2019.03.08:Festivo Dello Estinto - The Red Terror

The Red Terror
The Tijuana Sabbat hosts Archbishop Angelina de Vaca and her pack, The Red Circle. Violence erupts. The Red Circle is slaughtered. A new Archbishop is anointed.
IC Date	March 8th, 2019
IC Time	Night
Players	Selena, Sinclair, Lux, Marisol, Freeman, Hassana, Noa, Doug, Vera, Khamael, Zara, Daemion, Santos
Location	La Mesa Penitencia
Spheres	Sabbat

There have been rumors racing through Tijuana for the last 24 hours, that Archbishop Angelina de Vaca of The Red Circle pack, who has long been in isolation on the other side of the border, has finally decided to make her presence - and her authority felt again. It has been too long since the Sons and Daughter of Caine such as claim Baja California for their home, have gazed upon the majesty of one of Caine's True Anointed - an Archbishop in the flesh!

Naturally, Festivo Dello Estinto has been raging for almost a week now, which means that even without the heady excitement of an expected visit from the Archbishop, the East Yard of Pueblito has still been filled with nearly forty Cainites from half a dozen packs. They have all gathered here, not far from the chapel, and the burnt remains of the bonfire, and the crucifixes from the recent Blood Feast. Many are engaged in riotous contests of skills, or simply celebration of their inhumanity.

One pack of Cainites from Zona Rio are clad in 'Narco Polo' attire, such as open-neck, short-sleeved jerseys with the names of infamous criminals (and sometimes even their own) emblazoned across the back. One or two of these might even opt for a sports coat, designer jeans and striped cotton shirts or Calvin Klein jogging suits.

Another pack of swarthy Cainite vaqueros, the Venganza Cresciente coven from the more rural Cerro Colorado, are clad in ranchero shirts, black lagarto boots, dark wrangler jeans, black shirts and black Stetson tejanas. Ductus Sergio Avero and his Priest Joaquin Flaco can be seen amongst them, the former still nursing some injury from last night's brutal Game of Instinct.

There's the Soldados Sucios pack from San Ysidro, who are dressed as a clicka of cholos, most of whom might even be Mexican-American, with their 'eses' and 'holmes'. They have their own style of tattoos, hand signals and slang. Most of them are wearing loose fitting khaki shorts with white knee-high socks, white tank tops and plaid shorts with just the top button buttoned. Most have buzzed heads, covered by a bandana. They all seem to have received a royal beating at some point recently. Their Ductus, a chicano known as 'Happy', seems particularly sulky.

And those are just the most immediately distinctive packs. There are many Cainites who resemble the spectrum of Sabbat freakdom - leather pants with no ass, bondage torso harnesses, dirty trenchcoats, wrist piercings and slatted sunglasses. Doc Marten wearing skinheads and well-washed blue jeans. Techno-fetishists wearing black leather jackets, combat boots and black nylon net shirts that show off their nipple piercings and braided dreadlocks. Modern primitives. Road warriors in motorcycle boots with dyed hair, punks with styled mohawks.

Soon, word is going to begin to spread through the assembled packs, "The Archbishop's convoy is arriving! The Red Circle! El Ciclo Rojo!" Most have never seen her, or any claim to such authority, as so many of Tijuana's current Cainite population are new arrivals. Some wonder where Bishop Novacek is as well.

Marisol has made her rounds and done her duty to be sure that the hospitality of La Mesa Penitencia is satisfactory and also directing visitors where to go and for what. Roosting for Gangrel and flightworthy Tzimisce over on Tower #4. Bones and viscera to be left over by the comissary tent. Skin and 'uncertain' matter to be dumped by the firepit. Where to find tourists, or office workers, or any number of different varieties for the picky eaters among the Sect. All sorts of things that will leave lasting memories of solidarity and cooperation to go with the highlights of blood and terror when leaving.

Currently, though, Mari is catching up on continental gossip over by the Chapel, with some Cainite that looks a bit like El Cid and a bit like Syd Vicious in the mixture of archaic hidalgo fashion and metal spikes and studs, as well as that drawn and thin heroic chic style. Arms crossed along her waist she's currently nodding along to updates on how that whole Re-Reconquista thing is going and other news when the word begins to spread. With that though, her hands come up, there's a polite smile to disengage, and then she's off to go put together a united front alongside her ductus.

A nightmare rests upon an outer wall. Instead of being out in the town, she's come in for this - Zara's dim red eyes visible whenever she faces the Pueblito, her hands cradling a high powered sniper rifle, of all things, despite the sword upon her back. Every now and then her teeth are bared, revealing those gleaming, sharpened fangs, before she goes back to a somewhat restless patrol.

Amidst all the bustle and excitement, is Selena, looking struck quite as eager as anyone for the rare appearance of la Arzobispa. She flits about the crowd, weaving in and out of bodies, stopping to chat and share congenial words with the other pack leaders from near and abroad as she goes. She wears her ritualistically blood-dyed robe, with black, floral embrodiery trailing up the sleeves and skirting about the hems. Beneath it, she is clad in a long, flowing black dress with a flat neckline, and straps concealed beneath the shoulders of her robe. Her feet are bare, all of her talons on display, shimmering and polished along with her horns and the blackened tip of her tail.

The announcement of the approach of de Vaca and her pack brings la Obispa rounding the group to find the other members of Quinto Sol and gather them together to stand, united, when the Archbishop arrives. Along the way, she encounters Marisol first, wrapping up her Priest in a rather tight embrace before releasing her and continuing on to make sure that Diego, Lux, Sinclair and all the rest are there beside her. Quinto Sol will be front and center, facing the entrance to the East Yard and standing tall, when de Vaca finally shows herself.

Every night of the Festivo, Daniel Freeman has been rocking a different designer outfit. It's almost as if the former company man had a plan for how to present himself during the week when the Sabbat would congregate. He has a matching suit jacket and slacks, black with multitudinous white dots packed in so tight that it's impossible to tell which color is more dominant. White turtleneck underneath, his necklaces with occult charms draped over it. Black socks, black shoes. Those browline sunglasses he had the other night. He's mostly enjoying himself, though he's spent time here and there assisting Marisol in the procurement of specialized menu items.

Being easy to find in this particular crowd for reasons that we won't particularly get into here, Freeman is sought out with little problem, and joins his ductus and his pack in awaiting the arrival of the Red Circle.

Khamael has been involving himself in many said contests of skills, after his previous successful fire dancing not too long ago. He was only beaten by the Obispa herself, and there was no shame in it. The Fury has been searching for Cainites brave enough to take up his challenge in a contest of swordsmanship, until news of the Archbishop's arrival comes. Preparing himself, and delaying any 'fights' for future occurrences, Khamael looks to congregate himself with his own pack, and links up with his Ductus, Zara, in the event where they have to welcome the Archbishop into the parish.

Come out of the tunnels, Santos. You need to see this, Santos. Stop strangling that man, he's already dead, Santos. The newly minted ghoul in service to Lux and Quinto Sol. Clad in funeral black, a simple suit and slacks. No shirt, no shoes, no morals. A standing tapestry of hate and degradation stabbed lovingly into the surface of his skin, Santos stood out among the general rift raff of the cattle. Among this mad gathering of Cainites? Maybe a tad less so. He's toying with a handful of shiny and polished molars. Rolling them in his palm like some sort of deranged stress relief. Of which he will be needing a vast supply if it means making it through the night unhindered. Quiet. Observant and perhaps easily overlooked in the growing sea of the dead. Following the cues of his pack, Santos is the fly on the wall. A terrible, unpleasant fly on the wall.

Noa Socorro is going to be positioned somewhat differently tonight, than she is usually. Instead of being cloaked in illusive darkness, over near the Admissions Gate where she can catch the scent of each new arrival, the Ravnos is going to be standing not far from away Vera. She's staked out a spot that allows her to keep an eye both on la Obispa and the rest of her pack, and on the Ductus of Lescrowe, as if she were keeping herself ready in case Vera had something to confide.

