Act II. Part 7: The Case of the missing Blood Doll.
Damian has no money, but he needs to pay rent. Camille asks for his help.
Wednesday, 11th of September. 00am. Velvet Veins. Downtown District.
Damian had left the Blue Grove with a joy that was hard to contain, but an even greater sense of focus—he needed to organize his information, decide exactly what he would reveal in court and how he would present it, what angle he would take. It wouldn’t be enough to simply state that Nathaniel Voss had Embraced him—he’d have to provide a motive. He didn’t want to lie, but he also couldn’t tell the whole truth… These political games were insufferable, but they were also familiar; it wasn’t all that different from what he had to do at the precinct when convincing a group of corrupt superiors that a case was worth pursuing despite their reluctance.
He pushed those thoughts aside as his steps brought him in front of the Velvet Veins—closed, just like the previous night. It would likely remain closed for as long as the war continued. A shame. Something told him it would be a pleasant place to sit, listen to the music, watch the movement…
Damian pressed the intercom, and shortly after, he found himself standing at the door of Camille Duval’s office, now without his sunglasses, coat, or gloves. The moral hangover from the previous night still gnawed at him, but for God’s sake, he had survived Evelyn March—what could Camille Duval do to him that March couldn’t? He knocked on the door, and a velvety voice invited him inside.
Camille Duval was seated at the small piano in the back of the room, dark curls resting over pale shoulders. She smiled, inviting. “You came back. I hope everything went well. I was just about to start playing.”
He nodded. “All went well, thank God. I’ll survive another night.”
The thank God caught her off guard, but she said nothing. He went on. “Go ahead, if you’d like. I’d like to hear.”
“Detective…” she smiled, rising with an air of ironic reproach, “Is that how you speak to a lady?”
Damian didn’t suppress a chuckle. She gestured to the same armchair from the night before, and he sat down. “Am I always going to end our conversations without knowing what to say?” he asked.
She laughed lightly once more. “Only if I’m doing my job.”
Camille moved around the room and sat across from him, slowly crossing her legs. Damian made a conscious effort not to look. In front of Camille, he felt like a man. It was strange, but refreshing—and he figured it was best to change the subject.
“You said you had a job for me?”
Camille’s smile faded slightly. “Unfortunately. One of my dolls has gone missing. That was your line of work before, wasn’t it?”
Damian reacted with interest before he even realized it. This was what he lived for. This was what made his blood rush—back when it still rushed at all.
He nodded. “Honestly, it’s the least I can do. You gave me a place to stay. What happened?”
Rolling for sex. 6. Female.
Rolling for age. 6. Adult.
Rolling for social class. 2. Upper-middle.
Rolling for style. 4. Relaxed, I don't care.
Rolling for two quirks. 4, 8: Chubby; 9, 3: Superstitious.
Name: she goes by "Mirage" as a doll, but her real name is Felicity Prescott.
As Camille spoke, Damian pulled his notepad from his pocket and began jotting down notes. Felicity Prescott, known as Mirage at Velvet Veins, was an adult woman—upper middle class, slightly overweight, who had started working there because she enjoyed the thrill. She had stumbled upon the existence of vampires by accident at a party, when someone bit her and, unlike most, she actually remembered it afterward—and she had become addicted to the pleasure of the Kiss. When she realized she could make money while satisfying her addiction, it didn’t take long before she started working at Velvet.
Camille spoke about her with warmth and genuine concern, something Damian didn’t overlook. Felicity had been missing for two nights. Even after the club had closed, Camille had made an effort to stay in touch, arranging for her dolls to continue attending to VIP clients in their homes. But Felicity hadn’t taken any at-home appointments before disappearing, and there were no immediate suspects among the clientele.
Rolling Investigation (4) + Inteligence (4) + 1 (Spec): 10, 6, 3, 6, 10, 2, 5, 4, 6. 7 sucesses.
Rolling Difficulty: 9 - Dif 4. Sucess by 3. Breaks the scale of Grace.
Rolling for Grace: 4 - Advantage. -1 dif in all actions in the scene until the situation changes.
Rolling for Evidence: 6, 2 - Dirt.
What does the dirt implies? 28, 45: Defend individual.
The investigation unfolded naturally because Damian was in his element. For him, this wasn’t like riding a bike—it was like walking, like breathing. The questions came automatically, effortlessly, and he jotted down the important details as they surfaced. After a few minutes, he asked Camille to take him to Felicity’s room. The woman didn’t live at Velvet Veins, but she often stayed there for a few days at a time, using the same room where she entertained clients.
