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Somewhere in Rome

Inside a church, Father Jackal is feasting. He's been in this strange world for some days now, and being in the holy city has brought out some rather unholy appetites. It was rather silly, actually, all these priests and nuns hiding inside the church, as if expecting that to be some form of protection. They actually thought they could hold him back with a cross! When he has his own sitting right there on his chest. Silly humans.

Of course, he only needed a couple of them to fill up. The rest of them he used for some expierimentation. As far as he can tell, the humans of this world are no different then the humans of his own. All the same organs, all the same bones, all the same reactions to pain. Quite wonderful, actually. He's managed to recreate a few of his favorite works of art using the cattle, and they look wonderful. Probably still in pain, but what does he care?

He's just putting the finishing touches on on of them, carefully removing the skin from the muscle so as to get a better red, when he hears a commotion outside. Sounds like ti might be worth looking into.

In the streets, some vampires are brawling with some humans. He can tell they're vampires because they definitely look the part. Poor Nosferatu. Must all be from the same clutch, to all have the same deformity. And getting their butts hand to them by a tiny Asian girl. For shame.

Jackal rolls out of the church, his great girth providing him with momentum, his enormous voice booming out to startle all the combatants. "Now, what the sam hill are y'all playin' at here? Y'all are vampires, y'might as well act lahk it!" He keeps up his charge, not even slowing down as one of the humans attempts to jump in his path, crucifix held protectively in front of him.

Father Jackal doesn't even slow down. He rips the cross from the mortals hand, then returns it, shoving the hunk of wood into the humans chest before tossing him out of the way. Vampires and humans stand in shock at the sight of this horrible priest bearing down on them. Only the little Asian remains unaffected, throwing herself at Jackal with a relentless fury, driving a stake into his chest, where his heart should be.

Her arm sinks into his body to the elbow, and the flesh surrounding her clamps down, hard, preventing her from withdrawing. "Naow, darlin, I'd hafta be some kinda moron ta keep mah heart somewhere easily accessible, naow wouldn' I?" His right hand lashes out, wiping across the girls face, removing all definition where it passes. There is a crunching sound from his chest region, and the girl falls away, her arm cut off where it had entered the body.

It doesn't take long to mop up the rest of them, and Jackal enjoys himself, loving the ability to cut loose. This now, this is the life.

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Harth, who has been watching the scene from afar (and not being terribly pleased with this latest batch of vampires) is far, far more interested in the new-comer. But he'd better do something about him before the vamp gets cocky.

He hops down from his perch atop the church (just because he can't go inside doesn't mean he can't enjoy the view), and approaches. He, unlike his brood, doesn't usually walk around with his game face showing. He prefers the effect that looking like an innocent fourteen-year-old tends to have on people. It probably won' affect this lurk, but hey. You never know.

"Impressive show," he says, coolly.

Jackal hangs out in the Sabbat. Most Malkavians look young, just to fuck with people. Never judge a book by it's cover. He gives a nod to the newcomer, absently fingering the cross hanging around his neck. "Not a show, son. Never go fer impressive when you don't know yer enemies strengths, ya go fer the kill."

Crosses. . interesting. Not the regular kind of vampire, it would seem.

"Wise," he agrees. "Although of course, if there's anyone watching - you might as well scare them into not attacking."

"Which is why you kill fast and efficiently. Just as scary to kill three kine in the space of a moment as to rip ones head off and go bowling." They have fun games in the Sabbat.

Jackal turns to the side and begins to pace around Harth. Something about this one...

'Kine'. There's a new word - although it does sound vaguely familiar.

Harth turns slowly as the other vampire walks around him, keeping him in sight. Just in case he decides to do something foolish.

"As you say," he agrees.

"Tell me, son, what clan are you?" Jackal pauses to scratch at his chest where the woman tried to stake him. It itches a little bit. The blood is digesting oddly.

"Obviously, you're Sabbat, or you woulda' tried to stop me from killin' the cattle. But you don't smell right."

Harth grins. Oh, this one has no idea. . .

"I'm not," he says. "Sabbat, that is - whatever that is. And I'm not from your world, either - nor is this world yours. This world had no vampires."

Now, it has lots. And if Harth has his way, well. It will have more.