She's clad in a mismatched, yet dangerously effective panoply of improvised armor, such as a fanged and feathered Comanche bracer laced to her wrist, an intricate wire-mesh shoulderplate strapped over her right shoulder, and a steel-linked fighting chain which has been looped about her left arm. Her overwhelmingly messy mane of raven black hair, threaded with charms and beads, is barely kept away from her sunset-kissed features by her macabre, skull faceplate and keffiyeh bandana. There are hard, black polymer Latin American riot police greaves buckled below her knees, but is wearing comparatively little else. There is a scabbarded blade - longer than a gladius, yet shorter and slimmer than a conventional longsword, slung over her shoulder.

The tiny blonde Lux is in a fine mood it seems as she mingles rather that slinking in the shadows. Dressed in her more usual gypsy bohemian classic, a flowing skirt that dances around her long legs appears to be made up of a myriad of colorful scraves all tied together and hanging from her hips secured with a golden chain. A black vest molds to her torso, the deep V showing off the delicate alabaster valley of her cleavage. Long blonde hair bounces around her shoulders in ringlets of platinum and gold as she ducks, weaves, and bobs through the crowd. There are a few familiar faces she finds among the Nomads who have made their way here for the festivities and the Malkavian seems perfectly at home among them joking and telling stories of what they may have missed.

When he arrives, Lux is quick to grab her ghoul, dragged along with her is the stunning piece of artwork, Santos, as she forces him into social situations he may not be ready or wanting for. The Soldados Sucios will get a visit from Lux as well, Happy especially might find her company unwanted, but the Lunatic doesn't seem to care as she greats the cholos happily and then has a quiet conversation with Happy, perhaps to try and cheer him up about the beat down he took from her the night before. When the Archbishop's arrival is announced, Lux grabs Santos and drags him along to find a better position to watch the arrival and impending revelation of the Archbishop.

Vera isn't helping in the normal sense, she was never about the formality of dog and pony shows. Instead she is smoking from a Hookah and sitting in a chair of limbs that seems to animate itself. Some hideous creature that sadly was still alive - was carrying Vera as the Koldun's eyes glowed dead white while scouting the world around her. With a tilt of her head that causes a pop of bones in her neck that makes most shudder, Vera nearly stands.

In a rapid flurry Vera signs to Noa using Sabbat Code to inform the woman of what she saw. A small tssk from her mouth as the Old Clan spit out her pipe which was made of bone. In fact the whole pipe was flesh crafted and merged to her chair with a masterful usage of vicissitude. Licking her teeth, Vera directed the chair to walk her from the entrance and more towards the middle of La Mesa. To view things properly.

There will be a ripple of murmuring when the Archbishop of the Red Circle finally arrives. Initially, no one will be able to quite catch a glimpse of her, owing to the Admissions Gate being in the way, which has forced her and her pack to climb out from their vehicles.

It will still be a little hard to catch a glimpse of the Archbishop, once she is past the Admissions Gate, because of the much taller Cainites who are preceding her. Yet those who do, will gasp and mutter in astonishment at the sight of her.

There are two men that stride forward, one of them seeming quite wary and capable in a fight. Some might even recognize him as the Archbishop's own Gangrel enforcer and packmate known as 'Killer'. He's ordinary looking, though with a rather unfriendly well, dressed in utilitarian, yet clean clothing. He seems to favor a suit that is perhaps a generation or two out of fashon.

The other Red Circle packmate that precedes the Archbishop, is a Tzimisce creature that most simply know as 'John'. He's unlike most of his Clan, in that he doesn't seem to go in for monstrous uses of Vicissitude. Instead, those who know John the Tzimisce best, would describe him as a cold-eyed blonde man, who nevertheless, bears a striking resemblance to 'Timothy McVeigh'. He's wearing coveralls, which has a couple lingering blood stains.

There are a couple other Cainites bringing up the rear, though none will be quite so eye-catching as the Archbishop herself.

Archbishop Angelina de Vaca, Anointed of Caine, scion of the Tzimisce resembles an inhumanly beautiful girl-child of 10 or 11 years old. She's pale as a ghost, with eyes of inhuman silver. She has tiny little fluttering bat wings, and she gazes around at her with shy, almost nervous smiles. Now and then, she giggles at nothing in particular.

There can be heard among many of the Cainites present, a rippled tide of muttered conversation. Perhaps many had been expecting something else.

Where the la Obispa goes, so too does the shadow that is her Paladin. In the literal sense, Sinclair has adopted his shadowy and terrible form without fear during the Festivo. While others adopt their inhuman shapes and the art they can enjoy with flesh, Sin dives deep into the monstrous black and allows it to see the light of the moon. Only a pair of slacks to keep him decent, but seeing as the top half is entirely shadow monster right now, there's nothing else required.

Sin lingers close to Selena, following and traipsing after her as she mingles. Of course there are eyes for Lux, Mari and Noa being as they are his packmates, an extra eye afforded each of them. When the procession comes in, the Keeper fixates his eyes on each of the Archbishop's packmates rather than focusing on her - no doubt uninterested in any Majesty games she might be playing.

Once joined by Khamael, Zara departs the wall with her packmate. Near enough to Quinto Sol but not enough to be misidentified, she stands proud in her Nightmarish form, her dewclaws tapping away at the ground while she awaits the presence of the Archbishop. Sword worn upon her back as she considers their current leader - And then their future one, each at a leisurely pace. A glance to Khamael - He shouldn't embarrass her.

Meeting Selena midway and even giving the ductus a brief lift in squeezing her back, Marisol disengages most of the way; just trailing an arm along Selena's shoulders while heading into the Quinto Sol round-up. At least from there her hands are mostly kept to herself, sliding behind her own back and with hands clasping together. With a mild if pleasant smile for Sin, Lux, all the darlings that've come along - Noa maybe a bit of side-eye, given their habit of mimicking her - add a certain bounce to her step.

And to be frank that kind of dissipates. Along with the pretensions there is enough politeness there to make it easier to conceal some of the.. 'surprise' there. Both of her hands slide out, to either Selena or Noa's shoulders - under a bit of armor where she can reach skin - with fingertips drawing out a quick and sharp D-V. Then her hands fall back down to her sides as she lifts her chin, with purposefully belated but still respectful greeting there, "And a good evening to you, Your Excellency."

Noa tilts her raven-maned head towards Vera by way of response to the Sabbat Sign. Then she turns to catch a glimpse of Lux. She stretches up onto the toes of her shoes, until the platinum Lunatic is forced to acknowledge her, and then signs something towards the Malk in a Sabbat Sign of her own. It's with a tilt of her head, that she encourages Lux, from her own vantage, to pass along the message.

Hassana is here as well. She moves quietly into place not far from Selena while still according a position of respect to her Paladin. The woman stands quietly aloof, her attention and obeisance on the Cainite who is claiming the Archbishopric on this night. Sana is observing with cold, dark eyes, her gaze as intense as the storms she's been known to call when piqued. Her expression, however, is still as stone and dark like obsidian. She's no doubt watching for any sort of trouble which might yet occur.

Even so, there are small allowances for the members of Qunto Sol. A nod, or even a tight lipped smile here or there. Sana can't quite help it, though in some sense she tries.

Lux may seem like the type to get lost in the crowd considering she is under 5 feet tall, but there is no losing the tiny platinum blonde as she bounces through the courtyard. If not for looking like a stained glass sliver of moonlight, then her constant whoops and hollers will give her away most certainly. It's when she has settled somewhere with Santos, she climbs to a perch and is rubbing his bald head while she murmurs something to him when something catches her eye. Noa's sign is read and with a quick scan around she finds Khamael and passes the signs on to him with a nod of her head toward Zara.

