Negotiations 

The rain falls outside as an uncharacteristic late August shower cooled the night. The pattering echoed through the parking garage near the Tacoma Dome as a suited man, with slicked back black hair, let a cigarette burn to ash in his mouth, impatiently checking a watch along with four other individuals, much less distinct.

The Kindred aren't able to feel the cold chill the rain brought, but this man, a spokesperson for the Camarilla, didn't want to get wet waiting for some upstart punk, as they waited on the floor just below the very top.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he didn't have much longer to wait, as a limousine pulled up to their location, with some muffled hip-hop blasting from the internal speakers.

As it pulled up and parked in a lengthwise fashion to block the upward ramp, a snap was heard from a rolled-down window on the side not facing the man, and the sound of rustling could be heard, as orange-vested workers put hazard warnings all across the rest of the parking garage.

From the back of the Limo stepped out two individuals.

The first was a darker-skinned man wearing a red t-shirt underneath an equally red Hawaiian tee, with stark white loosely curled hair and stubble, and a face riddled with scars and cuts.

The second was the Kindred of the hour, and the one they were all waiting for. A young-faced individual, with a shock of violet hair, shaved on the sides, yet with enough in the back to make a shoulder blade-length ponytail, eyes covered with sunglasses whose lens were in the shape of stars, dressed in a deep v-cut black shirt, and a bright yellow fur-lined blazer draped over their shoulders.

Both men commanded some respect, however, as they were the Barons of University Place and Tacoma respectively, Gervais Wen, and Fiore Choi-Yun. Well, they commanded respect from most.

"You're late, Baron." The spokesperson spat out, disdain evident.

"I am ever so sorry for wasting your precious time," Fiore began with a cat-like smirk, taking care to shut the car door gently. "But you know how traffic is down here."

"Clearly. So, do we have your answer?"

Three nights previously, a meeting was held at one of many secure locations around the area. Fiore sat with his fellow Barons, Gervais included.

"After a summer of concession and quiet, I got this delivered to my assistants earlier today. It looks like the Camarilla isn't so detached from their previous holdings here after all." Fiore slapped down a stack of hand-written papers onto the table.

"Let me see that." Said Arnd Weiss, the Baron of Ruston. An older-looking gentleman, with sleek gray hair and full beard, and white eyes with an eyepatch over his left one, dressed in business wear and a deep blue vest.

"Elk Temple, Glass Museum, Wright Park, Point Ruston...POINT RUSTON!? Those blunt-fanged bag drinkers, who do they think they are!?" He read aloud, stopping himself from tearing the papers apart.

"Focus, Arnd." Gervais said with a giggle.

"How much are they trying to take? I don't know about the rest of you, but I've spoken to many of our Camarilla-aligned Kindred, and this is the first I'm hearing of any disruptions." Said a tall woman with green eyes and dark brown hair tied in a braid, wearing similar business attire to Arnd, colored pink.

"Maybe that's worked in Steilacoom, Azariah, but it looks like they're even trying to take some of your areas. They're taking bits and pieces from all of us, even Oenone's territory!" Arnd replied, pointing towards a bronze-skinned woman with long and wavy orange hair, wearing a casual black dress and leather jacket.

"Ay, don't diss Spanaway, we've got plenty of good places, not that I'm about to give any up to the goddamn Cam again."

"The question we should all be fuckin asking," said a husky voice from the corner of the room. "Why the fuck was Fiore the only one to get this goddamn letter? Especially if they're taking pieces from all of us?"

In a charcoal gray three-piece suit sat a deformed man, Raul Bazzoli, the Baron of Lakewood. No nose, only having a hole where the nose should be, sunken eyes that black veins spread from, a mouth that was forced open on the left side by too-large teeth, and patches of mold-like green skin across his body.

The best he had going for him was his thick black hair, professionally parted to the right, and the snazzy floral patterns of his dark shirt beneath the suit.

"Isn't it obvious? Tacoma's a big name! Maybe Lakewood and Spanaway would be next, cause JBLM is right next door, but that doesn't explain why they want anything from the rest of us." Gervais summarized.

"Especially since some of these claims are entire neighborhoods. They've got the legitimacy to back them, in their eyes at least." Arnd added on, sifting through the fine print at high speeds.

"I feel it's more than just that. This is a challenge." Fiore chimed in.

"Oh? Cam's trying to throw down the gauntlet? Set up another turf war?" Oenone leaned forward in her chair, seemingly excited at the prospect.

