Prologue: Tauroctony, Scene II (Lauren)

Irwin Edman

November 24th, 2006

The London fog was thick as mud, the proverbial 'pea-souper' of literary fame, when Lauren emerged from Vincent Moon's temporary haven. There was no point going back here, as Lauren knew that were she to turn around and return to the room she had only just left, Moon and his computer would be missing. That was just one more oddity of dealing with London's most peculiar Elder.

The van in question was not too difficult to find, even accounting for Lauren's unfortunate habit of getting turned around in fog. It was a large, white van, the logo of a pizza delivery surface emblazoned on the side. The keys were in the ignition. It too, had a story. Where had it come from? What silent and sinister chop-shop had the Golden Room's mortal henchmen liberated the van from, had converted into this seemingly innocuous transport for blood and sacrifice? How many other innocent vehicles, how many quiet storefronts served as camoflauge for things beyond time and space and blood? It was the kind of thought that could make a woman paranoid.

There was, if Lauren listened closely, a gentle huffing sound come from within the van. It was easy to listen when one needn't worry about the beat of a heart. The gleaming gladius, wrapped about in a spare coat, felt heavy in Lauren's arms.

The water droplets on the wind-shield formed words, if Lauren cared to look closely enough at them. Droplets combining into larger ones, trailing down from the mist, forming lines and letters and syllables. YOU ARE NOT ALONE, they said. The minutes ticked by soundlessly, all noise lost in the featureless grey fog.

Lauren heard no car drive by, not even the sounds of walking from the none-too-distant train station, but then Oleander appeared from the mist. Lauren had seen him before, at the rites of the Golden Room, though only tonight she learned his name. He was a big man, the image of some hate-filled Aryan superman. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, with short-cropped blond hair and icy blue eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Jack's Gym emblazoned in black letters across the grey material. He smelled of lilac and old blood, and if Lauren listened, she could hear the beating of his heart.

"Figures." He said as he saw Lauren, his voice surprisingly soft and quiet. His lips twisted into something resembling a smirk.

Lauren smirked at the pizza van, imagining a scenario in which someone asked her what kind of pizza she was carrying. She would say "beef," and it would be completely true, yet hilariously ironic! Though, really, what were the chances of that happening? She cleared her throat and made her expression appropriately serious. Stay on task, Lauren.

That was when she noticed that the water on the van seemed to be forming words. Well, that was kind of... weird. Lauren glanced around anxiously and clutched the gladius closer to her. No one was there, and she let out the high, nervous laugh of someone not sure if they were being threatened or pranked.

Then he was there. That guy. Oleander only earned the title because of the fact that he was the sort of guy, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and muscular, that other girls would probably swoon over. And thus she was determined not to give him the time of day. She was so beyond that stage of her life, and oooh he smelled kind of nice--no, screw that guy! Wait, poor choice of words, there. Shit.

Lauren drew herself to her full, not-very-impressive height, and tried to look as nonchalant as she totally hadn't been.

"Oleander, huh? I'm Lauren. You ready to go?"

"Lauren." He just said the name slowly, curling his lips around it, tasting the name. Oleander looked at her, and he was definitely smirking. "Ready when you are. Where do you need to go?"

He opened the door for her with a sardonic little tilt of the head, then got into the driver's side of the van himself. He didn't ask any questions, nothing like, why Lauren couldn't drive, or why he was called from his warm home in the middle of the night (and it was warm, as his clothing was only a little damp). In any case, getting himself accustomed to the van took a few moments, readjusting seats and mirrors to account for his height, buckling himself in, and checking the rearview mirror.

"Lauren." Oleander said her name again, and again it was this slow, certain pronunciation. "There is a bull in the van."

This was indeed true. The back of the van itself was segregated from the driver's cabin by a steel wall, but there was a small slit through which one could look back into it, either by turning one's head or by looking into the rearview mirror. There, Lauren and Oleander could see a large, pure-white bull with blood-flecked eyes, breathing softly. It looked up at Lauren, perhaps sensing its impending fate.

"We're going to the Mithraeum at Wallbrook."

Lauren glared at him before hopping into the passenger side. He certainly wasn't lacking in attitude. Probably from all the swooning girls. She buckled herself in and pointedly avoided looking at him, aside from brief glances.

"There sure is." She glanced back at the bull, paused, and then mimicked his strangely slow way of saying her name. "Oleander."

She settled the gladius on her side, away from Oleander, and tried to look impatient.

