Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Bela Dragosani
Watching intently, Bela says nothing, flicking his gaze to Justine with an upraised brow.
Watching intently, Bela says nothing, flicking his gaze to Justine with an upraised brow.
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[V20] Maiden, Mother, Crone
- Thread starter Esbilon
- Start date
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro saw the speeding car and was pleased to see that the effects of his blood were taking effect on the two mortals. "Just in time" He opened the door and stepped into the car, putting the sword on the seat next to him, he gave Ramón the address where he would meet Bela in order to make the transaction. He would give a new set of orders to his two men, but for now, he was content with seeing the place with his own eyes before settling on a plan of action.
Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Landon
The pain lingers, burning insistently, though now that the beast is quelled once more, he can push it to the back of his mind. There is a faint glow to the blood in the tub itself and in some of the blood surrounding it. What stands out is that the intricate patters and arcane letters surrounding the tub seem to be made from comparatively ordinary blood. The glowing parts seem to be spatters from the tub and a dripping trail that points away from the entrance towards the unilluminated back of the warehouse.
Álvaro
"A'right, boss," Ramón says with a grin as C.C. pulls away from the curb and the trio speeds off into the Cleveland night. Ramón seems a little nervous and on edge, he talks to fill the silence, looking back at Álvaro to make sure his new boss appreciates his stream of words, ready to break it off if the vampire would rather he keep his trap shut.
OOC: Here's a chance to get some more info on the Cleveland criminal underground if you want, or we can skip ahead to the estate.
The pain lingers, burning insistently, though now that the beast is quelled once more, he can push it to the back of his mind. There is a faint glow to the blood in the tub itself and in some of the blood surrounding it. What stands out is that the intricate patters and arcane letters surrounding the tub seem to be made from comparatively ordinary blood. The glowing parts seem to be spatters from the tub and a dripping trail that points away from the entrance towards the unilluminated back of the warehouse.
Álvaro
"A'right, boss," Ramón says with a grin as C.C. pulls away from the curb and the trio speeds off into the Cleveland night. Ramón seems a little nervous and on edge, he talks to fill the silence, looking back at Álvaro to make sure his new boss appreciates his stream of words, ready to break it off if the vampire would rather he keep his trap shut.
OOC: Here's a chance to get some more info on the Cleveland criminal underground if you want, or we can skip ahead to the estate.
Arynne
Salmon of Doubt
Justine lays caressing hands on the bound vampire's body. Her touch looks tender, but her face is a marble mask as she regards the man. "My poor childe," she says in the most soothing of tones, "I told you that you would be most severely tested if you wished to have even the faintest hope of survival. I never said I would be the only one to examine you. Your trials begin now. You must answer all questions put to you, and hold nothing back."
Silanon
Four Thousand Club
Landon
Two careful steps backwards to get some distance between the glowing blood and himself; then the vampire slowly rises from his crouched position, eyes fixated on the point where the blood trail leads. His face shows both pain and bewilderment; the spark of a wounded predator's rage does not quite leave his eyes, either. His movements clearly show his tenseness as he begins to walk past the tub to get a better look, though he knows to keep his distance this time. Does the trail look like something walked or crawled away, or more like something was carried away by someone else?
Two careful steps backwards to get some distance between the glowing blood and himself; then the vampire slowly rises from his crouched position, eyes fixated on the point where the blood trail leads. His face shows both pain and bewilderment; the spark of a wounded predator's rage does not quite leave his eyes, either. His movements clearly show his tenseness as he begins to walk past the tub to get a better look, though he knows to keep his distance this time. Does the trail look like something walked or crawled away, or more like something was carried away by someone else?
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro reaches into his jacket's inside pocket and pulls the flask with the concoction of tequila and vitae, and hands it over to Ramón. "Here, the night is young so take it slow." If he accepts he discreetly keeps an eye on the rear view mirror as he takes a sip.
"Here's the plan boys, we're gonna meet a potential buyer for that little trinket we got off the priest's studio, but first I want you guys to fill me in on the gangs and territories of Cleveland, what they deal in and who's rival of who, you've told me about the Black Death but he can't be the only muscle in town."
"Here's the plan boys, we're gonna meet a potential buyer for that little trinket we got off the priest's studio, but first I want you guys to fill me in on the gangs and territories of Cleveland, what they deal in and who's rival of who, you've told me about the Black Death but he can't be the only muscle in town."
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Bela Dragosani
Bela stands behind the captive's head, hands behind his back.