A nod of his head means that the Fury has identified the sign. Khamael's head shifts around to meet Zara, nudging her before promptly gesturing a Sabbat sign with his hand - 'intruder'. He then points a finger to a wall close to the two packmates, nodding his head for the ductus to take the lead. Tailing her, though, the Salubri is keeping his hands inside his coat, firmly clutching onto the swords hidden underneath. He's prepared for a possible fight.

It is with a distinctive kind of curiosity that Selena will look upon Lux and her ghoul. She kilts her head off to the side, and, if she can catch the seer's eyes, will proceed in making a rather elaborate dance of her fingers over the line of her jaw with an approving quirk of her eyebrows. While she won't force the issue, not after the events of the previous night, she gives one last little kilt of a horn down to the ground beside her, with a hopeful look to the little Lunatic, before returning her attention to those immediately around her.

She bows her head to Vera across the way, lounging so decadently on that chair of flesh and bone. And then to Zara and Khamael in turn. It would be hard not to notice the way signs are being silently passed about, even if she doesn't quite get a good angle to make sense of them, when the Fury receives it from Lux, and then passes it on to his ductus. Her brow furrows curiously, and she swivels her horned head about to catch sight of Noa and pass her curiosity on to the Ravnos, but she trusts that whatever is being discussed will reach her in time.

When the Red Circle finally arrives, her lips twist into a delighted, vicious little black crescent, and she looks over her shoulder to offer a roll of her eyes to Sinclair and a casual shrug to Marisol. And then her eyes are all on the Archbishop. Her hypnotic, golden irises begin to whirl about in their onyx settings, and her tail begins a sinuous thrashing on the ground behind her. The child that stalks through the crowds might as well be kine, the way Selena looks at her.

Watching to see Khamael and Zara take off, Lux turns back to the action in time to see Selena looking her way. A rather beaming smile and quick nod of her head before she kisses Santos' bald head, probably to his growling protest or smooth smile and a slap on the ass, she slinks away from him. Weaving through the gathering Cainites she makes her way to Selena's side and slithers up close.

Zara nods to Khamael, reaching to to grasp the hilt of her sword as she moves. It's pulled firmly through the Tzimisce- Not unsheathed, but instead of wedged along her spine it juts forth from her collarbone. Headed towards the wall with Khamael in tow, Semper Tyrannis have their own business here today, apparently - But that unnaturally wide smile of hers is gone now, replaced with a grimace. Something hasn't gone to plan, and it's making her frustrated.

When the Red Circle arrives, Freeman is positioned near Selena. He's not involved in the exchange of Sabbat signs currently spreading around -- though he does try to catch Hassana's eye just so he can lift his sunglasses up, grin, and wink. Then he gets to take in the procession of the pack, and particularly Archbishop Angelina. His smile fades a bit -- it's hard to tell with the sunglasses, but his expression is maybe one of surprise or mild confusion. He keeps his thoughts to himself.

The Gangrel enforcer known as 'Killer', will give Selena a smirk when he first sets eyes on her. He then passes a cool gaze over Sinclair, before dismissing him a moment later as a non-entity. Instead, he just stands there looking bored, now and then glancing at whichever nearby Cainite might briefly sustain his deadly attention.

The other Red Circle packmate, John the Tzimisce, seems a more introspective creature. He nod once towards Selena, as one Fiend to another, though doesn't seem terribly awed. How could he, when he spends near every moment basking in the radiance of his little Archbishop?

Somewhere off to the side, the chicano Ductus of the Soldados Sucios will limp a step forward, and then slap his packmate Chucho on his tattoed arm, "Ey, ese. That dog looks like Timothy McVeigh, holmes. You remember that shit? Oklahoma, dog." Having been Embraced in the 90s, Happy can still form a mental picture of that distinctive visage.

The tiny Angelina de Vaca, the little girl-child of inhuman beauty and silver eyes, will flutter her tiny little bat wings, and then offer Selena a mischievous smile. She giggles at something about the Bishop of La Mesa, "Oh, how pretty you are. You are Selena, yes? I was hoping Bishop Novacek might be here to greet me as well." Then she wonders mischievously, "But tell me this. Do you believe in God?" She giggles to herself.

Up on the walkway, Zara turns to Khamael again - Her flesh rippling, the creature growing as she communicates with him with her monstrous claws. -Quietly. Quickly. No Mercy.- Sickly white, gangly, with oversized claws - The features of her face becoming mere suggestions rather than defined orifices, as her hair solidifies into a firm carapace. Scanning for the intruder, as she tenses herself for combat. Finally, she rips the sword from her body, leaving a sickly red imprint where it rested upon her chest.

Vera raises the hookah pipe to her mouth as she lounges still. The chattering of Sabbat Sign blurring in her mind along with sensing the Archbishop walk on ground. A deep inhale occurs as her cloudy eyes were white and milky as a blind persons. A scrunch of her nose as Vera experienced others walk and move from multiple angles. It could be a bit discombobulating and that's why she sat in the animated chair of flesh and bone.

Turning her head to look at Selena and the tiny runt of an Archbishop, Vera exhales smoke. Blowing smoking at the pints direction, but it would never go that far. The chair turning and walking to get a different angle of the unfolding scene.

The Salubri positions himself behind the wall, back sticking entirely onto it as swords are drawn from their scabbards. They burst in a blaze of pale green, the fire dancing and wrapping the blades in a wild and unpredictable directions. Khamael's eyes glare about the place with evil intent, searching his surroundings thoroughly for signs of the supposed intruder.

Standing with her hands behind her back, sticking with the gently introspective posture that some gabacho is imitation as well, Marisol frowns slightly behind the sunglasses. Her hands come out and to the sides with a slight ripple of the poncho she's wearing over the rest of her outfit, "One more creature designed before the flood, to be cast into the Night when the time comes." Then her hands go back down again and clasp together, a slight raise of her smile showing up as she stands there arrayed up against the Archbishop and the other two of her pack.

Looking and dressing uncharacteristically nondescript, compared to most of the crowd - it's always faintly amused him to pass for harmless, until suddenly he doesn't - Doug watches the proceedings from a spot off to one side. His memory of the Archbishop is much more direct than many of those others, his expression unreadable as she speaks.

Peering around Selena, Lux finally gets a good look at the Archbishop and a flaxen brow arches slowly. She glances over at Marisol and opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and snaps her mouth closed. The question posed to Selena gets the Lunatic's attention and her brows furrow now as she looks up at her Ductus to see how this will play out. Blue eyes slide across the Tzi and then the Gangrel where they tend to linger for a bit, her head canted curiously as she watches and then turns back to the angelic little bloodsucker of an Archbishop.

It is going to be quietly and gracefully, that Thana, the lethal left hand of the Archbishop - will flow up the exterior wall of La Mesa Penitencia, not unlike a cool drink of soundless, midnight water. She is enveloped by a sphere of sound, that that even when she vaults from her final handhold, up and over the barbed-wire and lands nimbly on the walkway, it will be with nary a sound.

She stands there, a lithe silhouette, darkly hooded - resembling nothing so much as an Assamite assassin. That is going to be when Thana realizes that, through some unknown treachery or bizarre sorcery, both Khamael, with his drawn flaming swords, and the nightmarish Zara, are going to be standing there, one to either side of her.

This is awkward. Possibly just bad luck? Thana flashes her fingers at them in Sabbat Sign, identifying herself as a fellow Cainite, and ordering them to turn away.

With the rest of her pack gathered around her, Selena could not possibly feel more confident. She casts a warm smile over to Lux as the little Malk slips in beside her, dipping in to plant a kiss on her seer's cheek before righting herself again. Though her lips remain twisted into a vicious little smile, she returns the nod from John, never one to reject pleasentries from others of her kind, even if nothing so gentle as respect floods into her mind as she surveys the other members of the Red Circle.

"Si, soy Selena Saez, Obispa de La Mesa y ductus de Quinto Sol. Bienvenidos a nuestra humilde parroquia, Su Excellencia." When de Vaca addresses her, she bows her head, lingering in the position to show, at least, a modicum of decorum, even if the awkward way the child's title slips off her tongue might betray her true feelings. "Obispa Novacek," She offers the Archbishop an apologetic shrug, and lifts one hand to flick her wrist dismissively. "Is surely off doing something quite important. You understand, I am sure."