"Really? No vampires? And you have no clans?" He raises a hand to stroke his chin, his beady little eyes lighting up. "Oh, this is wonderful mah, son, wonderful indeed! A whole new world to preach the gospel of Caine to."

Jackal would do a little dance, if he were anyone else. "Simplah amazin."

Harth grins.

"I said, 'had' no vampires."

He allows his face to shift, and grins viciously.

"It has plenty now. And it will have more."

Jackal doesn't seem impressed by the face. He'll show his when the time is right. "Nicely done. An', we can always keep makin' more. Specially with no cammies around to bug our asses."

As far as Harth is concerned, everyone has a game face - it's not a big deal to him. Most lurks keep theirs up all of the time, anyway.

"I have no idea what you're talking about - and what do you mean 'we'?" He asks, coldly. "This is my city. And soon enough, it will be my world."

Cold look.

"I advise you not to interfere."

Jackal arches an eyebrow. "Not enough room to share?" He shrugs. "Ah'm sure we cahn, work somethin' out."

Harth snaps his fingers - and those of his vampires who were not being tested step out - from doorways, off roofs, from alleyways. . . They weren't exactly hiding, but they weren't in plain sight, either.

There are, perhaps, fifty of them.

"I'm sure we can," Harth says, mildly.

Jackal picks up one of the bleeding humans, one who happens to be missing a limb. With a wipe of his hand, he smooths over the wound, calmly sealing the area. With very few moves, he rolls the flesh and bones together, until there is simply a face in the middle of a ball.

The human ball, still living, is tossed Harths way. "You got a nice setup here." What does it cost him to play the flunky, for a while? Not like there's anyone from his world to see him.

"I'm working on it," he says, stopiing the sphere of flesh with his foot and examining it with interest.

"Let us. . . talk."

Out of earshot of his minions.

Jackal gestures towards the church. "Mi casa, et su casa." Whoops.

A church. . . Well. As long as he keeps away from the cross, perhaps? Harth has not had to test churches, yet. He approaches the doors with (invisible) trepidation - and to his pleasure, he can walk through the doors without being struck down. Or having anything else unpleasant happen.

One vampire follows them - Harth's second-in-command, Icarus.

The cross shouldn't be a problem. Jackal has... decorated it. The less detail gone into, the better, but most humans would be puking right about now.

Jackal takes a seat on the altar, hefting his vast weight upon it with the ease of practice.

"Well then."

Harth doesn't do a happy skippy dance of pretty - but he approves of Jackal's style of interior decorating. Delicious.

"How nice," is all he says. Icarus takes up a post standing just behind Harth, who perches on the back of one of the pews, crouched with his hands dangling down between his ankles.

"Well then, indeed."

"You seem to have things on rather a good lock down." Jackal wipes his hands off on his robe, the blood stains being sucked into the fabric with a slurping sound. "But, it seems kinda, how ya wanna say, similar. Whole buncha mooks who all have the same powers."

"Somewhat," Harth says. "But then, there are the monsters - I have been collecting them for some time. But I do not allow them to roam the streets - they are far too unpredictable."

He watches the blood-absorption with a fascinated expression. possibly, aslo, a hungry one.

It's good to be able to shape things to your will. "What do they call you, son?"

"Harth," Harth says. "They call me 'the one who will lead'. I call myself the one who is leading, personally." He says this with an amused smile, and behind him, Icarus chuckles.

"I'm Father Jackal. They call me... Well, Father Jackal. Or your holiness." He shrugs. "I suppose, bein' from a different world, yer vampies ain't descended from Caine?"

"No," Harth says, searching his memories. . . oh. Cain and Abel, perhaps?

"We are demons. Or, partly so, at any rate."

It's more complicated than that, of course, but that'll do.

"Huh." Jackal folds his hands together. "That is, well, interesting. What plans do you have for this world?"

Harth shrugs.

"The usual," he says. "Gates to hell. Death and destruction. Happy fun-time games."

Jackal arches an eyebrow again. "Hmm. Good times. Need a hand?"

"Everyone is welcome," Harth says. "One can never have too big an army."

Jackal pops back to his feet, a grin on his features. "Well, then, where do I start? Need your boys shined up a bit?"

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