"Crazy." Was all that the blond man said, shaking his head as he turned the ignition. Apparently he knew the way, as he checked neither maps nor GPS, but simply drove out onto the fog-ridden streets. The City of London was not a very large place, once one excluded all the boroughs and suburbs, and at this time of night there were few cars out.

But every so often, Lauren caught Oleander glancing at her, his expression unreadable.


The underground Mithraeum of Walbrook was, as a matter of fact, about 70 meters from where the present temple rested. Back when the Mithraeum was first discovered, back in the seventies, they had been planning to build an office building on the site. So the archeological dig had been conducted quickly, the building had been physically moved down the street, and all the artifacts discovered were now lodged in the British Museum. But according to Vincent Moon, not all of the sub-basements had been discovered, and there was a ritual chamber located beneath the un-excavated narthex (lobby) of the old Temple of Mithras.

All of which mean that, contrary to what one may have hoped, Lauren and Oleander were going to have to break into not an old archeological dig, but into a modern office building (it belonged to an insurance company), with security cameras and a single, on-duty guard. Moreover, they had to get a bull down into the basement, where one of Moon's handouts described how to get into the narthex, and then into the ritual chamber. Thankfully, it was night time, and the civic district here was quite nearly deserted. The fog would also help conceal them.

"So." Oleander said, pulling the van up into a driveway opposite the office building. "Do you have a plan?"

As good as she was at excuses, there probably weren't any that would work for being caught breaking into an office building. Or, you know, sneaking a bull into one. Honestly, Lauren wasn't really sure that she was capable of pulling this off with the degree of finesse required, but there was only one person here to ask for help, and she'd rather talk to the bull first.

She frowned at the building, then turned to Oleander. "You stay here and... keep the bull company." Lauren glanced at the gladius before wedging it partway behind her seat. "Don't touch that. I'm gonna go knock out anything that would notice a huge white bull, and then I'll come back."

Lauren slid out of the van without waiting for an answer and considered the building. As long as there were no night owls burning the midnight oil, her biggest problem would probably be security cameras... and maybe someone watching the cameras. Not that cameras were a problem for her. Lauren crept up to the building and, what the hell, tried the front door.

"Good luck." Oleander said with a smirk, kicking the driver's seat back as far as it would go, and folding his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes. "Try not to get killed."

Getting into the office proved to be not very difficult, God Machine be thanked. The front door was unlocked, and courtesy of Lauren's unique talents, the occasional video cameras were not a great difficulty. Finding the security room was more of a challenge, but the office building was only so-so large, and the security office was the only room with a light on. And with rock music coming from it.

There was a guard in there, a young man, perhaps in his twenties, with long, lanky hair beneath his rent-a-cop cap. He was leaning back in the chair, feet propped up on the desk, and writing something in a notebook while reading from a much larger book. The music was coming from his headset, which must have been loud enough to deafen if Lauren could make out the sounds. Then again, Lauren could hear crickets chirp from a hundred yards away, so perhaps to a mortal the noise would've been less of a distraction.

You may roll Intelligence+Wits.

Lauren grinned. Only one guard, and he wasn't even paying attention. She paused briefly to judge him on his musical taste (he was an idiot, clearly).

She backed out of the room, straightened her clothes, and made herself visible. Lauren raised her hand, paused again and tugged the neck of her shirt down more. Her knuckles rapped against the doorway as she poked her head in. "Excuse me?" she nearly yelled, hopefully loud enough over his "music."

It took a second, but then the security guard realized that someone was talking to him. What followed next was somewhat comical, as he attempted to shut down the headphones, rip them off his head, close his notebook, close his textbook, keep his spot in the textbook and notebook, and hide all of this material under the table in three seconds flat. Needless to say, this didn't work very well.

"Oh, sorry, sorry! Uh. Hi." He was tall, but thin as a lamp post, looking a bit lost in his security guard's uniform. The name-tag on his chest read 'Scott'. "Sorry Miss. Uh..."

"Jessica Sanders, Mr... Scott." Lauren stepped into the doorway, smiling sweetly. "I'm so glad I found someone! I kind of... ran over something in the van I was driving. Like a big piece of trash or something, 'cause I can hear it dragging under it. I'm kinda worried it might mess something up, 'cause it's like, a friend's van, and not mine, and, um, I can't see down there and I don't have a light... Could you take a look for me? Please? It's so scary out at night." Lauren cast her eyes downward and clasped her hands.