The question about God brings up a dreadful, dull, metallic glint in one pupil. "I do, yes." Though not happily, if her tone is to be believed. She's not quite sure where this line of questioning is going, but, no matter, it won't last long. "And tell me, Your Excellency:" She presses her lips. Her tail thwats on the ground and she rolls her shoulders back, lifting her chin to look down her nose at the girl. "When Prospect was lost, did you have a feast to celebrate?"

Hassana stands opposite Killer for now, staring coolly at the Archbishop's minion from her place beside Selena. She bares her fangs a little without actually snarling, though nostrils flare slightly and muslces tense. Simple posturing; it's obvious Hassana has no intention of breaking the rules for this event, even garbed as she is in a lion's skin and prepared for battle. She'll keep her impassive stance and wait for Selena's words to be answered. As she should, being an extension of Selena's own will.

Freeman mostly stays a faithful background element, hands folded in front of him while his Ductus speaks with the Archbishop. In keeping with the natural order of things in 2019 A.D., he has certain obligations. E.g. as one of the maybe only two black vampires present in the current assembly, it falls upon him to react to Selena's counter-volley with a 'daaamn' kind of expression that could be GIFed and used by white people replying to celebrities' tweets -- if only he could be captured on video.

Archbishop Angelina de Vaca, tiny terror that she is, will blink once up at Selena. Then she can't help a coy, nervous smile, briefly blinking her beautiful silver eyes and looking away. She titters to herself, her tiny bat wings fluttering just as if she were a mini, pre-teen succubus.

There's something about Selena's town, that will cause the Gangrel known as Killer to growl at her, "You don't get to ask the questions around here, 'Bishop.' A station you claimed without permission." He gazes at her with nothing but contempt.

Archbishop Angelina giggles to herself, and then reaches up to give Killer's arm a stroking, "There, there. I'm sure it's all been a misunderstanding." She smiles up at Selena, "I wasn't Archbishop, when Prospect was lost. Though, I have done my very best to, mmm...rectify the situation." She blinks her eyes up at Selena, as prettily as an angel, "We've never had a proper introduction, I'm afraid. And I'm sure you will be a perfectly acceptable Bishop of La Mesa. So. What are we doing tonight?"

The cold-eyed Tzimisce John, and the unfriendly Killer stand to either side of Angelina de Vaca, with a couple more packmates behind them. Somewhere far away, Thana, Khamael and Zara are all making each other's acquaintance high up on the walkway, within a sphere of silence.

The reaction from Selena causes Lux to blink a bit too rapidly as she ever so slightly tilts her head a bit more to look at her Ductus with wide blue eyes. Biting her bottom lip to stifle the grin threatening to spread across her mouth she glances at Freeman and bounces a single flaxen brow before her gaze sweeps her packmates to gauge their reactions. The tiny Lunatic is trying to very hard to be on her best behavior and not break out laughing. The growl from the Gangrel Killer though makes her suddenly tense and her eyes narrow on him until the Archbishop soothes the Savage Beast. When the question of tonight's festivities is asked, Lux finally takes a longer look at the Archbishop, the only Cainite here that is shorter than her, well, by at least an inch or two, maybe.

Santos. Poor, Santos. Lurking far away from the socializations and undead peacocking, is left mostly to his own devices. An interesting view, to be sure. The ghoul is mostly ignored by the undead around him and that gives the mostly mortal a unique perspective. Like watching a nature documentary. If you replaced all the lions with blood sucking abominations clad in dizzying displays of fetishism, grunge, street thug and highway crusader and everything in between. Still he rolls those teeth about in his palm. Watching. Learning. Cataloging mannerisms, ticks and the ever present forced stoicism. Stealing a cigarillo from his jacket pocket, he lights up behind cupped hands. Face cast in a... shall we say, ghoulish light?

"If you cannot abide to be in a city that still knows how to fight, Brother, you may always leave." There is sweet reason and a cloying, smothering politeness in her tone there when Marisol switches her attention over to Killer, with one hand coming up in a mild, thoughtful tap at the side of her chin. The flat black of her eyes comes to show as she removes her sunglasses, folding them one handed and tapping against her own wrist with them too as little different tics pop up while she's otherwise remaining still, composed, and as stably rooted to the spot as if she expected a Roman temple to be built around her, "Perhaps if you apologize to Her Excellency you will even be able to walk out and back to whatever bolthole protects you from the Jyhad."

Unfortunately for Thana, only one assassin has permission to be in La Mesa - And this new one doesn't appear to be friendly in the slightest, despite what she may assert. Zara doesn't delay - And trusts her packmate won't either. After all... She gave her orders. Quickly, Quietly, No Mercy. Leaping at the new arrival, her sword grip changing and drawing up in a vicious slash against the assassin. A horrid creature wielding a weapon made of her own bone, intimidating and fierce as the blade only briefly bites into the ground before it carves up towards the Assassin, driving her back into the waiting trap.

When Marisol speaks to Killer, Freeman straightens his spine and squares his shoulders. The posture is enough to register as implicitly threatening, but he leaves the explicit stuff to the Priest. He's standing close enough to her that his squaring up is a confirmation of her words.

Khamael exchanges glances with his Ductus for a brief second as Thana gestures Sabbat signs to both of them. The Fury is quiet unsure what to do, and instead waits for Zara to make the first move. The grip on his swords tightens, his firm grasp on the handles gradually increasing, and the suspicion in his eyes not fading away. A smile crosses his face upon seeing the attack, and with a blinding move the Fury shifts behind the assassin, his third eye exposing itself on his forehead as it turns an icy blue. Khamael's swords are raised high above his head, and almost flawlessly strikes for Thana's head - a clean and quick decapitation.

All of the bristling and posturing just earns a crooked smile from the shadow knight Sinclair. He is not entirely concerned with being dismissed, in fact it's just as good for him that he is. While Selena is giving the Archbishop a questionaire, the Paladin of La Mesa gives a quick glance to the walls and then to those still gathering into the courtyard. It's a big party after all. His dark eyes, and the shadows that follow him show the glimmer of nothingness that he brings with him, all aggitated and shifting in slow sways like the ocean before a storm.

It is highly unfortunate for Thana, that the skilled Assamite assassin did not realize that an equally powerful koldun was carefully harnessing her sorcery to perceive even the most innocuous trespasser. She stands there, lithe and hooded, caught in that awkward position between Zara and Khamael.

She snarls - soundlessly within the sphere of silence - and moves to evade Zara, even as the nightmare rakes its claws across her arm. She attempts to spin away...and that's when Khamael's burning blade, guided with the unholy accuracy of Samiel's Vengeance, fills her vision - and then her whole world will be fire. And then nothing. Nothing at all. The Assamite assassin known as Thana will tumble to the ground, her hooded head separated from her shoulders, bouncing along the walkway.

None of this will be seen below.

Vera coughs and mumbles under her breath, "When did your Archbishop claim her title with permission? I don't remember her Blood Bath or a Vaulderie for it.", the Koldun says with many fake coughs as if dying from the hookah smoke while grinning. The animated chair slinking towards Killer, "Petty insults earn petty insults.", as Vera leaned up in her chair. A grin on her face before her chair circles around the pack as if inspecting them all. "Ehh, my memory must be slipping. I don't recall any of you in Prospect. But maybe we haven't run into each other.", Vera obviously talking to Killer and John the Tzim. "Aren't you missing a few members?"

Well, the bristling and posturing has an effect on Lux! The little Malkavian begins to bounce and then sway on the balls of her feet as she watches with wild and chaotic blue eyes that swirl and glitter. Maybe she's itching for a fight or maybe she just loves mayhem in all it's forms, but whatever it is she seems oddly eager and then Vera and her freaky chair are moving forward. The tiny blonde watches the Koldun with narrowed eyes. Those slits of blue then turned back on the Archbishop and her posse with a cheshire grin and peeking serpentine fangs.

