Post by Queen of Hearts on Oct 14, 2007 13:24:51 GMT -5
Diallo: Baron
Kassidy: Alice
Diallo:
::The ornate dining hall hosted heads of each faction, he settled ominously still at the head with this unamused, inattentive and reserved demure. The petty squabbling between clan heads, flung like fist fulls of feces back and forth as a mere logical debate turned into an argument that would lead either to war with the other in spiteful subterfuge. Paled eyes hollow in their very nature stared to the mahogany tabletop in its deep Merlot hues as if there were no others in the room with him. From the outside he appeared as your a typically unimpressed leader with his mind miles away from the issues that were slammed down on the table for his input, law and voice to silence them. As prince he let them argue like rotten teenagers for their way to be accepted by him the seemingly ignorant father.
Like a Malkavian sitting quietly without a single fidget, foolish grin or random commentary toward a voice none but themselves heard, this fiery Brujah sat with infinite control over his unyielding temper. In those first few years of his reign this squabbling in his house would have lead to a violent barking outburst who's echo was corporeal rather than simply a sound. This was his intent in the start of his reign. Now... he allowed speaking out of turn knowing that if he so much as rose from his seat the room would fall deathly silent with the understanding that the well tamed temper was about to boil past his reservations and someone would find themselves injured under a heavy handed ruler.
He'd made many an example out of overly confident Primogen and city officials in his years, treating each of them like the over fed, overly decadent children they truly were. Brute force after a heavy salting of logic found the position he sat within purged of a lord that was content to let personal gain sully the very title, the station itself, a symbol of corruption. What chance has a simple merchant with a heavily weighted purse and delusions of Godhood have against a Spartan who's very conception was little more than a warriors conquest by force? None, despite the laws of Elysium. The gore flew after a barrage of words far to logical to be heard falling with ease from the lips of a general, brute or warrior. The Primogen grew quickly ill at ease but when blood, sinew and the resonating sounds of an elder vampire seemingly in charge of things filled open court to put an end to the lack of logic an true leadership in lieu of personal gain... the horde fell eerily silent then.
The first few decades he spent cutting out the cancer one clan at a time by public example. Sadly the overlying statement was that each head held responsibility over the whole of their clan. From Antediluvian to mortal hopeful, each Primogen were suddenly held accountable for the actions of their house regardless of involvement or lack there of. Once he'd thrown off the law of peace within the domain of the old Prince turning the very tradition of accounting back onto him as an elder rose up lacking patience for laws he predated a hundred fold. The reigns pulled in tightly, suffocating the hierarchy into a more hearty compliance... bringing with it the iron clad understanding that 'Camarilla' was by the kindred, of the kindred and for the kindred. It would always be a novel concept, difficultly swallowed by those who sought little more than ultimate power. Dissidence had slithered in and made the whole far too easy for one dispute to topple the whole teetering collective.
Some had sighed relief as a demigod sloughed off the facade of Elder others stepped back conscious of their own self preservation. Resistance was not a factor that mattered though several houses attempted to ally with the intent of shaking him loose of the position... one phrase uttered calmly while facing down a firing squad armed to the teeth that intended to remove him from the station 'I inherit martyrdom from the founders leaving your names seared boldly on the Red List in my wake.' none could discount the claim he made freely to predating the law, none heard a sire so much as hint to his most trusted... he was well worn, battle ready and uncharacteristically logical provided others remained rational in his presence. Prior to the uprising he had made little effort to so much as attend matters of his clan, perhaps he found them misguided, poorly ruled or simply too young for him to bother associating with.
The Brujah withheld whispers of knowing the moment he rose from his place in open court. Clan elders knew but refused to do little more than recoil or veer away from loosening of tongues surrounding the topic of the sudden rule by force. He did little but upset the hierarchy and by upset the truth is he like an assassin loped the head off a serpent and settled in to wipe the slate clean and start anew. From that same mystery rose his childe, a female with the temper and free-spirited nature more befitting the clan name. She a general having whipped a crew of five subordinates that became the harbinger of the new Prince's rule... her lead as short as that temper would allow. This was how the reign would operate discreetly with a loyalty to the new Prince and each-other unparalleled by any other coterie active within the city limits.