Damian carefully searched the entire space—drawers, bed, books… He didn’t realize it, but his Gangrel blood gave him a certain animalistic air as he worked, something in his movements resembling a tracking hound or a predator sniffing out the trail of its prey.
After some time, he found what he was looking for: on the carpet beside the bed, traces of red soil mixed with cement. He crouched, smeared some of the mixture onto his finger, and brought it to his nose and mouth.
“It’s concrete. Soil and concrete.” He looked up at Camille, who had been watching from the doorway.
“I know it’s against the rules, but do you have any way of accessing the internet here?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes slightly, her tone amused. “Oh, Damian… are you a boy scout or a detective? Of course, I do.”
She led him back to her office, pulled a laptop from a drawer, and set it on the desk. As she opened it, she explained, “Hate to break it to you, but Lisette is a savage if she completely forbade you from using the web. The rule isn’t about never going online—it’s about leaving no digital fingerprint, not walking around with devices that have cameras or microphones that S.I. could tap into… And let’s not forget that the greatest of all Traditions, at the end of the night, is ‘Don’t get caught.’”
In preparing for this roll, I noticed that maybe I have set Damian's attributes wrong. It seems that normally investigation rolls are done with Resolve, not Intelligence - I'll make sure to change it up in his sheet before the next night. But, for now, let's roll with what we have.
Rolling Resolve (3) + Investigation (4) + 1 (Spec): 6, 3, 9, 7, 10, 7, 10, 3. 8 sucesses with a critical.
Rolling for difficulty: 9 - dif 4, -1 from Grace. Dif 3. Succeed by 5. The scale of grace breaks agains.
Rolling for Grace: 1 - Insight. You experience or remember something that gives you +2 dice to all your actions during the current drama in the scene.
Damian sifted through every social media platform—Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, TikTok… Finding Felicity’s profiles was easy; going through all her posts, one by one, took a little longer—but not too long. And Camille kept watching him. Somehow, that pushed him forward, sharpened his focus. He didn’t want to want to impress her, but damn it, he really wanted her to be impressed.
In just over forty minutes, he found what he was looking for: an Instagram photo. It showed a construction site, apparently a building, standing on a patch of red soil—just like the one he had found in her room. The post was tagged with a guy named Mark Stein, who didn’t appear in the picture, and the caption read:
"The things I do for love (and the places I go!!)..."
Let's see what we find about Mark Stein in the web.
Rolling Resolve (3) + Investigation (4) + 2 (Grace): 2, 9, 7, 1, 1, 4, 4, 4, 9. Terrible roll. 3 sucesses.
Rolling for difficulty. 9: dif 4 -1. Dif 3. Exact sucess with no margin.Rolling for age: 6 - Adult.
Rolling for Social Class: 7 - Working class.
Rolling for style: 10 - Old school punk.
Rolling for profession: 6, 6: Sociliate, player.
Ok, and what Damian uncovers about him? 14, 21: Block disadvantage.
Damian had found what he was looking for. Through Felicity’s tag, he tracked down Mark’s profiles and uncovered the guy—an alternative-scene punk influencer, heavily involved in the city’s underground culture. But in the past few months, his posts had taken a turn. Pictures of him snorting cocaine at parties, constant fights in the comments, people calling him out for setting a bad example, and him telling them all to go to hell.
The strangest part? Mark hadn’t posted anything in over a week—since before Felicity disappeared. That was unusual, given how active he had been before.
Damian pulled his hands away from the laptop and looked at Camille. “My guess? His drug problem got worse, and Felicity got involved somehow, trying to help him. That never ends well.”
The Toreador, sitting on the edge of the desk beside him, frowned, concern flickering across her face. “Felicity really has a heart bigger than her head. And now?”
“Now we go to the construction site. He wasn’t there for work, which means the place is probably a drug den. We’ll find more answers there.”
Where is the construction site? 7 - Downtown. Well, that's convenient.
Wednesday, 11th of September. 03am. Construction site. Downtown District.
Damian was starving. Every moment that passed without his mind fully absorbed in the investigation was torture—his thoughts kept drifting back to the taste of blood, the texture of it on his tongue. He pictured it spilling, remembered the warmth of it on his fingers during the fight with Mateo… He needed to feed, and soon. But perhaps out of recklessness, he forced himself to ignore the hunger, at least until he finished this job for Camille. The investigation was, in its own way, a drug too.
