On the "intelligence" of men

As I have previously mentioned through Failbook, here is the story of last Mondays vampire session...

The group are investgating into a series of brutal and masquerade-breaching murders in Venice, 1536. They are heading around the murder sites to get clues. They go to one and they hear a shutter bang shut (it's a dodgy area of town, a group of five are standing outside looking not at all like the city watch). French Resistance - not the smartest character but by no means the dumbest - decides to ask the occupants questions.

Oddly enough, they are not prepared to open their door to a strange man at 2am. In annoyance he knocks the door off its hinges thereby flattening the frail old man behind it and killing him. His wife starts screaming, and in the distance the group hear the sound of bells as the watch come running. Meanwhile, Hubbys and Pixie's characters (posh and beautiful people, Toreador and Tremere respectively) saunter off arm in arm, The Furher (burly Gangrel) picks up a convenient small barrel, slings it over his shoulder and strides off towards the docks. Captain Barbeque (Lasombra antitribue) decides to hide in the shadows. French Resistance first attempts to climb a wall (succeeding only in ripping off lumps of damp plaster) then runs off, then turns round and goes back. Goes. Back...

He goes back to the scene of the crime he has caused. The sarge is inside talking to the slightly hysterical woman who has seen her husband of many years squashed before her eyes as a locked and securely barred door landed on him. Three watchmen are outside. The woman inside screams "THAT'S HIM!!" and the three watchmen jump him. Two grab an arm each and the third punches him in the nose to no effect. He then smashes the two on him together, making them all stagger back. They draw their swords, two manage to stick him in the gut and he decides to frenzy...

Punching the three in turn, he cracks ribs, knocks one guy to the ground and punches him in the head. Through the face. Cracking the flag beneath and ending up with gore spread up his arm (sigh). He dispatches the other two as the Sarge comes out of the house, takes one look and legs it. Frenchie then wanders off back to his haven happily licking his arm.

Meanwhile, Captain Barbeque is watching from the shadows with an utterly incredulous look on his face, and the rest of the player group are screaming with laughter and going into convulsions of hysteria at the table.

Frenchie is gonna have a LOT of explaining to do next Monday...