The Oldest City

San Augustin in the World of Darkness is more a sprawling metropolis than Saint Augustine in our world. In the World of Darkness, Spanish Kindred - and vampires from all across the world - have been present in the City since its inception. From the darkness and the shadows the Camarilla (at first), and then the Anarchs, and the Camarilla again, have been guiding the growth of the City and the politics of the Florida peninsula.

In the World of Darkness, Jacksonville is just a suburb - a small town that serves as a gas stop on the way into San Augustin. Even Daytona to the south has been leached from, and the Biker Rallys in October happen all along the First Coast, primarily in San Augustin, but stretching south along the beachfront to Daytona Beach.

Each of the neighborhoods and districts in San Augustin is like a town or a small city in its own right, a barony to be claimed or a domain to be avoided, which is surprising in a sense, because so many of them are actually shared by a few Kindred cramped in together while other districts are competely devoid of Kindred presence.

On the whole however, San Augustin is made up of three different Cities, separated only by water, and all making up the metropolis most people think of, when they think of, the Oldest City.

The alley reeks of wet stone and spilled beer and the ever-present salt-stink of the ocean breeze. From a perch on the low rooftop above, She watches the family stumble off Saint Georges Row.

That's a mistake.

She shifts slightly, the leather of Her gloves creaking as Her hand grips the ledge. Below, the father, a broad-shouldered man with the look of an accountant or a banker, glances nervously over his shoulder. His wife clutches her son's hand as they hurry down the narrow passage. The Predator tilts Her head. The father's lips move, but She can't hear what he's saying. Something reassuring, probably, to quiet the worry in the mother's eyes or the fear in the boy's furtive glances. He's not as stupid as the father. He knows they're in danger.

They're lost, really. Tourists always find a way to get lost, wandering off the lantern-lit pedestrian streets of the Spanish Quarter. She's seen it too many times to count. Families with bright eyes and brighter clothing looking for shortcuts to adventure, only to find themselves here. In the darkness. Where they should not be.

Where there is danger.

She adjusts the hood that casts her masked face in shadow. She no longer needs to breathe, but the air feels cool through the fabric. It feel reassuring. It feels human. The family below pauses at a fork in the alley. The air around them is heavy with hesitation, indecision.

And the prey emerges.

From out of the shadows they bleed into the light, two of them; moving with seasoned confidence. One tall and wiry with a long jacket flaring behind him as he reveals his blade. The other, broader, carries a revolver that belongs in an antique shop. The thin one and the fat one.

She moves instinctively, shifting further along the rooftop, boots silent on the uneven surface. Crouching low, She watches.

"Wallets, Phones, Jewelry," the thin one sneers, waving his blade erratically. The mother steps back, pulling the boy behind her.

"Look," the father says, voice shaking, "just take it, okay? We don't want any trouble." His hands find the open air above him.

"Good. Hand 'em over," the fat one barks, waving the gun lazily in the mother's direction. "You first, sweetheart."

Fingers twitch. There are knives secure in their sheaths at Her side, and the tension in Her body screams for release; but not yet. Not in front of the boy. She has to wait. To watch. The blades come out when the time is right.

The father fumbles with his wallet, hands trembling. He holds it out to the thin one, who snatches it with a snarl, shoving him back, sprawling against the brick wall. The mother cries out, clutching the boy close to her as the his voice cracks in fear.

Jaw clenched, and suddenly, somehow, more alert than before, She lurches forward, but holds Herself back. The fat one isn't expecting any real violence, and the thin one doesn't have the air of a killer. It's a gamble, but She thinks it's a safe one. That thing inside Her, though - the Hunger they call "the Beast" - it wants to feed. The monster they want her to be howls for action from the dark place deep beneath Her.

The thin one stares at lecherously at the mother, "Purse."

Knuckles white, she grips the strap of her bag. The boy whimpers, and the thin one laughs - a low cruel sound that makes the Predator's teeth ache. He's feeding off their fear. There's no killer there, but there is cruelty, and it sickens Her.

"Mom," the boy whispers, pleading.

The fat one raises the revolver in an exaggerated sweep, the muzzle directly in the woman's face, and the Beast lurches within Her. Like a shadow, swift and quiet, She leaps across the alley, landing lightly on the opposite roof edge - a hooded figure melting into the darkness, a shadow of Indigo and Black. Sleek and double-edged, two knives find their way into Her hands.

Below, the mother relents, offering up the purse.

"Let's go," the thin one growls, pocketing the wallet and snatching the purse. They both turn and bolt.

Perfect. The Predator slinks across the rooftops along with them, descending silently down a fire escape ladder as Her prey reaches the far end of the alley. Perhaps sensing the danger he's in, the thin one pauses, turns to look around. Head tilted, a flicker of confusion dances across his face. But the Predator drops into his shadow, unseen. Beneath the mask, a dark smile stains Her lips. The hunt was on.