Waiting for Camille to change was another small torture, especially with the playful insinuations she made about undressing right there in front of him—and the overwhelming desire he had to stay and watch. But he forced himself to head downstairs and wait for her in the lobby until she finally appeared, as stunning as ever, dressed in a vintage suit.
Within minutes, Camille’s car—driven by Damian—pulled up in front of the construction site from the photo.
Is there movement inside? Lights on, anything? 50/50: Yes.
The place looked deserted, clearly shut down—a red banner stretched across the sign, announcing that construction had been halted indefinitely. But to a trained eye, faint lights could be seen in the depths of the site.
“We're on,” Damian said. “You can stay in the car if you want.”
Camille stays in the car? 50/50: 89. No.
She scoffed, before following him out.
Rolling Dex (3) + Stealth (2). 3, 1, 7, 3, 4. 1 sucess.
Rolling Dif. 6. Dif 3. Fail by two. (T08/G04).
Damian drew the gun he had taken from Luke Morales just a few nights ago—it felt like a lifetime. Moving calmly, he advanced alongside Camille through the site. Even with his sunglasses on, his crocodile-like eyes pierced the darkness effortlessly. He whispered for Camille to stay close. She obeyed, following his lead…
… but neither of them noticed the figure sitting at the entrance, hidden behind one of the construction walls, keeping watch from a window.
NPC type: 5 (Skilled human), no dif adjustment.
Sex: 4. Female.
Disposition: 6. Antagonistic and violent.
The woman leveled a sawed-off shotgun at them. “Get the hell out, you sons of bitches. Restricted area. One more step, and I pull the trigger.”
Damian raised his gun in response, and for a second, time froze.
But Camille, ever so subtly, stepped forward, trailing her fingers down his arm in a silent command to lower his weapon. He obeyed, watching as she turned her full attention to the woman, flashing a radiant smile, her vitae lacing every syllable.
“Oh, don’t be like that… We just want a place to talk, maybe buy something to have a little fun. Don’t ruin our night, please.”
Camille is using Awe, a vampiric ability. I'll rule that she has about 8 in a dice pool of persuasion, +3 from Awe. Using the "take half" rule, that gives her 5 successes.
Rolling the NPC dif. 2. Dif 1.
Well, that was easy.
It was impressive. To Damian, even a little unnerving. The woman behind the wall immediately lowered her gun, relaxing as a smile spread across her face.
“Sorry, it’s been crazy around here lately. We’re all a little on edge. You can go in, the crew’s in the back.”
Camille began walking toward her, stepping through the entrance and turning right. Damian followed in silence, his gun lowered but still firmly in hand.
Camille stopped in front of the woman and struck up a conversation, her tone light, effortless.
“Crazy days, huh? That’s interesting. What happened?”
Does the woman answer Camille? Likely. 99. Extreme no.
The woman narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Camille.
“If you’re here to buy, then buy. That kind of stuff is private business.”
Does Camille notices that Damian is hungry? Very likely. 47. Yes.
The Toreador looked at Damian and smiled gently. "My friend is starving. Don’t you have something for him to eat?" The security guard seemed confused and said something Damian didn’t hear—he didn’t hear it because he had perfectly understood what Camille was saying. She was telling him to feed. Camille was an expert in Hunger, after all, and she could certainly tell that Damian needed to eat.
The problem was: would he have the nerve to attack that woman? The answer was… yes. He was starving, the woman was a criminal, she had just pointed a gun at them… Suddenly, with the Hunger burning his throat, it didn’t seem wrong at all.
Let's do this in a single roll to save time.
Rolling Str (3) + Brawl (3) + 1 (Spec): 7, 7, 3, 3, 6, 9, 6. 5 sucesses.
NPC dif is 1, so we succeed by 4. Another break in grace.
Rolling for Grace: 7 - Power surge. +2 damage next time I do damage.
While the woman spoke—whatever it was she was saying—Damian moved with precision. One hand grabbed the shotgun, tossing it toward Camille, while the other clamped over his victim’s mouth. In an instant, her body softened in his arms, her resistance melting under the bliss of the Kiss with a muffled moan. Damian surrendered to the blood, to the electric sensation of power and life surging through him… but he stopped the moment he felt her go completely limp, her weight shifting heavily against him. He eased her down onto the floor beneath the window where she had been keeping watch, then licked his lips, satisfied.
“Let’s move,” he ordered, signaling for them to head deeper into the building.
Camille looked at him with a teasing smile, feigning disappointment as she said, “Oh, come on. Not even going to try and grab me tonight? Maybe throw me agains't the wall?”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Cut it out. This is serious.”