There are so, so many invectives that might spill from Selena's lips, after that jab from 'Killer,' were she not so focused on la pequena Arzobispa, and so intent on not starting any wars before she is ready to win them. The Gangrel gets a rather knife-like glance, complete with the thrashing glint of the tail of her inner leviathan in one pupil, but her smile doesn't falter for longer than it takes her to look back to de Vaca.

She offers up another bow of her head to the little one, perhaps in apology, perhaps just out of a sense of etiquette. "What generous words from Her Excellency, to such a lowly creature as I." She doesn't sound terribly genuine. "I am sure you did everything in your power to prevent the undignified state that our cities have found themselves in." /That/ does, however, sound quite in earnest.

She lifts her head and passes her hypnotic, golden gaze about the gathered crowd of Cainites. She purses her lips thoughtfully, as she considers the festivities, and what de Vaca's place might be in them. "Well," She looks back to the child-Fiend, kilting her head off to the side. The strobing in her pupils is quite brilliant at this point, and her irises yawn open as her lips peel back to reveal her headful of serrated, shark-like fangs. "Since you have deigned to grace us all with your presence, Your Excellency, I do have something special in mind." She straightens out the cuffs of her robe, and gives de Vaca a quick once over, as though sizing her up. Her eyes flash playfully and she dips forward, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. "We're going to fight, pequena. And you're going to die." Before anyone has a chance to react, she takes a half step backwards, and levies an accusatory talon at de Vaca.

"Angelina de Vaca!" Her voice booms, and so suddenly she must have taken voice lessons from Marisol to get the trick right. "You watched as the embers of the war for Prospect cooled to a deathly chill. Under your guidance, the Sabbat has withered and our noble purpose has been all but lost. *I* have gathered the scattered shards of the Sword and reconsecrated us to blood and flame in your stead. You failed, Sister Angelina. You failed the Sabbat. You failed Prospect. You failed yourself. And tonight, I will correct you." Her jaw is tense, her black lips are held in a grim scowl, and her eyes glint so brightly in the moonlight they seem to shine of their own accord.

Like clockwork. The oversized creature looks to Khamael in the moment after the quick and clean strike - Landing with one heavy clawed foot upon the body of the dead Cainite, crushing the rapidly decaying chest and spearing her heart with one thick dewclaw. A knowing glance between the head, and her packmate, before she leaps down from the walkway smoothly - Audibly.

And like a creature from ones darkest dreams, she approaches from behind Selena - A soft growl emerging from her throat as she walks through Quinto Sol, making a path for Khamael to follow with each heavy footfall. Her bloodied sword still in her hands, held at a low ready. That dim red visor focused on Archibishop, the suggestion of her lips parting - TEARING, to reveal the bloodied teeth within, and the guttural, tortured voice of the Tyrant. "Treason." It manages, turning it's massive frame to allow the man behind her to be seen.

Watching the head drops on the floor, Khamael heaves out a sigh and sheathes his swords, effectively putting out the wild fire almost magically. He unclothes himself from his dark coat, crouching to stash the rolling head in it. Tying the coat neatly, it essentially acts as a bag now as it is slung over his shoulder. A certain fierceness, one that resembles the burning fire on his swords, can be read on his grey eyes as the Fury strides with each heavy step behind his Ductus. Upon approaching Selena, he smiles at the Obispa warmly, waving a hand to the Archbishop - plop, and then the head is thrown onto the floor for everyone to see.

The Gangrel enforcer known as Killer, will snarl, his eyes flashing with a hint of yellow rage, first at Marisol, and then even more viscerally, when he sees the head of his beloved packmate, Thana come tumbling towards them. He turns towards Zara and Khamael, with a low, guttural growl emanating from his throat. He tries to form words, but they're going to be lost in the sheer madness that overtakes him.

His razor-sharp claw tips will punch free from his fingers, and then with a cry of inchoate anger, he'll fling himself towards Zara and Khamael.

Meanwhile, Archbishop Angelina de Vaca has been gazing up at Selena, listening to her booming voice. Her childish features turning blank, as to betray no hint of her emotions, "And here I thought we might be friends," She offers in a mournful, lilted voice. She begins to offer one of her mischievous giggles - but that's going to be cut of when Thana's bloody, severed head comes sailing towards them, "WHAT IS THIS!?" Her voice is suddenly surprisingly, blasphemously deep, a full-throated roar of an enraged Cainite, "Madame Jolan will hear of this." She then reaches up to tug at John's sleeve, "Come." She glances back at Selena and snarls, "You have done nothing. And I spit on your Monomacy."

John the Tzimisce, resembling Timothy McVeigh as he does so keenly, directs that cold-eyed stare towards Killer, but for now, he keeps near to Angelina, encouraging her to move back with him, even though the going might be difficult with nearly thirty or forty Cainites crowded around them.

The little Malkavian is already on edge and ready for the Archbishop's people to attack when Zara is suddenly striding through the pack. The Lunatic snarls and hisses at Zara and then as Khamael tosses a head at the Archbishop's feet she begins to cackle. The laughter is high pitched and more suited for a horror movie than a party, but it ends abruptly and that narrowed gaze is turned on Zara again, nose wrinkled, lips curled in a snarl. "Seriously?", she growls, turns that look on Khamael and then at Zara and shakes her head. That blonde head swivels once again as she steps around the fiend to close ranks of Selena's pack once again.

When Killer snarls, Lux arches a brow, looks at the head, then back at the Gangrel, then at Zara and Khamael, with a smirk she steps away from the other pack of 2 and nearer to Selena and Sinclair, probably bumping up against Marisol or Freeman as she does. Rolling her eyes she doesn't look like she's prepared to help either of them, but when the child Archbishop snarls at Selena the Lunatic glares daggers she's ready to fight over that slight.

Things get real, and heated. Freeman doesn't act too surprised by the general concept, but his brows do lift behind his glasses when Zara and Khamael make their dramatic entrance and lob a noggin. When Killer starts acting up, Freeman moves from next to Marisol (bumping Lux back in the process) to try and put himself in front of the large vampire named for his enjoyment of killing things. As he moves, he tries to catch Sinclair's eye, to discreetly sign at the Paladin to go after the Archbishop and McVeigh (a TV detective duo if there ever was one). "Okay, big man, be cool. Let's not lose our heads over all this." Freeman's mockery is completely deadpan.

"Nice." Turning her head and beaming at Khamael when he drops off that bundle of joy, Marisol lets her attention return to the Archbishop afterwards. Her hands remain to her sides for the moment - but as the little tot turns away, up they go in a sudden 'touchdown' gesture that spreads out from there, "BRRRROTHERS AND SISTERS!" And Cainites of all ages, "ARCHBISHOP ANGELINA de VACA HAS TURNED AWAY AND RUN!" She whirls a bit to make sure that cannonade-like voice is addressed to the entire gathering of the Festivo, with outrageous, shock, even a tinge of horror at the idea of one of the higher offices of the Sect being held by someone who would do such a thing.

"But when FACE to FACE with SELENA SAEZ, BISHOP OF LA MESA ...When challenged by THE TERROR OF GUADALAJARA! ...as she is called out by none other than THE DESTROYER FROM THE DEPTHS! ...who could do ANYTHING OTHER than to RUN BACK TO THEIR CAMARILLA MASTERS?!" Though while so much of her focus is on hyping the fight-to-be-or-not-to-be, there is a long, slinky black tendril that worms out of her poncho, possibly lost in the tricky lighting or just the sudden enragement of Killer.

Sinclair just smiles, his inner demon already out, it will only be a matter of summoning his tendrils and dispatching with those of the Archbishop's pack with a mind for fighting. A cackle comes as Angelina not only reneges but denies Selena outright. The Keeper simply settles his feet apart and lets those balefully dark orbs settle on Killer, and the others. The Archbishop he leaves to his beloved Ductus, but the rest? The rest may well find out what darkness lays within this Lasombra Paladin.