"You will answer truthfully and immediately," he says. "I expect you understand the consequences of noncompliance."
"Who are you?"
Bela stands behind the captive's head, hands behind his back.
"You will answer truthfully and immediately," he says. "I expect you understand the consequences of noncompliance."
"Who are you?"
Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Álvaro
Ramón takes an eager gulp of the flask and passes it on to C.C. who takes a quick drink before passing it back. Ramón grins and takes another before handing it back to Álvaro and beginning to lay things out.
"Carey," Ramón corrects, "at least if you ever say it to his face or someone who's a level or two closer to him than the two of us are. The way things work in Cleveland is that Carey sits on top, and everyone else gets to pick their turfs and do their shit so long as there's no open war in the streets and everyone pays him what he's due. He's been top dog for, I dunno, five or ten years. I was just a kid back when he started getting everyone organized like this. Keeps the peace, everyone prospers, and if anyone steps way outta line, he comes down on them like a ton of bricks. The actual business is divided pretty neatly between areas of expertise, if you will. Martinez runs people like C.C. and me, breaking-and-entering, breaking-of-legs, breaking-of-whatever-you-want-broken," he adds with a grin. "Smuggling, mostly through the harbor and the airport, is Karkoff's business. He's an old school Ruski, he is, doesn't look like anything special, just a tiny old man of skin and bones, but he's tough and cold as they come. He came over during the cold war, and has been making big bucks ever since. Doesn't seem to have much of a taste for fighting, but he'll come down hard if you cross him. Karkoff passes drugs off to Junior, Thomas Murray Junior that is, the son of the old head honcho and he's pretty fucking pissed that Carey pushed his dad aside, but he knows better than to try and get back on top. For now at least. I have good money saying he'll end up dead in a ditch one day because he couldn't leave well enough alone. Still, he's raking in the dough and has people all over the fucking place. That, of course, leaves the ladies of the evening," Ramón grins widely at his own sophistication, or possibly the thought of said ladies, "they have the craziest fucking thing, a proper little democracy. A bunch of them meet up every couple of weeks and call the shots. I'm sure they scream and shout at each other when the doors are closed, but the rest of us only ever hear them agree with each other." He licks his lips before continuing, "that just leaves the Columbians trying to shit all over the thing. I don't know a lot about them, except that they have a lot of money, a lot of guns, and a lot of drugs. Carey'll have to come down on them at some point, but for now he's taking his sweet-ass time with it, don't ask me why."
Landon
The blood trail is one of drops and spatters, though it starts with a splash. The Gangrel is quite sure that whatever was in that tub was carried off. As he approaches the end of the warehouse, he can also make out the end of the trail: A closed steel door. There is what appears to be the keypad for a magnetic locking system next to it, but there is no indicater light to show that it is locked or ready to accept a code.
Justine & Bela
The man shivers under Justine's touch, but ceases his struggles against the chains binding him. At the Ventrue's command, he nods, readying himself for what is to come.
"I'm Chistopher Nelson," the man replies to Bela's question, his tone uncertain, clearly he is unsure what manner of answer is expected from him.
Ramón takes an eager gulp of the flask and passes it on to C.C. who takes a quick drink before passing it back. Ramón grins and takes another before handing it back to Álvaro and beginning to lay things out.
"Carey," Ramón corrects, "at least if you ever say it to his face or someone who's a level or two closer to him than the two of us are. The way things work in Cleveland is that Carey sits on top, and everyone else gets to pick their turfs and do their shit so long as there's no open war in the streets and everyone pays him what he's due. He's been top dog for, I dunno, five or ten years. I was just a kid back when he started getting everyone organized like this. Keeps the peace, everyone prospers, and if anyone steps way outta line, he comes down on them like a ton of bricks. The actual business is divided pretty neatly between areas of expertise, if you will. Martinez runs people like C.C. and me, breaking-and-entering, breaking-of-legs, breaking-of-whatever-you-want-broken," he adds with a grin. "Smuggling, mostly through the harbor and the airport, is Karkoff's business. He's an old school Ruski, he is, doesn't look like anything special, just a tiny old man of skin and bones, but he's tough and cold as they come. He came over during the cold war, and has been making big bucks ever since. Doesn't seem to have much of a taste for fighting, but he'll come down hard if you cross him. Karkoff passes drugs off to Junior, Thomas Murray Junior that is, the son of the old head honcho and he's pretty fucking pissed that Carey pushed his dad aside, but he knows better than to try and get back on top. For now at least. I have good money saying he'll end up dead in a ditch one day because he couldn't leave well enough alone. Still, he's raking in the dough and has people all over the fucking place. That, of course, leaves the ladies of the evening," Ramón grins widely at his own sophistication, or possibly the thought of said ladies, "they have the craziest fucking thing, a proper little democracy. A bunch of them meet up every couple of weeks and call the shots. I'm sure they scream and shout at each other when the doors are closed, but the rest of us only ever hear them agree with each other." He licks his lips before continuing, "that just leaves the Columbians trying to shit all over the thing. I don't know a lot about them, except that they have a lot of money, a lot of guns, and a lot of drugs. Carey'll have to come down on them at some point, but for now he's taking his sweet-ass time with it, don't ask me why."