Right now, he didn’t have the time to be flustered, to engage in the game of provocation and moral hangover that Camille wanted to play. Maybe for her, someone who had been part of the night far longer than he had, this kind of thing was absolutely normal, even routine. But for Damian, the situation was still dangerous, still serious, and in the state of mind he was in, there was no room for games.
Rolliing 1d6 for how many people they find at the back. 3.
Are all of them in fighting condition? Likely. 61. Yes.
Rolling first NPC identity, sex and disposition. 6, 4, 2 - Ghoul, Female, Helpful but Dispassionate.
Rolling second NPC identity, sex and disposition. 6, 1, 9 - Ghoul, Male, Indifferent to everyone.
Rolling third NPC identity, sex and disposition. 4, 5, 3 - Skilled human, Female, Antagonistic but not violent.Rolling Resolve (3) + Insight (3) to read the people when they meet: 1, 6, 3, 3, 7, 10. 3 Successes.
Rolling dif: 2 - Dif 1 (+1 for the two gouls). It's an overall sucess by 1. (T08/G05).
Damian, knowing that their presence had already been noticed, decided to enter with his gun hidden inside the pocket of his trench coat, but making no effort to stay concealed. Camille left the shotgun behind to avoid making it obvious that they had incapacitated the security.
The trio was gathered at the back of the construction site, in what might someday become a garden. Damian recognized the red dirt immediately and whispered to Camille, “Red dirt,” as they approached. Latin music played from a phone resting on a green and white beer cooler.
For an experienced detective, reading them was easy. They were all a little high. Only one woman looked at them, more curious than suspicious. The lone man was too absorbed in his phone to even glance their way, while another woman, younger than the other two, seemed irritated—someone looking to start trouble, maybe to earn the respect of the others.
“Good evening,” Damian said. The woman who had been watching them stood up, positioning herself between them and the rest of the group, nodding as she reached into her coat pocket. “What’s it gonna be?”
She was armed. So were the other two. 9mm pistols.
Damian glanced at Camille, and the Toreador understood her role perfectly. Taking the lead, she played the part, pretending they were looking to buy some weed and a little coke. Watching Camille work was mesmerizing—she had absolute mastery over people. It was all there: the words, the body language, the tone of her voice. She was an artist.
And as if it was just an afterthought, as if she was merely making conversation, Camille casually mentioned Felicity’s name…
They react to Felicity? 50/50 - extreme yes.
How so? 50, 25: Hinder Enemy.
… and the woman who had been speaking so amicably suddenly stiffened. Her entire body language flipped in an instant—not just caution, but defense and hostility. The younger woman, the one who had already seemed aggressive, stood up, her posture shifting as if ready for a fight. Even the guy glued to his phone lowered the device and finally looked at them.
Damian felt it immediately—his muscles tensed, his instincts sharpening. But more than that, the Beast within him stirred, coiling, sensing the shift in the air. It was preparing for combat.
Rouse the Blood for +1 Dex. 7. Sucess.
Dex (3) + Firearms (1) to draw before they do. 8, 6, 3, 7. 3 sucesses.
Group dif is 2, as established earlier. Sucess by 1. (T08/G06)
And he drew his revolver—fast as a gunshot—before any of them could react. His aim was locked on the woman in front, but his attention stayed on the other two. Both of them reached for their weapons, but Damian warned them first. “Any funny business, and I pull the trigger!” He kept the gun trained on the woman. He couldn’t control all three with a single firearm, but he could make sure at least one of them stayed in his sights.
“Shoot,” the woman said, her voice steady. She didn’t look impressed. “Go on, if you’ve got the balls.” She took a step toward Damian. He adjusted his aim to her chest. That caught him off guard.
Camille hesitated for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Ghouls, Damian. It’s in their aura.”
Damian ignored the "aura" talk—he had never heard of that before—but hearing the explanation made him relax. He didn’t know exactly what a Ghoul was, but he knew they were humans who served vampires. That was enough for what he planned next.
Lowering his gun, he watched as all three of them immediately pulled theirs, but he moved slowly, deliberately, reaching up to remove his sunglasses. He let them see his slit-pupiled, crocodilian eyes—made sure they understood what he really was.
“You are either very, very stupid or very unlucky. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into. The girl who disappeared, Felicity? Blood doll from Velvet Veins.”
He let the name hang in the air, waiting for the weight of it to settle.
Charisma (2) + Intimidation (3): 10, 2, 2, 8, 9. Three sucesses.