"You can attack and die, or you can run and die eventually," he shrugs rather unconcerned as to what the near frenzied Gangrel might do. Possibly even baiting him a little. The look from Freeman just gets a brief nod. He knows his part in this if it all goes to hell like it should.

Vera stands from her chair, "CHILDE... you go no where." mumbling lightly to her self as a dark earthen soil like color overwhelms her eyes. The ground ripples like a near earthquake as tendrils of earth manifest themselves like Lasombra shades. A giant maw cracking open as it chases the tiny Archbishop's pack and swallows John the Tzimisce whole.

Vera walks forward as quite a few Cainites have trembled away from the Koldunic power. The path parting for those who have earned their titles as John coughs up earth and dirt. Buried to his neck in the soil that embraced his body and tugged on his limbs. "Selena. I don't think they're even True Sabbat." Kicking dirt in the man's face.

Selena casts her eyes on that head as it rolls on the ground at before her, but there is hardly a moment to react before Killer is set to growling and pounces towards the pair that has laid that gift out for her. She snorts in amusement, and takes a small step to the side to allow Khamael and Zara to meet head on their attacker. She seems utterly, entirely unfazed by the snarling retort from de Vaca, shrugging with a self-admonishing roll of her strange eyes. "Ay, pequena. I don't know why I expected you might answer to the calling of your doom with grace and dignity." She bows her head again. "As you wish, senorita de Vaca."

The horned Fiend raises her head and that smile of hers pulls back to give her a truly shark-like countenance, as Marisol's voice booms at her side. She gives a glance to Noa with a nod, then looks about the gathered crowds. "Is this whelp the best we can hope for, mi Hermanos y Hermanas?" That talon stays levied at Angelina, even as she turns to walk away. "Is this all we are? Cowards, who flee from the challenges set at our feet?" It is entirely rhetorical. She won't wait for an answer. She steps over to Noa and takes into her hand the hilt of the sword that was slung over the Ravnos' shoulder. With a nod to Vera as she swings around to pull the blade free, she offers her old ductus a rather pleased little look. "And shall be slaughtered like kine, mi dulce."

Noa waits until Selena has glanced to her, and then the Ravnos will step over towards la Obispa with a sinuous, liquid stride. It is without saying a word, or paying much attention to the ensuing havoc, that she will sling the sword from off her shoulder - smoothly reverse the scabbard - and then offer it, hilt first, towards Selena.

She'll keep the scabbard, when Selena takes the sword - which will burn with a frightening green flames, dancing like wildfire, licking up and down its razor sharp length.

The insult is communicated clearly, and followed by other sharp insults from a graveled voice. "False Sabbat. Traitors." Having lost an element of her loquacity to her monstrous form, Zara does still manage to convey how she's feeling quite well. Her weapon still hefted, the threat obvious - Not willing to treat these visitors as friends, the Tzimisce has gone from peaceful host to vengeful matron. Although she is yet to act, since the gauntlet has already been thrown... de Vaca is off limits, a problem for Selena to solve as she will. But when it comes to those who came here with her... Conform or die.

And in a moment, Killer has made his decision. Semper Tyrannis may be small, but the pack knows how to fight, and how to fight together. Placing herself in between Killer and Khamael, sword shifting to a low guard against the vicious claws that will be coming at her. And when he's drawn just close enough, her grip changes, and with a wince she brings down her sword in a savage overhead cleave, embedding the oversized weapon into the Gangrel and halting him in his tracks, and yet... Somehow failing to kill him outright. Not wavering, she relies on her packmate to deliver the final blow.

It's a beautiful wardance as Khamael spins, turns, and shifts with his drawn swords in hand. The green fire mirrors the Fury's graceful movements as blades tear through flesh and bones, spilling guts, and dismembering limbs left and right. Vitae bursts and splatters everywhere with some being consumed by the mad fire, and after all of it is done, there'll be nothing left of the Gangrel named Killer. It was a terrifying teamwork, a tag-team between two packmates against their foe, and Khamael grimaces at his Ductus once their foe is slain.

Well, ready as she was for mayhem, Lux wasn't really expecting it this way, still she is always happy to oblige. As Killer lunges at Zara and Khamael she wants to watch, but so many other things start and her attention is drawn away. The Lunatic squeals, clapping her hands wildly, chaos in her blue eyes as she looks around for the closest member of the Red Circle to pounce on. With a smile that is much too wide for her pretty face she spots a very pretty Toreador all decked out for battle, "Hey cutie, wanna dance?", she coos.

The tiny blonde is like a damn jumping spider as she crouches down and then pushes off to spring on the Toreador. Catching him by the shoulder she swings around, pulling him along with her momentum as they go tumbling to the ground and she manages to bring him full around to his back with one of his own arms trapped beneath him, while the other flails trying to pull her off. That once pretty pink mouth seems to open like a gaping maw across her face and Lux buries her face in his neck and her teeth in his throat. Shaking her head like a rabid dog and snarling as she sets to ripping his throat apart while he howls and shrieks beneath her. It would almost look like an obscene lover's tryst were it not for the vitae spurting from his wound and painting the petite blonde's face and hair. Okay, maybe for vampire it still looks like a lover's tryst.

With a brief nod towards Vera, Marisol walks away from what is about to - already happening to - Killer as Khamael and Zara set in upon him with swords. It certainly sounds pretty juicy/burny, all things considered! With the remaining packmates left to Sinclair, Lux and Freeman, she raises a hand from underneath her poncho and gives it a little flick. Just a little wiggle of the fingertips is all, with a bit of her darkened skin seeming to blacken and wisp outwards in an entirely inconsequential little show of shadowplay.

But then eight of the long, sinewy tendrils directed from the Abyss erupt, joining with the grasping claws of the earth itself to wrap in around John the Tzimisce. Poor fellow; just as the earth is closing in, everything else is blacked out by a swarming mass of pure darkness in ghastly, mobile and material form. With the body rapidly swallowed up and just the head exposed, Marisol makes the best of a wonderful situation - the tendrils wrapping around John's neck and face are squeezing, overlapping links of chain wrought from shadow, squeezing in and constricting the neck with an immediate cracking and then squishing noise, sort of like grabbing a palmful of loosened dough and choking the shit out of it, with the tearing sound coming afterwards as all the tentacles twist and wrench and pop that celebrity lookalike head off and away onto the dirt to go join with the other dome still rolling around.

The inhuman Sinclair is already somewhat prepared for a night with festivities such as these. There's something gleaming about his dark eyes even though they're pinpoints of nothing and void. The beast wells up into a snarl and he stalks forward taking the only Red Circle packmate that hasn't been tangled with just yet. First order of business after closing the distance is to get in nice and close. To assist in that particular venture there is only a sneering look that catches the gaze of the soon fuming Brujah.

It's unnatural, even for vampires, how damnedly frightening Sinclair can be, something about not only welcoming the Abyss but being its Herald brings it out of him. And he revels in it. The two tendrils that rise up under his arms act as a catalyst to reach out and ensnare the Brujah in suffocatingly cold grip. There's a surprised sound as Sin is introduced to yet another of Brujah's tricks that he really doesn't like, responding in kind with his jaws opening wide enough to tear a significant chunk out of the other vampire's shoulder.

In the space of a mortal breath, the festivities, hitherto cloaked under the guise of a prison riot, erupt into something would make the reality of that lie seem somewhat quaint. Once the airs of congeniality and hospitality have been shed Quinto Sol works like a well-oiled machine-- if that machine were fueled by combined centuries of holy wrath and covered in poisoned razors.

Though Selena doesn't take her eyes off of the fleeing Archbishop for even a moment, her sensitive ears pick up the pale whisper of Marisol and Sinclair weaving their Abyssal arms from the shadows and the distinctive tearing of Lux's slender, serpentine fangs as they pierce dead flesh. The bloodlust in la Obispa de La Mesa's golden eyes is matched only by the pride that gleams from her horrible, shark-like smile to, once again, have her beloved packmates beside her in battle.