"Perhaps they're wanting Fiore to either seem weak by agreeing to the demands or foolish by rejecting them." Azariah theorized, partially muttering.

"So we throw Arnd at the problem like we've done before, easy-peasy!" Gervais suggested.

"Absolutely not." The old man shot back.

"Aw, what's the matter, Arnie? Too tired to play with the Cam anymore?"

"HAH! Bite your tongue, Wen! If I drove to meet these fools I'd have them broken, bankrupt, or begging before the engine cooled down!" Arnd boasted with a chuckle.

"But this time isn't about me, and this isn't about us as a group." He turned towards the flashiest of them. "It's about Fiore and their response."

"So," Raul got close to the table, as all eyes were on the young Baron. "You got an idea already?"

Fiore let out a smug laugh and grew a mischievous grin. "I have something, but it might not be the most 'diplomatic' idea," Fiore explained, glancing over to the politician among them, as Arnd merely gave a nod of acquiescence.

"You all ready to play along?"

As the rain beat down, Fiore pulled out the papers once more, and looking the spokesman right in the eyes, tossed them to the side, letting the wind whip them about.

"Give me one good reason I should even bother to let you leave here alive?"

"Excuse me?" He asks, unphased.

"You've insulted the dominion of the Anarchs, you have insulted the autonomy of my trusted co-barons, and furthermore, you have insulted me by attempting to cut up MY city. So, why should you not pay for those sins?"

"Please, we're here as envoys of the Camarilla and the Prince of Seattle, to strike at us is to strike at the entire court."

"Oh, oh, which one?" Gervais asked, getting an intense glare in return.

"And what makes you think we won't do exactly that?" Fiore asked, walking closer to the spokesperson.

At that, the spokesperson can't help but laugh in disbelief. "You Anarch children have been rebuilding the same losses as us, but where we have stability and resources, you do not. You all don't have the strength to beat back the Camarilla. It is an act of good faith for our previous alliance against the Sabbat that we're only going as far as making those demands for the time being."

"Strength, huh?" Fiore stood right in front of the spokesman, dominating his vision, and lurched over him with a full head of extra height, their sapphire blue eyes peeking from the top of their sunglasses. "What do you know of strength?"

"I'm a professional, strength is in money, influence, even raw power when it comes down to it, all of which you Anarchs lack, except maybe your bruisers and meatshields." He didn't even flinch as he made the claims, as the four guards behind him started to feel a bit more nervous.

"Hmm," Fiore said as he turned around and walked away a few steps towards the car, without anyone else taking up the space. "Well, if you're such a professional, then you surely must've heard the phrase 'It's not what you know, it's who you know.' Yes?"

"Maybe, what's your point?"

"My point is that you're not entirely wrong. I don't have the money of generations, I don't have the influence of courtly systems and favor-grinding, and I'm not even that much stronger than any other Kindred my age! But, you see, I know people. And more than that, I have quite the eye for what people are good at, and where they should put those skills to work." Fiore says, walking back far enough to lean against the exterior of the limousine.

"Which, inversely, gives me a good eye for what people aren't good at, and where their blindspots lie." They said, casually pulling out a smartphone.

"Speaking of which," they begin, not even looking up from the screen. "Have you kept your eyes on my companions?"

At those words, the spokesman realized Gervais was nowhere to be seen, but before he could even turn his head to scan the area, a crimson blur moved in his direction.

With two large, sleek silver hunting knives, Gervais slid past the spokesman at blinding speeds. Both knives were angled to catch where the lower jaw connected to the skull, one horizontal and the other vertical.

With sheer speed, they cleanly went through to the bone and out the other side, as the spokesman soon found his tongue cut out as well as his lower jaw, as Gervais held both in his hand, amber pupils small in his wide-eyed expression, with a toothy grin stretched across his face.

"Yeesh dude, lay off the cigs!" Gervais began as he looked at the jaw. "We still gotta brush y'know!" A second later, the vitae of the spokesman burst from the wounds.

"You freak!" One of the guards shouted before a misshapen, clawed hand shoved its way through the back of his skull, sticking out the right side of his face like a misaligned puppet.

"Well that's just fuckin rude, my favorite cousin's a freak!" The shadows around Raul drop as his attack goes through, and he shoves his arm out the side of the first guard's skull and tears into the second guard, digging out a portion of their chest and stomach as his claws rend flesh like playdough.

As the spokesman crumples to his knees, the blood of the guards spraying at his back, he tries to rouse his vitae to begin to heal, at least to seal the wounds, but he's having trouble focusing with the immeasurable pain of having his jaw ripped off.

