New York Nightlife
Deep in the heart of Downtown Manhattan, at a ritsy, goth-fucker club, a bunch of pale weirdos gather around the bar to discuss the rapidly declining affairs of their domain.
“The big Shit. That’s what our domain is these days. You think that dirty sewer rat cares about us? You’re wrong. He’ll cut open your ribs and eat your heart for brunch. That’s how soon the Nossy Prince will turn on us.”
“Personally, I think it’s just good business. Put your worst face forward. Simple Machiavelli.”
“The Doom that follows is worse than the sublime Justice of Gehenna that lies ahead. If it is He who judged us all so unfairly, how then can we expect that sweet relief will come bearing the face of an angel?”
“Shut up! You wanna get us all staked?”
“If it will shut you lot up. I say stick to your own undercity affairs and leave the business of ruling the world to those with the balls to handle it. Not everyone hides behind supper.”
“The Sabbat are trash.”
“And when the face of the Camarilla is of Clan Nosferatu..?”
“Heh heh, looks like lunch has just arrived. What do you do again?”
“I’m a rumormonger, but I dabble in diablerie on the side.”
“Welcome to NY.”
This is a hack of “Apocalypse World” by Vincent Baker in the style of Vampire the Masquerade, specifically the Domain of New York City. The Ventrue Prince, Geordie Montag has recently disappeared under mysterious circumstances, leaving a powerful, rising Nosferatu Prince by the name of Jessling in his place. Needless to say, several of the clans are less than thrilled about the prospect of bowing before a glorified Sewer Rat, and loyalties among the Camarilla have been cleft in twain as a result. Distracted by their own internal politics, the Camarilla have left the Sabbot menace unchecked, and the Sword of Caine stands ready to strike at the least convenient moment.