Group dif is 2. Sucess by 1. (T08/G07)
"Ah, merda!" the leader cursed, immediately lowering her weapon before signaling for the other two to do the same. She had to insist with the younger girl, who hesitated before finally complying. "She didn’t say anything, we didn’t know, for fuck’s sake..."
Is Felicity alive? Very unlikely. 76. No.
The conversation that followed was intense. Camille didn’t frenzy, but for a moment, Damian thought she might—her eyes lost their shine the second she learned that Felicity was dead. Her fists clenched, her whole body coiled like a spring ready to explode into raw energy… And then, just as quickly, it passed. Not the fury, but the loss of control.
The story was simple, brutal. Mark owed a lot of money to a Brujah named Gus, a vampire running a drug network and the one responsible for those two ghouls—and for the younger girl, who was being groomed to become one as well. At first, Felicity had only come around to drag Mark out of whatever hole he was overdosing in. But one night, she got into trouble—made the worst mistake she could have. She threatened to call the police. Minutes later, she was dead.
Camille, the persuasive socialite, had become something else entirely—a violent amalgam of cold fury. Her words were sharp, cruel, undeniable. The message was simple: Gus had until the following night to contact her and make reparations, or she would take all three of them and turn them into Dolls at Velvet Veins—whether they wanted to or not—to compensate for the loss of Felicity.
Damian didn’t know if it was true. He didn’t know if Camille would actually force anyone to become a Doll out of revenge… But even on the drive back, he didn’t want to ask.
End of story, +1 exp.
Wednesday, 11th of September. 04h30am. Waterfront District.
They had been driving in silence for almost twenty minutes. Camille had gotten into the car, and Damian had decided not to take her straight back to Velvet Veins— ever since he was a child, experience had taught him that a long drive could calm just about anyone.
They were already entering the Waterfront District, Jazmin Morales’ territory, when Damian finally broke the silence. “I really am sorry about Felicity. It’s fucked up.” He kept his eyes on the road as the cold, sea-scented wind slipped through the cracks in the windows. “A friend of mine died the same way a few years back. Doesn’t matter what you do. This city eats alive anyone with their heart in the right place.”
Camille remained quiet for so long that Damian thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she spoke, still staring at the empty streets. “It’s not the city. It’s us. It’s this life… ‘un-life.’ We devour everything.”
There wasn’t much he could say to that. So instead, he did the only thing that made sense—he reached for his pack of cigarettes and held them out to her, along with his electric lighter, while he guided the car toward a spot where they could park facing the ocean. She lit her cigarette as he pulled up near the water, stopping just as the tires hit the sand. That was when he smelled it—blood.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a single red tear rolling down Camille’s cheek.
Respecting her pride, he pretended not to notice and unlocked the door, turning his back just long enough for her to wipe it away.
Outside, he looked back in. “Come on. Some air will do you good.” Then he shut the door.
Damian walked around the car and sat on the hood, facing the dark ocean, feeling the cold breeze cut against his dead skin. A few seconds later, he heard Camille step out. She crossed her arms and sat beside him, handing him the pack of smokes. Damian lit one for himself and tucked the rest back into his pocket.
The silence stretched between them. There was nothing to say. Felicity was dead, and Damian was doing the only thing he could—giving Camille the space to grieve. He figured, probably correctly, that openly mourning a human wouldn’t be well received among Kindred.
He thought of Sofia. For years, he had seen her as a daughter… and now? What would become of her?
Minutes passed. Then Camille leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his right arm. “Thank you, detective,” she whispered. Damian tensed slightly, then gave her arm a small squeeze, just for a second. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Really am.”
“I know you are.” She said it as if that, in itself, was a miracle, before falling into silence again. She moved closer, curling against him like a girl seeking warmth. There was no warmth. Their lives were an imitation of something human, something long gone. But the imitation was all they had. And in that moment, it was enough.
"Damian," she said after a few minutes. He turned his head slightly, but said nothing. Camille’s voice was soft as velvet. "Kiss me?"
But it wasn’t just velvet. There was something else beneath it—sadness, loneliness.
And so he kissed her.
End of chapter, +1 exp.
I'll add Haven 1 to Damian's sheet. With all the nights we left behind, he'd probably have enough XP to buy it, and narrative-wise, Camille gave him a haven - a room in the Velvet Veins.
By raw, I'd have to roll against the stain on Damian humanity now - but considering the night as a whole, and how it ended, I'll consider it ended in such a human and tender way that he gets to keep his humanity intact without having to roll.