"Keep an eye on this for me, would ya?" Gervais asked as he suddenly appeared next to Fiore, setting the dismembered jaw on the roof of the limousine, as Fiore gave a non-committal wave of acknowledgment, typing away at their phone.

At the exact second the third guard pulls the trigger of their pistol at Raul, they can't track Gervais fast enough to see him shove their arms under their own chin, as the bullet that would normally do nothing against Raul does everything to the simple mortal guard.

As the third one falls to the ground, the fourth one backs up and attempts to shoot at Gervais, who moves his head out of the way of the bullet, and without looking their way throws one of his knives into the heart of the guard, before spinning around and lodging the second in their throat.

"Ah hell, I was going for the forehead! 'S what I get for flair I guess."

As the four guards all lay dead around him, the spokesman looks up at Fiore with pained, pleading eyes, holding none of the spite and spark that was there previously.

"Do you see now, professional?" Fiore began, as he put the phone away after sending the last couple of needed messages.

"This is my strength! And it's a strength that I have over all of Tacoma. You have no idea the kind of people who are here!" He began, stepping closer and closer with each emphasized point.

"Those who've lived here forever, under your notice. Those that've been exiled and abused by your system! Those that've blown in from elsewhere, looking simply for safety! Hell, even those we have seen as enemies before. We see them, we see what they can do, and we make sure they can do the very damn best they can."

At the end of his speech, he was towering over the spokesman even more than before, as he was crumbled and defeated over the arching gaze of Fiore 

"And remember, we're not even that much stronger than other Kindred our age."

With that, the spokesman was reduced to tears, as blood seeped from his eyes. Fiore was satisfied with this and straightened his back once more.

"Labalaba, if you would please." From the passenger seat of the limo, a dark-skinned woman with a monarch-butterfly printed dress, with tinted three-eyed sunglasses and long black locs steps out, holding a small steel box.

Opening it up, Fiore puts the dismembered jaw and tongue into the case and seals it. "The sorcery on this will keep it from rotting. So, here's what you're going to do." Fiore pushed their heel into the knee of the spokesman, forcing their eyes upward.

"You're going to drag your sorry ass back to whoever sent you, you're going to reattach your pitiful boot-licking tongue, and you're going to pass along this message: All Camarilla in Tacoma must be gone within a month's time. If any remain, and especially if any who seek to claim territory in Tacoma remains, after that time, then the streets will run with their blood and they shall all greet the sun!" Fiore dictated, loud enough to almost echo through the garage.

"Did you get that, Rosebush?" They turn towards the limousine, as a still seated Arnd, holds a private handheld radio through the rolled-down window.

"Loud and clear, Big Bird!" Said Oenone.

The Camarilla had made the bold decision to hold an Elysium at the Glass Museum on this night, perhaps attempting to intimidate Fiore as more Camarilla would be mere minutes away, but the spokesman had no time to call for help.

But, with Oenone and Azariah in attendance, they already had plenty of eyes on them, before they had sucker-punched the Keeper of Elysium and used their abilities in Domination and Presence to get everyone's attention just in time to broadcast Fiore's conversation with the spokesman, and the effective aftermath.

"How much longer must we keep this up? I really can't handle this many eyes on me..." Azariah whispers to her companion, attempting to stay tall and imposing.

"Eh, I think we're about done, we just need to get the word spreading is all."

Back at the garage, Fiore hands the box over, and the distressed spokesman runs back into his car, as Fiore has their driver move the limo out of the way to allow their departure.

As the car sped out of the garage, a cleaning crew was already on their way up, phoned in by the Baron during the chaos.

Turning off the radio, Arnd steps out of the Limousine. "Do you really think that wise, Fiore? If intimidation is our goal, having Azariah and Oenone take the center of attention at Elysium during our one-sided slaughter would've been enough."

 "Of course, it's a message that needs to hit specific ears, aside from the general population."

"Care to fuckin' elaborate?" Raul asked, shaking the blood off of his arm.

"I had a feeling a decree like this would come from a place of power, and the Prince being brought in confirms it. But, there are two forces at work in Seattle, both of which are the real 'Prince' in their circles. If it's the devil I know, they'll be amused and agree for a time, especially since we applied some 'polite' diplomacy."

"And if it's the devil you don't know?" Arnd asked.

"Well then, I hope you're all ready to merc some Camarilla!" Fiore said, happily getting back in the limo with the rest of his entourage, as they all sigh in exasperation.