Campaign of the Month: October 2017
Blood and Bourbon
She had chosen the home for two reasons: the first because, while it is technically within the confines of the French Quarter, it borders both the Warehouse District and the Central Business District. The latter, she knows, belongs to Vidal, and the former belongs to one of her master’s hounds. It’s a less desirable part of the French Quarter, certainly, on the corner of Canal and Chartres; she is almost positive that Savoy pushes the Caitiff and other riffraff out into this area to serve as a buffer between Vidal’s factions and his own. The crime rates are higher, the hunting subpar. Unless you enjoy your meal passed out in the street and smelling like piss.
The other reason she had chosen the location is because of the building itself, or rather a feature of the building: rooftop access. That is not so uncommon in New Orleans as it is in other areas of the world, but she could not pass up the opportunity to have easy conversations with her sire whenever he sought them. It’s perfect, really, since the ground is only a few stories below and, if he pushes her off this time, she will probably only break a leg.
The staircase leading to the roof is brick and wood that curls in on itself on the way up in a lazy spiral. Every time she takes the stairs she runs her hand along the banister, wondering if this is the time her sire will grant her an audience, if this is the night he will bring her back downstairs and into her secondary, secret haven. It isn’t much to look at. In fact, it’s downright embarrassing compared to her primary haven, though she has spent some of her disposable income to spruce it up a bit. Still, she’d bought it for function rather than form, and only rarely does she spend her evenings here.
This evening she stands alone on the roof, waiting. He knows her address. He knows how to find her. She had agreed to these monthly visits, though more often than not he does not show. It is closer to once per year than once per month that they meet. Still, every new moon she is on the roof of her haven, waiting for her sire. From sundown to sunup she sits up there, hoping that this is the night that she can see him again. Only when dawn threatens to spread its rays upon her does she retreat back into her bedroom to spend the day asleep, disappointment curling in her gut.