"ARMADO, PERRA COBARDE!" Selena all but roars towards the child-Fiend. One warning step-- just one-- towards de Vaca, and she takes off into a sprint. She holds the sword more like she were about to take a swing at a baseball, than a child's head. Green flames lick past her and cast a baleful illumination over her face as she draws back, twists her torso, and strikes.

She knows she made solid contact, but she spins around on the ball of one foot, talons furrowing little groves into the ground as she places her other foot behind her to catch her weight. Ready to receive a return blow, she brings the sword up into a guard posture-- and then lowers it as she blinks in astonishment.

De Vaca's head leaps off her body and is consumed in a burst of verdant sparks and embers. All the flesh and hair burns away entirely before it even hits the ground, and even before she has a chance to grimace in agony and outrage. Her body crumples, riddled through with those same flames, descending into a pile of ashes and, in but a moment, the former Archbishop has met her Final Death. At the end, all that's left of her is a fanged skull, a smoking pile of ashes, and the bony framework of her useless little wings.

Selena, for her part, looks legitimately disappointed. Her ebon lips fall flat from their smile, and she stares blankly at what remains of her 'opponent.' Drawing a deep breath into her ashen lungs, she lifts her eyes to survey the state of the battlefield and sighs.

In a series of swift beheadings, suddenly the Red Circle is down to two, one of whom is struggling in the grip of Sinclair's darkness, the other catfighting with Lux in what would be a viral hit video on WorldStar back when. Freeman is closer to Sinclair, so he casts his lot in with the Paladin, and tries to grab hold of the Brujah from behind. In the struggle, Freeman can't aim quite as well as he likes, but his technique remains impeccable: a forked, serpentine tongue shoots out of his mouth like it was fired from a rail gun, swiftly flicking upward to slice off the Brujah's ear -- and yet, only barely whiffing against a lock of Sinclair's hair.

Sinclair laughs rather maniacally, even through the struggle of the big bastard, his own unnatural might making it so the anarchist can't get anywhere very far. Perhaps the Lasombra has had some past run ins with the children of Troile! Either way, when the hairy fuck hisses at the slash to his ear, he blinks blankly towards Freeman before giving only the shallowest of nods. Then it's back to business. And business is good! Business is devouring this cocky upstart with a few well placed snaps of his powerful jaws, ripping, tearing and eventually managing to work the head mostly off entirely. It now dangles off the back of those burly shoulders and neck, staring rather blankly and permanently deceased at Freeman.

This is when Sin will drop the body of the Brujah and stand up taller once more, pining only a little for a Winnebago Brave to crawl into after all of this. But he doesn't, instead sliding back into stance and taking up shoulder to shoulder with Freeman, usually looking like the yang to the other man's dark yin, but right now they're both black as pitch. "Any other heads to take tonight?" He asks of his Brother curiously.

The horrid form of Zara hauls the sword out of the withering body they just slaughtered, as the beast assesses the situation, and... There's nothing left do here - But watch how Angelina also loses her head. Her frame slowly returns to her naked, human form - The scowl upon her lips apparent. It wasn't right, how this all went. And even though she's still so freshly slaughtered, she can't fight how much she needs to go kill something. More somethings. In a different place. A nod to Khamael, before she makes her way to the new Archbishop - The sword reversed, and stabbed into the ground in front of her. Despite the face like thunder, she drops to one knee, hand over her heart, before her.

Vera was a bit old and groggy as it was past the girl's bed time. However even ancient vampires had duties to do as she sees Lux rolling around with a Toreador Anti from the Red Circle. Rushing over, Vera extends her right arm at a straight angle, as the whole thing turns into a straight blade of bone.

With a quick slice Vera decapitates the woman and sends her head flying along with a Wednesday Addams geysers of blood onto Lux and her clothing. "Ah... shit. Sorry Luxxy. I'll buy you some nice things later, yeah?" the Koldun asks while John screams in the earth choking on the raging soil as Marisol makes quick work on him. Changing her arm back Vera offers Lux a hand up if desired. "You ok, sunshine?"

With the rest of her pack and an assist from Zara and Khamael of Semper Tyrannis, the Red Circle has become the Red Rosebud all of a sudden. Looking about briefly and not seeing anything that needs cleaning up, Marisol vanishes for a moment, taking off at superhuman speed and then reappearing superhumanly quick, with the reforged and remade iron tub with her. Still probably a bit drippy from use as a Tijuana-wide Vaulderie cup too at that; and if it weren't for the drag marks in the ground as she comes to a halt with the massive iron thing plonked down beside her, it'd be easy to imagine it had always been there. There's a lot going on at all, can't stop and watch after each and every priest that ducks out for a tub.

"A wonderful thing, is it not? To have the old slaggards, the bumblers, the cowards and the hesitant, discarded and washed away." While the tone of voice is soft and almost reverential, her volume is still quite impressive, coming up and out to make sure the whole assembly knows that it's them she's speaking to, "Archbishop de Vaca is dead - MAY HER NAME BE DUST! - and there is now a new Archbishop to pay heed to, one tested in the fires of the holy war and keen to cut away the hands of the Ancients!"

"Praise be," And even though it's solidly there anyway, Mari hefts up the tub and then slaps it down again, nearer to where Selena is standing and ready, "TO ARCHBISHOP SELENA SAEZ! May her reign see us forward on a great crusade! And may I see you all there to share in the battle, as tonight we share our blood for HER EXCELLENCY!"

Compared to this lot, Doug is a glorified gas station attendant. Which is still something, considering how he started. And speaking of that? Once the erstwhile Archbishop and her packmates finish going down in flames - and after joining in the cheer that just went up for the new regime - he makes his way over closer to the spot where the little thing fell. "Should've stuck with Red, this never would've happened on /her/ watch."

Lux is still enjoying playing with her food it seems as she continues to ride the flailing Toreador with her fangs buried in his throat. When the head is suddenly gone and the thrashing ends, the splash of blood that covers her face and hair, she pulls back and blinks. Looking up at Vera with an expression of disappointment, "I wasn't done playing with that!", she pouts. A shrug of her shoulders, "Just clothes, I have plenty more and more money than I can spend..." She takes Vera's hand and stands up, "Well, maybe not more than Marisol can spend though." She goes for the rapidly decaying head and reaches in to yank out a fang and shove it into a pocket on her vest.

Wildfire is tamed once more as the Fury sheathes his swords, turning his gaze at the downed Gangrel as he lays butchered on the dirt. Khamael is like a bystander now, in the midst of all the chaos that's occurring around him. Maybe he would've lent a hand had his 'camaradas', as how the Cainites around this part would refer to their friends, were struggling in their own private fights. Fortunately for those allied to the La Mesa parish, everything is going just fine for their side- not so much for the Red Circles and their prized 'Archbishop', though. A stupid smile just crosses his face as he witnesses all the bloodshed, and when the victors become clear, the Salubri silently cheers for the new Archbishop as his swords are raised high in her horrifying glory.

Sinclair is high on the battle, his shadows still whipping around him as he starts to gather up the beheaded Gangrel slowly, taking a few sips off the top to get his crispy forehead to start healing. He gives a soft grunt and hmms, "Mercury would have climbed you like a tree house. Oh well." He says with a rather casual cruelty. His jealousy sparks are well known at this point. With a heft, the head is removed from the shoulders and he tosses it into the growing pile of skulls and heads that the Quinto Sol is collecting.

Marisol comes out with the tub and he immediately grins and pushes the big Brujah's body up to the tub, then turns him upside down and stabs him a few times with a kitchen knife that appears as though out of nowhere. Stab stab, he makes holes until the oaf's body will start filling the tub with a basis for the new Archbishop's offering and pledge. He's beaming as he looks around for a few moments, trying to find the elusive Noa, finding his Mercury pouting over her kill being stolen and there, Selena, standing like the unholy goddess she is.