Landon
The blood trail is one of drops and spatters, though it starts with a splash. The Gangrel is quite sure that whatever was in that tub was carried off. As he approaches the end of the warehouse, he can also make out the end of the trail: A closed steel door. There is what appears to be the keypad for a magnetic locking system next to it, but there is no indicater light to show that it is locked or ready to accept a code.
Justine & Bela
The man shivers under Justine's touch, but ceases his struggles against the chains binding him. At the Ventrue's command, he nods, readying himself for what is to come.
"I'm Chistopher Nelson," the man replies to Bela's question, his tone uncertain, clearly he is unsure what manner of answer is expected from him.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Bela Dragosani
Bela expected as much. He can recall only one individual who, at his sire's request, gave a more immediately satisfactory answer.
"And who is Christopher Nelson?" he continues, tempted to reach into his chest and take an illustrative grip of his heart.
Bela expected as much. He can recall only one individual who, at his sire's request, gave a more immediately satisfactory answer.
"And who is Christopher Nelson?" he continues, tempted to reach into his chest and take an illustrative grip of his heart.
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro listened attentively, the only sign of his open curiosity. He wondered who amongst the Kindred of the city had their greedy fingers intertwined with those Ramón just mentioned, maybe some of these people were ghouls to some of the better established leeches, wouldn't be unheard of, and he could bet that would be the case. Particularly he had his thoughts on Carey, for someone to be that feared without much opposition would almost be a dead giveaway to undead influence, maybe he was one of the leeches himself. "You told me of Carey's frequent spots, what about the others? Where would I go about finding these Colombians or this Junior fella?"
Silanon
Four Thousand Club
Landon
The trail leads him away from the corpses - though not without letting him glance at the last one, closest to the steel door ahead. Keeping a distance of at least an arm's length, is there anything that particularly raises attention, apart from blood, flies, and the opened stomach? He does not examine it too closely, and never turns his back towards the exit - so small details will certainly be missed. Then, getting closer to the exit - is there any indication if it leads outside or into another room? And if not, can he pull it open with his still glove-covered hand, or was it locked behind whoever left?
The trail leads him away from the corpses - though not without letting him glance at the last one, closest to the steel door ahead. Keeping a distance of at least an arm's length, is there anything that particularly raises attention, apart from blood, flies, and the opened stomach? He does not examine it too closely, and never turns his back towards the exit - so small details will certainly be missed. Then, getting closer to the exit - is there any indication if it leads outside or into another room? And if not, can he pull it open with his still glove-covered hand, or was it locked behind whoever left?
Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Bela & Justine
"Me?" The man replies unhelpfully. "I... I don't know what it is you want to know," he adds, shivering.
Álvaro
"The Columbians have moved into the old industrial area in Lorain," he responds, indicating one of the rust-belt cities just west of Cleveland. "That's probably one of the reason Carey doesn't care too much: They're not strictly speaking in Cleveland. Junior, you can find downtown. He tries holding court in a bar near Cleveland State, but it's pathetic, really. The only people who show up to 'pay their respect,'" Ramón chuckles at the thought, "are the ones who already depend on him for junk to sell. Still, makes him easy to find if you want to."
Landon
The door appears locked, and at a guess, he'd say it's probably an interior door, but quite possibly there's another exit beyond it. The final corpse looks little different from the others. It used to be a black woman of perhaps 40 or 50 years. Her stomach has been opened by something irregular - if a blade did this, it was one hell of a shitty one. There is a sickly, oily sheen to her skin, she has lost half her hair in irregular lumps, and her left eye is missing.
"Me?" The man replies unhelpfully. "I... I don't know what it is you want to know," he adds, shivering.
