The Price of the Snake Prince's Insight

Dear Diary,
 
I am terribly sorry for neglecting you as late. I have hardly had the strength to rouse myself, much less hold pen to paper, or rather press these keys to make the words appear on this too bright box. I shall do my best to recount recent events, as many troubling things have surfaced, much like cadavers rising to the fetid surface of the Atchafalaya Basin.
 
We started the week by trying to find more about that Gangrel tasked us to find – "Insights of the Snake Price". Who this price is, and what his insights are, I still am not certain, but Miss Ducky said we might find something if we inquired at a bookstore by the name of "Ray's Occult Books".
 
Once there, Mr. Anton demonstrated that he certainly has a diplomatic way with words. I don't suppose that New Yorker behind the counter would've agreed much although. The way Mr. Anton whips that pistol around might leave one to imagine he may be compensating for factors he lacks elsewhere. Thankfully, I am a lady of great decorum so I would never let my mind to wander to such distasteful things.
 
Regardless, we bullied the information we needed out of Mr. Stantz, and left.
 
We made our way to Luna Park. Apparently this place of attraction is Gangrel territory, so chancing upon the Gangrel Priscus was of no surprise. A few words were exchanged, but nothing remarkable, and we continued to make our way along the beach. Walking is fatiguing enough, without walking on sand. I asked Mr. Anton if he might carry me, but he refused. Inconceivable.
 
Thankfully, it was almost at this moment that Miss Larissa found a peculiar outcrop, the rocks stacked up as if to make a door. At its base we found the rock marked by white paint. The symbols the same as those I saw in my dreams. Even more curious, there was a small hole. After some discussion, I allowed my half dollar to be put into the hole and the door opened up. On the other side of the door, we saw a tray. I retrieved my half-dollar, and the others picked up some of the ancient coins that lay there also. Turning back to the dark corridor behind us, we found a room with humans circled around a book on an altar at its centre. Their painted gold bodies reflected the dim torchlight as they slavishly prayed at the altar. A strange thing to do for a book that was sold second hand for $49.95.
 
We dispatched of them. Miss Larissa cried and moaned because they were mortals, but the rest of us carried on. She certainly is prone to weeping. I wonder if it makes those around her more sympathetic? It certainly does nothing for me, but it might be a useful tool to have in my emotional arsenal.
 
We took the book and attempted to leave through the door we came through. However the fare was wrong, so we ended up in what I could only assume were different planes. We had to spend another half dollar to leave. A very taxing door indeed.
 
While the others were preoccupied with something else, I found a white vehicle idling in the carpark. A voice calls out to me. At a later stage, Larissa will tell me that it is unwise to get into unmarked vans, but unaware as I am, I get in.
 
Inside, the smell is overwhelming and if I were a vampire like the others, I am certain I would've been salivating. However, as I am not, I do not drink from the proffered blood-filled bucket at my feet. The man inside introduces himself as Mr. Carpenter. A most foul-faced individual if I ever saw one. His skin is charred and burning, his eyes in danger of rolling free of their socket. I have met these Nosferatu types before, but it doesn't make their presence any less unnerving.
 
The others returned and Mr. Carpenter offers us a ride to the Cat Club. We make sure to leave him in the car.
 
Inside the club, we don't find Miss Ducky, but we do find a Professor Mandarin of the Ventrue. The Professor takes the book, but wants us to investigate this snake cult deeper. Bishop Judas in particular, is quite troubling to her. As is the Prince's reluctance to do anything about it. Afterwards, Mr. Alex gives us some money for our trouble of which Mr. Anton and I take our just share. Miss Larissa is quite the altruistic one, donating some of her share to the help waiting outside.
 
And since our trip is never-ending, our next stop for the night was yet another vile club. This one by the name of The Painted Lady. How many more of these morally reprehensible places will our work keep dragging us to?
 
We move upstairs past the doorman, then downstairs through a closet, and immediately we are in the thick of it. Although the room is not entirely filled with Nosferatu, the smell rising off the crowd is certainly evidence of their presence. Although we are here to meet the Nosferatu Priscus, I soon forget this ambition as through the immoral sight of flesh on flesh, the stink of blood and sweat other fetid substances that overwhelm the senses, a flash of blonde hair catches my eye.
 
It can't be. Why would she be here?
 
But I'd know her anywhere. And I certainly have followed her enough to know her well. I try to follow her into a vaulted room, but my path is blocked by yet another doorman. I can hear her agony through the steel. Mr. Carpenter, busybody that he is, finds me in the crowd and demands to know why I want entry to a tattoo room. A tattoo! Of all the vile, reprobate things a person can do to themselves. Much less a woman! Much less my Angie!
 
How could she do this to herself? To me? Branding herself like a pig.
 
I can feel Larissa's hands on my shoulders but I can't hear her over the sound of Angie's betrayal.