice his entering the office. Not until the fearsome growl erupted from the Gangrel at least.

The Toreador Baron turned towards the sound, the husk of a Kindred dropped to the ground like so much refuse, after it had been drained dry. He saw the appalled Chris charging at him, just in time to take up a defensive stance. Unfortunately for the Toreador though, his defensive stance was perhaps the worst one he could have taken…or close to it. A sure sign of his inexperience with fighting, much less fighting a Gangrel. Chris’s claws struck the arm that was held up to cover the Toreador’s face, and tore through the forearm like a hot knife through butter. Skin, muscle, sinew, and bone all were cut clean through. Half the forearm, wrist, and hand that had been apart of the Toreador’s body, now lie on the ground…blood pulsing quickly from the stump that was left. The piece of flesh on the ground quickly burned up and turned to ash, but that got no attention from Chris. Perhaps if he wasn't fighting, that might have warranted notice, but as it was, he didn't even notice that much.

With a cry of pain, he struck out, nearly on the verge of Frenzy from the suddenness of the great wound. The Toreador’s hand, that was still apart of his body, struck out with lightning speed at the Gangrel’s face. It was fast enough for Chris to -not- see it coming and be momentarily knocked back by the sheer surprise of the hit. It didn’t hurt a lot and it wasn’t enough to stun him for more than a few seconds, but that was enough. The Toreador’s fangs already out, sank into Chris’s shoulder. Fresh from having drained one Kindred, he aimed to do so again.

The pleasure of the kiss was not lost on the Outlander. Unfortunately though, he was conscious and now downright pissed off enough to resist it’s pull to remain still and be drained. With a mighty shove, he practically threw the Toreador back, the Artist flew into his own desk, bent half backwards over it. The Gangrel pressed the attack. His claws dug into the Toreador’s chest, with it so exposed, and ripped through bone like it was flimsy paper. He pulled apart the ribcage and tore through the muscle so suddenly that it might as well, not have even been there. His claws dug deep into the Toreador’s chest, causing the already pained Artist to scream in agony. This operation had no anesthesia and it had no life-support. Chris’s claws found their mark and ripped the vital organ from the Artist’s chest. His heart beat a few final times before stopping when it was crushed, the gaping wound in the Toreador’s chest soon became invisible as the body turned to ash.

[Iota]

Through the heinous act of diablerie, the Toreador Baron gave into the monster with in. Fortunately, for the local Anarchs, This particular act of barbaric proportions did not go unnoticed. The unlikely hero was a rather anti-social Gangrel who had qualms about the whispers he had heard. Initially he went to confront the Baron and advise him against a potential war with the Camarilla stronghold in New York but, instead, found himself in dire straits.

The fight was, in itself, over before it began. The Baron was dead and the newly opened position would go untested as no one in the town dare to oppose the Gangrel who dealt the final death. Whether he wanted the title or not, Chris would almost be forced to be the new Baron of the small town, after all.. the mentality of "you keep what you kill" could take effect in this situation. Chris would now have to socialise and take part in politics, two main things he never really enjoyed, but he barely had a choice.