Álvaro
"The Columbians have moved into the old industrial area in Lorain," he responds, indicating one of the rust-belt cities just west of Cleveland. "That's probably one of the reason Carey doesn't care too much: They're not strictly speaking in Cleveland. Junior, you can find downtown. He tries holding court in a bar near Cleveland State, but it's pathetic, really. The only people who show up to 'pay their respect,'" Ramón chuckles at the thought, "are the ones who already depend on him for junk to sell. Still, makes him easy to find if you want to."
Landon
The door appears locked, and at a guess, he'd say it's probably an interior door, but quite possibly there's another exit beyond it. The final corpse looks little different from the others. It used to be a black woman of perhaps 40 or 50 years. Her stomach has been opened by something irregular - if a blade did this, it was one hell of a shitty one. There is a sickly, oily sheen to her skin, she has lost half her hair in irregular lumps, and her left eye is missing.
Silanon
Four Thousand Club
Landon
His unburnt hand finds its way into his pocket, grabbing his tool of communication "Some sick ritual. Blood; opened, bloated corpses. They carried something away, child-sized. Icy flames on its blood. Left a trail." He murmurs some of the words he types, carefully looking up from his mobile every few moments to not let his guard down. The recipient of the message is, of course, his Sire - at least if there's a signal. He does not wait for a response. Instead, he turns back to the door - or more precisely, other potential points of entry, not necessarily human-sized. If there is one, he allows his mobile to slide back into his coat's warmth; if not, he dials Roberts' number.
His unburnt hand finds its way into his pocket, grabbing his tool of communication "Some sick ritual. Blood; opened, bloated corpses. They carried something away, child-sized. Icy flames on its blood. Left a trail." He murmurs some of the words he types, carefully looking up from his mobile every few moments to not let his guard down. The recipient of the message is, of course, his Sire - at least if there's a signal. He does not wait for a response. Instead, he turns back to the door - or more precisely, other potential points of entry, not necessarily human-sized. If there is one, he allows his mobile to slide back into his coat's warmth; if not, he dials Roberts' number.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Bela Dragosani
Bela sighs, audibly.
"You will tell me of your life, and your death, and what brought you to this terrible fate, and I will know if you lie to me." He says.
"And if you lie to me, I will make of your body a torture chamber."
Bela sighs, audibly.
"You will tell me of your life, and your death, and what brought you to this terrible fate, and I will know if you lie to me." He says.
"And if you lie to me, I will make of your body a torture chamber."
Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Landon
The door is still locked, and the warehouse is otherwise closed. There are some ventilation openings up under the roof, but from the smell, he's willing to bet they haven't been working for years. Plus, there's no blood trail under them. Roberts picks up almost immediately. "Yeah. Why're you calling instead of just coming out?"
Bela & Justine
"Okay, okay," Nelson responds, getting more of a hold of himself. "I... I was a teacher. Then I became an administrator, and a pretty good one at that. Was Superintendent of Education for a couple of years," he says with equal parts fatalism and pride. "I don't know how I died. I remember bugs and pain and love and hate and rage. I don't know which feelings were mine and which were someone else's. I don't know why the bugs were there, but I can feel them. Crawling everywhere, on my skin, on my eyes. Inside me, bursting through me. I... I remember blood. Flowing into me, flowing out of me, flowing... flowing somewhere. To someone." He hesitates for a while, getting himself somewhat under control after what was clearly an unpleasant memory. "Does... does that answer your question?"
The door is still locked, and the warehouse is otherwise closed. There are some ventilation openings up under the roof, but from the smell, he's willing to bet they haven't been working for years. Plus, there's no blood trail under them. Roberts picks up almost immediately. "Yeah. Why're you calling instead of just coming out?"
Bela & Justine
"Okay, okay," Nelson responds, getting more of a hold of himself. "I... I was a teacher. Then I became an administrator, and a pretty good one at that. Was Superintendent of Education for a couple of years," he says with equal parts fatalism and pride. "I don't know how I died. I remember bugs and pain and love and hate and rage. I don't know which feelings were mine and which were someone else's. I don't know why the bugs were there, but I can feel them. Crawling everywhere, on my skin, on my eyes. Inside me, bursting through me. I... I remember blood. Flowing into me, flowing out of me, flowing... flowing somewhere. To someone." He hesitates for a while, getting himself somewhat under control after what was clearly an unpleasant memory. "Does... does that answer your question?"
