Blood politics

I’m not posting this scenario because I intend to run it. I’m posting it because I like to think. Truth? I’m better at coming up with concepts than running them anyhow. This one’s a freebie; steal as you like.

It’s 1972. World of Darkness. Miami. Cuba smells like revolution and the Democratic National Convention smells like a boxing ring. McGovern has a legion of young, angry, active delegates behind him. They’d rather fight than think. Humphrey has the Machine, a political creature made of motor oil and money. To the Machine, the present moment is the last hope of traditional politics.

Everyone’s wrong; it’s always the largest hurricane in the world when you’re inside the eye of the storm.

You were turned into a vampire not more than a couple of months ago by a couple of guys pretending to be union organizers. You are weapons. You may, perhaps, be deluding yourself about this — but you are weapons: you were created in order to serve a need. Your master wants Humphrey to win. McGovern has the distinct edge.

It’s the second night of the convention, and Gary Hart — McGovern’s campaign manager — is executing brilliant procedural moves to get the right delegates seated; his floor organization is building strength. He needs to — not die, but vanish for a couple of days. He could be found in a drunken haze after the convention. That would suit; that would build the image of the McGovern campaign as a group of men unable to handle the demands of politics.

It’s the second night of the convention, and there are vampires on the floor. It is unlikely that you are alone; it is more than likely that you will meet those of your kind who wish to protect McGovern and Hart. Then again, as a vampire, alone is the default state of affairs.