21 December 2009, 2:08 am, The grounds of First Penecostal Church of Manchester

Tinker's passing mention of the police band chatter had been no more than an indication, but placed with the sense that the Darkness was again on the move in the city, the two clues put her on the path that allowed her to home in on the location. She walked out of the shadows to pause beneath a tree at the edge of the church lawn. The barren limbs of the tree spread out above her head, framing the cloudless sky with branches glistening with ice.

It was a simple thing to extend all her senses like she did. Yet as the vision welled up at her out of seemingly nowhere, snaring her mind and flooding her all her senses with the impressions left by what had, she realized that the taint was real and endemic to the site. The Sight had ever been there, even in the darkest times, and she gave no thought to its use when the need presented itself, but now she struggled to pull her psyche free. She knew more than she had intended, or even perhaps wanted to know, and the subtle, yet powerful nature of the taint reminded her more of Metathiax than she really needed to remember in that moment.

The Gangrel pulled her mind free with a painful jerk and reflexively pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, as if that would ease the pounding in her head. Fursa tried, for a moment, to imagine the place in the daylight. Very much a happy world, she supposed, filled with parishioners gathering to worship, sharing their faith, making troth with their God. When she dropped her gaze to the police lines tape, the darkness, and the reality, returned. The defiler of their house of worship preyed on their good Christian intent...and would pervert it to its own ends.

Fursa took offense. It ran deep and was unquestioned in its sincerity.

It was not the Prince of New Hampshire or a Gangrel vampire who took offense, but the woman who had devoted her entire existence to the work of the Gods. With a certain grim resolve, she made her way to the base of the steps before the building and reached into her pocket. A moment later, she produced a single cube of blue chalk, one that had found its way into her pocket long before, and began drawing with the point of it. A simple bindrune left behind, no more than a calling card, or a letter of intent, stained the sidewalk as the night's flurries started coming down again.

Her head still ached, but with the drawing done, she finished the ritual with quiet, but forceful words, "This will not be allowed." Then she crosses her her arms before her and turned away in a symbolic way, adding, "In the darkness, I deny the Darkness." Then Fursa Hand-seinn sought the embrace of the shadows and walked away into the night.