Anita Newbury [Live Vampire: The Masquerade] : "The End"

[Josée's Note: This is the second of Anita's two stories (I did say she was shortlived), which is read as a series of her thoughts leading up to her final death.]

[At Elysium]
I hate being treated like I don't know how to do my job or like I'm not trying to do it hard enough. I work harder than some members of this fief - and I've always tried to make sure that any messes I make are covered up at least enough to give the police something to work on that doesn't involve looking into the Masquerade. Yes I, like others, have screwed up - who hasn't? But at least I can say that I've tried to make amends.

But hey, if it needs to be proven, I'll go and investigate the Abudhemi situation. After all, no-one else seems to really care that he tried to attack one of our newest members. I could take O'Heath with me, but...something tells me that Stone might be more useful. Also, I'd rather not take O'Heath out into the open - our time for bargaining has now ended...and he is now at risk from the wolves. Stone will be fine, I trust in his ability. If he can't deal with the situation, I doubt anyone else could.

Anita Newbury [Live Vampire: the Masquerade] : "An Eventful Evening"

[Josée's Note: Anita was a Ventrue character I created for a Live Vampire: The Masquerade game. She was shortlived but good fun to play, and encountered more than her fair share of werewolves and creatures that wanted to cause her nothing but harm. This is her retelling of one of those encounters.]

Click.

As she heard the latch unlock, Anita heaved a sigh of relief, running a hand through her thoroughly mussed up hair, picking pieces of gravel and tree out as she did so; her already disdainful features made all the more harsh by the severe frown etched across her face. Her other hand held her torn jacket and shirt tightly around her, to minimise the risk of anyone catching sight of the word that had previously been seen carved into her flesh. She turned the doorknob, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the deep darkness within the room.

Closing the door behind her, she began to relax...slightly. Releasing the torn jacket and shirt from her grip, the pieces of fabric hung loosely, their edges frayed and ripped, Anita looked at her reflection. Her face and hair were dirty and covered in leaves and gravel and dirt, as were her clothes. She grimaced as she realised that there wasn’t a patch on her clothing that hadn’t been somehow covered in the grime of the forest.

Sitting on her bed, she began to unbutton her now-destroyed jacket, and she replayed the scene she had found herself in through her mind.