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Bela Dragosani
"A satisfactory start," Bela says, glancing to Justine lest she would like to ask or add anything. A bureaucrat of the state - a curious choice.
"What do you remember of this ordeal, and what came after? Do you know how you came to be in Madame Adler's care?"
"A satisfactory start," Bela says, glancing to Justine lest she would like to ask or add anything. A bureaucrat of the state - a curious choice.
"What do you remember of this ordeal, and what came after? Do you know how you came to be in Madame Adler's care?"
Epiphany
Proverbs 17:9
Susan Rosenthal
Sunday night was their time.
Susan isn't usually this irresponsible. Ignoring work and ignoring 'work' in favor of a movie night with her husband, followed by passion. She revels in it, in him, in knowing him and his form as intimately as she knows her own. When Susan was newly dead, these tawdry acts and pitiful hormones seemed something to leave behind, mere remnants of a mortality she'd outgrown. But as she came to understand the Lasombra, came to understand their self-perception as the Keepers of vampires, their support in the Sabbat, her dissatisfaction grew. They wished to be transhumanists and believed their undead nature alone made them so. And yet their relentless pursuit of other moralities, other ways of predation, only diminished them. Made them sleep longer, made them succumb to torpor more easily, made it harder for them to pass among their prey. To be more than human meant literally that; to add to what one already had without abandoning where one came from.
Only a few years later and she'd remade herself better than she dreamed, and perhaps better than she dared. The cold Lasombra who Dominated her way back into her mortal life felt her blood quicken now at the sight of Sam's kind eyes. Felt thoughts of him and her children intrude when she was at work, when she was at Elysium, when she pursued those things only a Kindred could. In a way, they were shackles and yet they'd made her so strong. And they were a weakness, a vulnerability that nonetheless had replaced a simple philosophy of predation with something heartfelt.
If she believed in faerie-tales like God, Susan Rosenthal would have called it grace.
Leaving her husband asleep at last, the Lasombra sets aside her mortal life once more and dresses in a black dress with a charcoal coat. Then she picks up her smartphone on her way out. Else seemed modern enough, despite her utterly ridiculous New Age trappings. A text would do to start with.
That business wrapped, Susan slips behind the wheel of her Tesla and sets out into the night. On her way, she dials one Álvaro Ahumada, in hopes of seeing if he'd turned up anything useful.
Lord-Leafar
Sunday night was their time.
Susan isn't usually this irresponsible. Ignoring work and ignoring 'work' in favor of a movie night with her husband, followed by passion. She revels in it, in him, in knowing him and his form as intimately as she knows her own. When Susan was newly dead, these tawdry acts and pitiful hormones seemed something to leave behind, mere remnants of a mortality she'd outgrown. But as she came to understand the Lasombra, came to understand their self-perception as the Keepers of vampires, their support in the Sabbat, her dissatisfaction grew. They wished to be transhumanists and believed their undead nature alone made them so. And yet their relentless pursuit of other moralities, other ways of predation, only diminished them. Made them sleep longer, made them succumb to torpor more easily, made it harder for them to pass among their prey. To be more than human meant literally that; to add to what one already had without abandoning where one came from.
Only a few years later and she'd remade herself better than she dreamed, and perhaps better than she dared. The cold Lasombra who Dominated her way back into her mortal life felt her blood quicken now at the sight of Sam's kind eyes. Felt thoughts of him and her children intrude when she was at work, when she was at Elysium, when she pursued those things only a Kindred could. In a way, they were shackles and yet they'd made her so strong. And they were a weakness, a vulnerability that nonetheless had replaced a simple philosophy of predation with something heartfelt.
If she believed in faerie-tales like God, Susan Rosenthal would have called it grace.
Leaving her husband asleep at last, the Lasombra sets aside her mortal life once more and dresses in a black dress with a charcoal coat. Then she picks up her smartphone on her way out. Else seemed modern enough, despite her utterly ridiculous New Age trappings. A text would do to start with.
Else O'Connor
It's Susan Rosenthal. I don't have much yet but I'm investigating. I would like to touch bases with you in two hours, if that time's convenient, to see what we've collectively learned. Time is short, after all. Please call or email me at Susan.Rosenthal@mpcllc.com at your pleasure.
That business wrapped, Susan slips behind the wheel of her Tesla and sets out into the night. On her way, she dials one Álvaro Ahumada, in hopes of seeing if he'd turned up anything useful.