The Prince and his childe's coterie remained the sole power for twenty years doling out harsh penalties for minor infractions until the youngest of childer in any clan came to the realization that the Prince's wrath was something to fear. Few prisoners, many final deaths until one day the devil set foot, preceded by the entourage in the foyer of the Tremere without invitation, remorse or fear of the clan, its elders not even its magics. As a hornets nest disturbed by a predator the offence for trespassing here of all places would not soon be forgotten or forgiven. He, nor childe or coterie would move forward to advance on the hissing and barking Tremere. The one given the title of the clan expressed her outrage to which the Prince waited patiently through, retribution for the insult replied to with a resounding silence.
With a slight cant of his head, the marble and expressionless face replied in the form of a formal edict that the time had come for the Camarilla's structure to be repaired. He would name the Seneschal and Sheriff at the following court and one of those named would be someone who now stood against him here within the Chantry. Retribution for the intrusion would not be had, her demands met with a coldly unfaltering, uncaring and chilled expression of himself and the coterie. It had been a statement to the Tremere of the Prince's operation. Their holy grounds meant little to him though he held some formal respect of the clan lacking the motivation nor surface thought to invade or otherwise overthrow its power. The Prince and his childe both void when prodded by gifted minds. The aura of the child a shade pale purple that fluxed back and forth to a dark blue his own a constant shade of serene light blue.
Court opened just as it had the final time for a twenty year campaign of terror, the whole of the Camarilla as it stood with its Primogen, Whip and clansmen drifted warily about the Prince, his clan and that coterie of death dealers. A hush after a few hours of hearing business from cooled heads wondering what two clans already knew. He took the floor without aid nor call to silence the crowd... The proposal spoke volumes of history, the basic structural philosophy of how the Camarilla once was and his decision to reinstate the full system. He would no longer rule with terror knowing that the basic principal would return should he deem Primogen incapable of accounting for their own. After careful consideration and attention to those who seemed capable of the positions he named the Sheriff with joy from it's clan and horror from the court silenced in finality as he named the Seneschal from the Tremere. He would answer no questions, hear no protest formal or otherwise as he excused himself from the session leaving the clan heads to squabble and children to whisper amid themselves.
Returning to the present moment in time where the heads of each house set to arguing monetary affairs the Seneschal leaned off to the side and away from a seat at the table listening with that same mild attention the Prince did. The Sheriff was rarely included due to a lapsing patients as the Prince's own drifted calmly away leaving nothing but that hollow expressionless demure of unfaltering calm. Surface thoughts would reveal that constant void no matter how deeply one delved with magics or mortal gifts no matter the instance, prepared or flat footed at the time. Speaking of time... it passed as the squabbling echoed into a high clamor as the statued leader rose from his place merely to wander and pause just slightly shy the hovering Seneschal with one glance of those chilled eyes that lasted merely a flicker before he turned with a calm tone filtering. "Perhaps we've settled and squabbled over enough for one eve, ladies and gentlemen." the gathered heads lacking resolution excused by the father who had heard more than he cared to, the meeting adjourned until the could either be civil or slaughter one another elsewhere.::
Kass:
The winds blow east, the winds blow west… Broken fragment of a child’s song nestling in her mind at that line where the conscious mind met its more subtle half, while the unfathomably dark eyes flicked from one occupant to another, seeking out which way the wind blew with each of these myriad faction beneath the bluster and argument. That one likely argued for the pure joy of contrariness; another, her own sire, perhaps argued one direction to swing one else’s opinion in its opposite, perhaps even the un-stereotypical leader himself; though unlikely for the warlock in question would not be so blatant for that one. As many directions as voices and Kass marveled once again at the patience of the leader, so unpredictable in his fashion. The very thought of his unpredictability bringing to mind the cause of her own entrance here, among the powerful in their own right, she a failure by the standards of her kind, most especially the one who had made her, who even now returned her gaze, the two women locked in silent duel of wills, almost equally matched, though the younger dropped her eyes first, a quick flick away as if the contest had been nothing, though the twain knew otherwise.