It happens that Noa Socorro has not moved, since all of the carnage began, from where she had first offered Selena the sheathed blade. She briefly plays her coal dark, glittering eyes upon the ruin of the Red Circle, and then she gives the scabbard a twirl in her fingers. The Ravnos won't say anything, but she will glance in the direction of where Hassana has been waiting as an Obfuscated contingency. She nods once over to the Queen Cobra and flashes the Templar some appreciative Sabbat Sign.

Her attention will briefly be drawn by the head of Thana, which had skittered across the ground. Her sunset-kissed features will appear unreadable as she considers the Assamite's decapitated head for a long moment. In a moment where no one can see, she flashes a quick sign for 'L' and 'S' towards Thana's head. Lo Siento.

Her gaze finds Lux next, though is pleased to see the platinum lunatic making it back to her feet and yanking out the fang from the skull of the defeated Toreador. She always likes to watch Lux having fun!

It is going to be while Marisol is calling for and organizing the sudden Blood Bath - such as to raise Selena upon the shields of the legions as it were - that the Ravnos will pad quietly over to where Doug, seemingly missed by most in the chaos and the crowds, are gazing down at the remnants of the tiny, little bat-winged, former Archbishop. After a few moments, she murmurs in her dusky, thrumming purr, "La senda de la virtud es muy estrecha y el camino del vicio, ancho y espacioso."

When Sinclair finished off the suspiciously handsome Brujah, the even more suspiciously handsome Freeman steps back. He has blood on his nice suit, but he looks satisfied. He fixes his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, and licks his lips as Marisol makes her proclamations. He helps out when the Red Circle members are being bled, reaching into stab wounds to pull them open and really squeeze out the viscous, awful vitae that they contain. His own sense of celebration is more muted than some of his packmates', but just try and take that grin off of his face.

Grabbing the dead Toreador, Lux drags him over to the tub as well and begins to work the blood into the tub as she hooks a shoulder under his hip and lifts him up for gravity to help.

"Well." Selena's proud smile reemerges as she sees Lux and Vera, Sinclair and Freeman tear apart the remaining stragglers of the Red Circle. In an act that might make the sword enthusiasts in the crowd stifle in horror, she deposits the tip of her burning blade into the ground, folding her hands over the pommel as she rolls her neck and stands up straight. "If anyone else would like to meet their fate tonight," She calls out to those gathered, "By all means: Step forward and receive it."

But no one does. Not to die, anyway. Zara is there first to pay her respects and receives a long and respectful bow of la nueva Arzobispa's head in return for her display of supplication and her prowess at arms. "It was a pleasure, to finally see you use that sword of yours, Ductus Reid. I thank you for your assistance with that little problem." There's a quirk of her eyebrow, "You and Brother Khamael are quite the pair, no?" She lifts her eyes up to the crowd again, and just in time for Marisol to run up, boom to the crowd, and slam that tub down beside her. She's about to address her Priest but then, there is Doug, a face she hasn't seen in months.

"Ah, Ductus Moreno!" He receives a bow of her horned head as well. "How wonderful for you to come and see the festivities, and what an honor it is to host you. I trust nuestra Patrick y Lawrence are well?" She kilts her head off to the side curiously, but the question sounds more like a pleasantry than anything that actually needs to be answered, especially with the way the impromptu Blood Bath is already taking off.

Zara nods. "We serve the best interests of the Sword." A heavy heart about the decision regardless. "Allow me to excuse myself, your grace. Today is a victory for the future of the sword, but the damage we have done leaves a poor taste in my mouth." She rises. Of course, there are so many responsibilities before she can go try and find some measure of peace with this. Such as stopping by the tub - And rather than open a wound, she merely sacrifices a limb - Her left arm losing all form and stability, to land in the tub with a wet 'splat'. No effort to reform it either, the open wound failing to bleed so much as a drop.

There is some bit of scowl at having the vanquished getting to add their blood posthumously; Marisol sighs though, and raises a wrist to her mouth to bite deep into it and then add her blood to the tub. The next look she has is a bit skeptical for the tub but then there's a glance around to Selena and, well, it ought to work. It gets pretty full for the Vaulderie and now there's some pinche scum getting added to it, but the archbishop is fairly small - maybe they won't even have to resize Angelina's crown if its ever found - so it should hopefully work. "If you would join in celebrating our new Archbishop, then step forward - add your blood to that which she rightly deserves."

"And if you will not, then may Caine guide your feet in escaping Tijuana before the end of Festivo." But she says it with a smile, while pouring her somewhat tenebrous looking bloody gunk into the tub, mixing it in with the defeated blood plus Zara dropping off an arm.

Vera nods and claps for her chair. "Fredrick..." talking to the abomination of hips and legs as it slowly crawled towards the Koldun. "You were useless tonight. Everyone was fighting and you didn't do a thing. How will we ever make you True Sabbat if you're afraid to get bloodied?" the chair groaning and rumbling before Vera plops down on it. "I need a smoke." she says to no one while relighting the hookah built into the chair as it starts walking towards Selena. "Lookie there. What a delightful killer you have grown to be. You're making a lot of people proud, sweetie." Vera says with a fanged grin while smoking on the bone hookah. Her eyes still white as she watched the surrounding with her magical sight. "Everyone did well. False monsters... sneaking an assassin through the back." Vera offers while exhaling smoke and nearing the tub. "Let me get my blood in there. If it doesn't turn to rust first." extending her arm over the tub while the chair of limbs held her.

After helping Sinclair and Lux to open up their conquests, Freeman does the righteous thing and opens up himself. His forearm bleeds as he squeezes his fist and rolls his wrist around, making loss of blood as much an act of will and training as anything else. He maintains his grin, which probably makes it even more sordid that he's currently forcing his own blood out of his arm.

There is an amused grin as the Salubri nears his Ductus and overhears the new Archbishop's comment on the two of them. He walks by to offer his respects by silently bowing his head, and thumping a balled fist onto his chest. Then he goes to his packmate to draw her into a side-hug with his arm, pride painted on his face as he glances at her, before the Fury proceeds to the tub to drop his own vitae into it.

"As you wish, Ductus Reid." Selena nods to her fellow Fiend. "You have performed a great service for me tonight. I will not forget it." Offering after offering spills into the tub. Leaving her sword, with its wreath of green flames, thrust into the ground, Selena strips off her robe and drops it into the tub to receive another fresh coat of the Blood of the Sabbat. She bows her head reverently to each who approaches, offering them a few kind words and reassurances in recompense for what they shed for her.

It will be around the time she is getting to stripping the shoulder straps of her dress off, that she receives those words from Vera. The Dragon receives a flash of a smile with a flattered twinkle in her eye. "Gracias, mi dulce. I do have my sources of inspiration." She winks, and then it's Khamael's turn to receive a bow of her horned head, in thanks for his service and the gift of blood he offers for the sacred rite.

And like that, it's all over. From a good distance away located on a rooftop, there is a small flicker of flame as Daemion lights up a cigar as the bloodbath ends before him. The cool air blows around him as he stands there, wondering what exactly just happened. He's not one to bother asking a lot of questions, but he knows it might be best for them to not see him once they leave, so he makes sure to turn around, and make his way back to the prison. After all, the show is over for tonight.

Eventually, Noa will step away from where the tiny little bat-winged smear of Angelina de Vaca used to be. Her long legs carry her with a soundless, liquid pace towards the burning sword, which the la nueva Arzobispa had thrust it. It is without breaking her stride, that she'll take the sword from the ground, and then flip it around in her hand - relying on supernatural strength to flick it in such a way as to result in a shimmer-steam of flames, dirt and blood flying free from the blade. Then she reverses and silently slides it back into the scabbard, which is then slung back over her shoulder. She continues moving towards where several dozen Cainites have begun to crowd around the Blood Bath, roaring, whooping and chanting their approval of the new Archbishop.