Lord-Leafar
Silanon
Four Thousand Club
Landon
A short pause follows the officer's question - clear indication that this particular idea did not cross the vampire's mind. "Was in thought." Another moment of silence as he glances over the scene around him. "What a fricking mess. Must've been a maniac or something, no human being would cause something like that. I mean, those people, that's not just slaughter, that's something else." Once more, his eyes focus on the door. "Did you check the room in the back yet? Door is locked, but something's gotta be in there. Could use your help with that if you have the tools."
A short pause follows the officer's question - clear indication that this particular idea did not cross the vampire's mind. "Was in thought." Another moment of silence as he glances over the scene around him. "What a fricking mess. Must've been a maniac or something, no human being would cause something like that. I mean, those people, that's not just slaughter, that's something else." Once more, his eyes focus on the door. "Did you check the room in the back yet? Door is locked, but something's gotta be in there. Could use your help with that if you have the tools."
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro was listening to Ramón give his explanation when his phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket. He took it out to see the name displayed in the screen, and upon reading the caller's name he frowned. He signaled C.C. to stop at the nearest corner, and once he had done so he stepped out of the car, telling his goons that he would be back soon and for them to wait. He walked and as he did, confident that his companions would not be able to eavesdrop on his conversation, he finally answered the phone.
"Have you got news Miss Rosenthal?"
"Have you got news Miss Rosenthal?"
Epiphany
Proverbs 17:9
Susan Rosenthal
"I have a destination, Mr. Ahumada." The Lasombra's tones over the phone are cool, confident, as self-possessed as any Keeper in good-standing or otherwise. "Admiral Zheng's 24 Hours Chinese Food Delivery Service. What they lack in palatability, they make up for in usefulness. They're a Nosferatu clearinghouse. It occurs to me I don't know a thing about your evening plans but if your schedule can accommodate, I would not object to having a partner there given the hosts."
Needless to say, no one enjoyed visiting the Nosferatu. And given their affinity for hiding, well, either a Lasombra and a Caitiff might find it better to visit such a place with company rather than alone.
"I have a destination, Mr. Ahumada." The Lasombra's tones over the phone are cool, confident, as self-possessed as any Keeper in good-standing or otherwise. "Admiral Zheng's 24 Hours Chinese Food Delivery Service. What they lack in palatability, they make up for in usefulness. They're a Nosferatu clearinghouse. It occurs to me I don't know a thing about your evening plans but if your schedule can accommodate, I would not object to having a partner there given the hosts."
Needless to say, no one enjoyed visiting the Nosferatu. And given their affinity for hiding, well, either a Lasombra and a Caitiff might find it better to visit such a place with company rather than alone.
Arynne
Salmon of Doubt
"He used the discipline of Presence to summon me," Justine informs Bela. "A rather high-level feat for one so new to his powers."
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro's frown never quite faded from his face as he seemed to consider Susan's words for a moment before speaking once again. "Very well, at what time are we meeting?"
Epiphany
Proverbs 17:9
"Whenever you like," Susan replies promptly. She absently checks her reflection in the rear-view mirror to see if she needs more lipstick, frowns for a moment at having the wrong angle before realization makes her roll her eyes at herself. Grateful that the Caitiff isn't present to see her being ridiculous, the Lasombra adds "It's Sunday night so I don't have any work obligations. If you're free now, I'll meet you there now. If you have other business, I'm sure I can find some stocks to occupy me. Let me give you the address."
After fishing through her contact information, Susan provides the location before waiting for Álvaro's reply.
After fishing through her contact information, Susan provides the location before waiting for Álvaro's reply.
Lord-Leafar
Two Thousand Club
Álvaro made a mental note of the name and address of the establishment. He took a quick glance at his watch to make a last minute decision. "I'll be on my way. I'll be there in 30 minutes or so"
Epiphany
Proverbs 17:9
"Excellent. I'll see you there, Mr. Ahumada."
Susan hangs up, Google Maps her way to the Nosferatu hideout and kills any time between now and thirty minutes from now by, indeed, checking up on stock portfolio performance. The stock market doesn't stop over the weekend and a bit of a head start doesn't hurt, especially in China.
When the time is right, Susan sets out towards Admiral Zheng's.
Susan hangs up, Google Maps her way to the Nosferatu hideout and kills any time between now and thirty minutes from now by, indeed, checking up on stock portfolio performance. The stock market doesn't stop over the weekend and a bit of a head start doesn't hurt, especially in China.
When the time is right, Susan sets out towards Admiral Zheng's.
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