Good Morning Beautiful

wait, what?

We are in a world of hurt, with our options being slowly whittled to none.
So many questions. What is this necklace, and who am I supposed to save?
Where is the Prince? How do I keep people focused on finding him, and not falling for the easy way out that the Anarchs propose? Do we go back to the burned building, or head to the north to get eaten by wolves?

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Hippy Journal
Page 11

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Hippy Journal
Page 10

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McKenzie Eddy & Jim Jones - Retrograde
(Vampire Life Remix)

(stupid embed not working)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACAxqYatm9c

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Dear Diary

Fuck! We are fucked. Should have killed that bastard Balthazar, now we are so screwed.
Our only chance is saving Lodin, and hoping he can survive long enough to set us free.

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Yes, Racism Is Rooted in Economic Inequality

“What’s he going to say — racial inequality is merely a symptom of economic inequality? He’s not going to say that. Nobody would.

Well, get ready for a hot take, ladies and gentlemen, because that’s exactly what I’ll say here."

Yes, Racism Is Rooted in Economic Inequality – Seth Ackerman, Jacobin

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Incomplete Notes Scribbled in Cop's Logbook

I ask the sheriff how he became sheriff and he goes on with vast loads of bullshit for twenty or thirty minutes.

Sheriff has Dominate

Foyer
The paintings look like genuine art….
the actual original paintings

To the south
Library
Crazy hot sound system
Custom made book

Book that’s not of the same bindings?
Hand bound journal….

Admiral Turney
Last Page, a note – “Dedicated to Roarke – A dedicated retainer who sacrificed his life to bring me a worthless book”
Handwriting “Strong Leadership…

5 phones… all separate lines… all dead

Dining Room
All the silverware & plates have a fine layer of dust on them…
They’re for show….

Kitchen
A large industrial kitchen… essentially a restaurant
Lunch bags with names: John, Tony, etc
Clearly a lunchroom

Door to the Residence
Security Room
Where the tapes are kept….
Video operator
Balthasar asked the video guy…
Talk to Natasha
Hour missing from the tapes….turned off before dawn.

Walk through the Office into the…
Game Room

Office
More original Rembrandt paintings on the wall
Dead Man in
Ornate Chess Set in the end game

Wrecked door
Whatever caused this was one thing….

Ventrue
Lodin 7th
weatherbottom 8th
thornhill 8th
chicago 8th
drummond 8th
nealy 8th
ballard 8th
lawrence 9th
Sovereign 9th
capone 8th
galgone 9th
chue lue 9th
champeter 8th

Kin of Gary
Modius – Toreador
Eleysia
Evelyn
Juggler
Lucien
Danov
Michael

Succubus Club
Password VIPClub January – March 1990
Velvet Midnight

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"To be, or not to be..."

To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come
,” – Hamlet, William Shakespeare

Sleep here? In the all too recently abducted Prince’s haven? With that jug headed “sheriff” in the same room? This was either the best idea ever, or more likely, the worst move possibly imaginable. A nightmare for sure. “Do I even have a choice?”, Raz thought to himself. He knew the answer was no, which made his teeth clench like an onset of lockjaw was setting in. There was nothing he hated more than being told what to do.

As the others raced around making preparations before their sleep, Raz could not settle himself. He started to pace back and forth like a caged lion, occasionally looking over his shoulder out the window of the 107th floor. He’d never seen the break of dawn from this high up before. He knew he would not see it today either, though he would come as close as he could before the terrifying sun peaked it’s nose above the horizon. He walked to the window and pressed his palms and nose to the glass.

Below him was the glowing lights of the city at night. From up here it was hard to imagine that those lights and shadows, those streaks and lines, were actually the remnants and refuse of the living. Taxi drivers and garbage collectors. Street bums and mail men on their early morning commutes. He slowly drew his gaze up and looked out across the city. He wondered where in that vast maze the Prince might be hiding, or if there was even still a Prince left to find. Looking farther up still, he fixed his eyes on the horizon and pressed his nose harder into the glass. The last thing he saw before he slipped into that deep sleep was the threatening light of the corona of the sun as it began to pierce the darkness of the night. Unconscious now, he slumped into the glass and fell slowly to the floor… his fingers drawing smudges on the window as they slid down to the ground. Sliding. Falling. Deep into that dream of darkness.

chicago-sunrise.jpg

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Hippy Journal
Page 9

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