Damn Lasombra

So Johnny aint' said nothing about this yet. But it's seriously fucked up shit.

Okay. So at the rant a few weeks back, at the beginning of December, some Camarilla types show up. This Assamite dude named Rudy and some "antitribu" Lasombra named Elliot. Still not sure what "antitribu" means, but it most mean something like "not like the rest of the clan" or something. In this case, it meant a Lasombra loyal to the Camarilla. Well, he decides to go Sabbat hunting. With the Assamite. A few of our friends decide to meet up with them, including Lauren, Brer Bear, and Joe Barclay. Oh, and a Nosferatu named "They." Weird fucker, that one.

Problem? The Lasombra, Elliot, never shows up back at home.

No one seems to know what's up with Rudy, who supposedly last saw the dude alive. Something about being attacked, maybe by Gangrel.

Bear and Lauren were kicked out of Gangrel turf. Barclay says he never met up with Elliot or Rudy.

Rooster, the number two Gangrel in Irvine, won't fuckin' talk. Keller, the number one, hasn't said a word about it. Barclay is gettin' all defensive.

Worst of all? Elliot's clan is howling for someone's blood.

So how did Johnny get involved in this mess? Johnny asked fellow Brujah if there was such a thing as Camarilla Lasombra. Turns out to be true. But one, who is a friend of a powerful Cam Lasombra, decides to dig deeper. Finds out that Elliot is missing. Tells Johnny, tells his friend Urial Ligatio. Who is apparently a big fucking Lasombra the entire rest of that clan knows and respects. So now Johnny has to figure out who killed Elliot just to keep the Camarilla and the Lasombra out of Orange County. Feels like being a goddamn puppet is what it feels like. But it's about keeping the Cam out of the Free States, so if it means feeding information to this Ligatio dude, Johnny'll do it.

Right now? It looks like Gangrel were involved. Maybe Sabbat Gangrel, maybe Keller and Rooster's own guys. But there's a central question; how did they know about Elliot and how did they know how to find him? Were they after him? Or did someone tip them off and if so, who the fuck was it?

It's makin' Johnny's head hurt.

Simon learns to duck

Okay, so Simon finally decides he has the time to learn to be quicker. Simon taught Johnny some of that Dominate hoodoo in the summer, but Simon’s been busy doing Ventrue shit like taking control of banker and politicians and shit. But now, Simon wants to learn some Celerity. How to have more than just a reflex reaction, but to harness that reflex and direct it.

So Simon shows up in these ridiculous purple Ecko sweats. What the fuck? Did Simon think that we were going to go for a light jog or something? The only person those purple sweats might look good on might be Angel. ‘Cause only black people can wear purple and not look like clowns.

So we’re standing there, making small talk at first, right? “Any trouble with the traffic on the 55 tonight? Nah? Sidestreets? Yeah, Johnny forgets that sometimes.” And then smack! Johnny just slaps Simon across the face.

Simon looks at Johnny not like it hurt or anything, but like, what the fuck are you doing? But Johnny just keeps talking, like nothing happened, talking about this new strip club that he saw on the way here and how Johnny gotta check it out later. So Simon relaxes and starts talking financial shit. Like what the latest numbers are on P.F.Chang’s and shit. So Johnny slaps him again, same hand, same cheek. This time he actually says something about it.

“What the fuck Johnny? What are you slapping me for?” So Johnny slapped him again, this time with the other hand and the other cheek. “Hey!” So Johnny smacked him again.

“What? You wanted to learn to be faster. Well, Johnny figures from watching you take a punch from Sharky a few weeks back you’re getting to be pretty fuckin’ tough. So the knife idea won’t work anymore. But smackin’ the shit out of you will. You want Johnny” –smacked him again- “to stop bitch slapping you? Then do something about it. Grab Johnny’s hand before it gets there. It’s about instinct” –another slap- “not thinking. It’s about doing” –and again- “not planning. Force yourself to just react, not think about what to do next.”

Simon just stood there, looking like Sharky must have when he was told he was adopted. Totally confused for a moment. So Johnny slapped him again.

That’s how it went the rest of the night. Talking about all kinds of shit, financials, what the fuck we are, what the Architects stand for, and Johnny slapping the shit out Simon. Started to get kinda funny, ‘cause Simon would just take the slap, look aside, actually exhale, then compose himself to continue the conversation.

It started getting late, so we had to call it a night. Might have put a bit of dent in Simon’s left cheek by accident. So we meet the next night. This time it’s a baby blue fuckin’ Armani sweat suit. Who fuckin’ dresses Simon at night? Yet again, it takes all night and Simon is not only not getting it, it seems like he’s started to get fucking pissed at getting spanked more than at a fraternity hazing ritual. For some reason, the next night is out. But he grabs his sack and tries again for the night after that. And it seems like it’s just not fuckin’ working and Simon is really starting to steam. Almost fuckin’ literally steaming.

It wasn’t until Johnny started to think about actually leaving and continuing another night when it happened.

Johnny twitched his right shoulder to try and fool Simon into thinking it was the right hand coming (hey, it worked earlier) then went with the left. But suddenly there was Simon with not only a block, but actually grabbed Johnny’s hand and was moving with the other to slap Johnny! The anger finally punched through that clinical head of his and he just reacted, just finally let the anger go, not like letting out the beast like Sharky does, but let the anger just guide his body and “fire it up.”

Johnny caught the hand easy and smiled. Finally did it. Johnny let go of Simon’s hand and said “About fuckin’ time. Started to get bored with all this talking. Not when there are strippers to talk to. Keep it real dude.” Before Simon could say anything, Johnny just started walking back to the car and Simon followed. And that was all. Too late to hit the strip club, but that’ll wait for another night.

