The Docklands

Our late night escapades were so long I’ve had to split them up. I hope you don’t mind, diary.
 
The woman and her service leave and we leave soon after. Inexplicably, one of the men has burst into mist. There’s nothing to be done about it so we press on. It’s a shame it wasn’t the one in the suit, but I suppose that’s the way it goes.
 
We take a cab to the docks (eighteen dollars). There isn’t much to say about the place. It’s a classic dockyard, with coloured shipping containers piled up and rust all over every surface. There are also garlic, crucifixes and such odd paraphernalia strewn about. Miss Larissa appears quite frightened at the sight of them while I am too, loathe to touch anything lest I become infected with something dreadful. There are some yachts along the pier but I haven’t been on a boat since I came here and anyway I don’t like the water much.
 
There’s also a demountable or ‘donga’ as the others called it, which is lit up and three men whom are patrolling the area. I can see they are as unwashed as this dockyard and it seems bothersome to get them involved, so we attempt to move as best we can under the shelter of night. Mr. Anton disappears and when he returns he informs us he has found the shipping crate but it is locked and covered in strange symbols.
 
*picture of the free Ventrue symbol*.
 
I follow Mr. Anton to the donga and there is a woman sat at a desk there. I don’t think she’s much of anything at all, but Mr. Anton must think she’s rather fetching because the first thing he does is attempt to put his charms on her.
 
However, apparently she is the proper sort because she screams for help. The man from outside that we slipped by comes in but Mr. Anton puts a good bullet into his gut and so he falls to the ground. I don’t think he’s quite dead yet, but the others that come in are certainly surprised. There are more bullets but I’m not really sure because I really wasn’t too fussed about it all. I am looking over the papers on the woman’s desk and the light device on her desk, but I really can’t get a proper look, except that it seems she has a rather keen interest in supernatural talkies and fiction.
 
By the time I have finished, the others have tied up the woman and the other men are on the floor. Miss Larissa has also found herself a gun. We take the woman’s identification and all other personal effects, while after a lengthy discussion we decide to put the men in the Yarra (I wonder if I should erase this part lest it be traced back to this bog?) even though some of them are not quite dead yet.
 
Humans are certainly a bothersome business so the less connection we have to this place and their corpses the better.
 
We telephone Mr. Crowe and head back to the club, but it is very difficult going indeed as I am unwell most days and hardly fit to be carried, let alone walk on my own feeble legs. I do not think the other two are much good if they are able to ignore the sufferings of a poor young girl such as myself.
 
When we go back to meet Mr. Crowe he is quite surprised indeed. However he takes the woman and her belongings and we are free to go home.