Journal #15, Dec.4, 2007

Um. Yeah. Johnny doesn’t know if he’ll learn anymore Fortitude shit from Joe Barclay anymore. The motherfucker isn’t just a sadist, he’s fucking psychotic. Who the fuck drives off a bridge on purpose and talks about how cool it was? Who?

Okay, he’s the story. Johnny meets Joe at some dive bar down in Gangrel turf down south. A serious biker bar where some of the chicks had bigger biceps than Sharky, had more tattoos than any Brujah and were scarier than any Nosferatu. Seriously, a few of these biker chicks were more manly than most of the other bikers in there. They probably had bigger clits than most Toreador pricks. Damn.

So we’re there and Johnny is making small talk with Joe ‘cause it seems like we’re just waiting for someone or something to do. Then he checks his watch and says something about someone not coming, so we’ll do it another night. Johnny is thinking, fuck, a wasted night hanging out in a damn biker bar.

Now, for some reason, Joe picked Johnny up from the Ship in Santa Ana, so Joe was actually driving this piece of shit Ford F150 pickup truck. Johnny swears it only had an AM radio. Suddenly Joe loses control somehow and plows, passenger side first, into a fucking tree.

What the fuck? Joe, as usual, isn’t even scratched. But Johnny is picking twigs out of his fucking nose. It’s not really bothering Johnny, not after the beatings Johnny already took from Barclay, but yeah, Johnny had to fix a leg and the nose was broken. So we’ve gotta pry ourselves out of this heap of twisted metal and wood.

Johnny should have known that something was up when there was a tow truck parked just down the street. And that Joe had another car waiting for us. Should have fuckin’ known, but then again, Johnny was just confused as fuck at how Barclay had crashed the car in the first place.

Anyway, before we go, Joe asks Johnny how he feels. Then he says something about “tapping into the same place as last time.” Now Johnny is starting to understand that this wasn’t a fucking accident. “The pain exists outside of you. Stay focused.” Or something like that.

Not only is Johnny understanding that the accident was on purpose but that the lesson probably isn’t over. And that’s starting to make Johnny really nervous.

So we get into another truck. A nice big Tacoma. We get on the 241 freeway and head north back towards home. Joe isn’t talking much, but he’s pointing out shit on the road like trees or something, slipping in comments about focusing outside the pain, shit like that. We’re coming up north and Joe inserts a second key into the dashboard. The passenger airbag light changes to a nice bright red color, like blood. He turned it off.

Oh fuck.

We hit that spot around Rancho Santa Margarita where there’s a bridge over this huge fucking ravine. Yeah. You know what’s about to happen by now, right? Yeah. The goddamn psychopathic Barclay jerks the wheel of the truck and smashes through the guardrail and over the side we go, and suddenly everything is in slow motion just like in the fuckin’ movies.

And it just keeps going. And going. When the fuck is this goddamn thing ever going to hit the ground? And when it does, will there be anything left of Johnny? The damn thing keeps sailing and it’s now nosed over so now we’re upside down.

The whole time, I am desperately trying to focus, I am desperately trying to gather my energies and trying to push even the idea of pain outside my being. Not only will I not feel pain, but I won’t have pain, it just won’t be there.

And then WHAM!!!!! The truck fucking flattened. Johnny was flattened too. For a moment it seemed like Johnny’s head was squashed right down into this fuckin’ crotch. But it didn’t hurt. It was uncomfortable, it wasn’t exactly a screaming orgasm from twins giving Johnny a blowjob, but it didn’t really hurt. At least not pain as Johnny has always understood pain.

Didn’t stop Johnny’s spine from being compacted by about two feet and mangling both arms, not to mention knocking Johnny fucking silly. But once Johnny’s world stopped spinning and sent the Blood where it belonged to stretch that spine back out and to mend those arms, it was again a matter of tearing ourselves out of that mangled heap of metal.

And you know what? Joe was fucking giggling. No, he’d never admit it. But Johnny swears for just a moment or two, he was fucking giggling.

No surprise, but once we finally make the climb up the ravine, there’s a Caltrans truck already bolting a new guardrail in place.

You know what Joe said next? If Johnny was cool or wanted to do it again.

Again? Goddamn psychopath.

Johnny was thirsty. And drinks were on Barclay. That just might be the last time Johnny hangs out with Barclay for a very long time…

Barclay gets scarier

Joe Barclay just gets scarier and scarier.

So Joe wants to know more about this Presence shit. Okay, ‘cause Johnny still needs to learn more the Fortitude shit. But, see, this time, it’s not about how cool you are, about your ability to get the chicks, it’s about your ability to scare the living shit out of your unliving enemies. Some fuckers call it the Dread Gaze.

Basically, it works because us licks now burn with a fire inside. Except it’s more like a monster or a beast, ‘cause if we don’t control it, we’ll do all kinds of heinous shit like eating babies, raping old nuns and voting Republican. So we all try to control it. Except maybe for Sharky. He votes Republican all the time.

So Johnny meets Barclay at a warehouse. Don’t really need anyone outside of us two to see us. Might be a breach of the Maquerade. Now, Johnny is busy explaining to Barclay what is going on, how it works. Barclay just stands there, like he does, listening. Then he asks, “Like this?”

Next thing Johnny knows, Johnny is half a city over. Motherfucker got it right the first fucking time. He bared his fangs, hissed like a hellcat, and his goddamn soul fucking rose up like a beast and damned if Johnny didn’t run like a little bitch.

Dude is just getting creepier and creepier. Don’t want to think how he’s gonna teach Johnny the next step of Fortitude.