Their Prince’s act of seeming randomness not too long ago had brought her here, gave her a power beyond what she should have received by the reckoning of her kin and many rumors and such flew around the chantry, though none directly from the lips of either. It served both to keep the fractious clan awash in consternation as to how and why such had occurred. Was the public split just a smoke screen? Was the newly anointed seneschal not the fluke that she had seemed, the supposed failures at her learning the almighty magic of the others a feint? It took a mighty magician to fool teachers so thoroughly were that the case and it kept them uneven, suiting Kassandra herself. And the sire and head of the eternally squabbling, plotting den of rats, herself was content to let them wonder for perhaps the apparent dislike with herself and the brute of a Prince was another wheel within a wheel, and she had orchestrated her own pupil to be elevated to the scene of power. So things stood upon entering the meeting and the eyes of the elder vampire could be felt weighing and pondering, though they gave no expression away, every time they landed upon the childe of her vitae.
Even after all the time at the head of this argumentative, factitious crew, this Prince was still a cypher, so many falling afoul of him time and time again for their refusal to believe that he was not the archetype of his clan, those who were clumsy handed with their ‘tried and true’ manipulations were severed early on, her own sire rising to power in this fashion. She though was oddly flexible for the rigid hierarchy and most elders within suspected her of a banquet of sins, although none could be pinned and even the most diligent of researchers had been unable to uncover what had gone before she’d shown up, already strong in power; in the city one night, following the proper protocols, as always; Chloe was nothing if not perfectly correct and always polite. Kass ground her teeth a moment as the mortal trappings of her obsession with her sire and former lover had snuck upon her once again, lies though they were, real they had been to her heart while alive and they would not fade no matter what the erstwhile witch did. Damned clever bitch, the seneschal though and not for the first time, the thought only the beginning to a long series of self-hating recriminations like she was some emo artist pining over true love lost.
Fortunately for her mood and mindset, it was interrupted by the Prince himself, oddly beautiful in his way, though the controlled predatory nature was severely off-putting. A will that could hold back the legendary fierceness of his kind was a terrifying thought and yet she couldn’t help but want to taunt the devil, to find the spark that would set off that enclosed firebomb. He rose from the seat heading the elegant table and moved to her, his eyes resting on hers a brief moment. In the manner of her brethren, she tried to read the significance of the look, dozens of possible readings presenting themselves, that she would filter at a later time. Her expression showed no change from its previous, although she met his gaze fearlessly for the moment it melded with hers. She felt very mush the little fish in the big pond, the seneschal title even yet feeling heavy upon her shoulders and to show the slightest hint or flicker of weakness signaled the predator within all of them. The glance’s withdrawal left her feeling the flower deprived of the sun’s light, soon to be shaken off as his smooth voice cut through the bickering, all the jousters in the engagement swiveling heads towards him, almost funny in its absurdity. A cowed bunch, the pack clearly knew who the alpha was and the scene was illustrated in the brief moment of silence.
And brief it was as the squabbling continued unofficially, a corner of her smile quirking up as she overhead a poseur postulating the opinion that had slide from the snake’s tongue of the Tremere. Taking a quick note of it, and the possible connotations behind, whether a simple misdirection or whether the elder had a side deal occurring with that one, it was her requirement to find and know these things. The ever-present briefcase was lifted to the luster of the tabletop, a thin file being removed, then a thicker one. She stayed in place as the heads of the clans here broke into smaller groups, the discussion splintering, Kass continued taking her notes, while an unrelated document sat upon the table before her as if what she was working it. Settling the two files upon the table next to the requisition of funds emblazoned with the city’s official seal, Kass jotted upon her note pad in a language she had invented for herself, a mix of the l33t speak of the internet culture and abbreviations derived from the Lakota tongue, an invention of her own unlikely to be able to be deciphered, even still she took pains to conceal the subject of said notes, amusing herself with euphemisms and poetic snippets.
The papers contained within the file folders though were written in the everyday tongue, the necessary paperwork of the city. The fuller manila was the oft cursed red tape. The stack of paperwork that was necessary for any government type, while the thinner file were the highlights. Those things that were important he know, such as the three day pass for a certain duo, an infamous gangrel/brujah pairing. And the whispers of one of the damned gypsies being in town messing with the casinos. The young Tremere was slightly concerned about the Prince’s reaction to the former, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Fortunately, they had caused no issues and she had omitted her admonition to the massive Gangrel to take his erstwhile partner out of town for good. Last time she’d been in town, she’d destroyed an entire nightclub, reason enough in Kass’s mind to banish her, but she was of the Prince’s clan and it was prudent to not test that loyalty.
The gypsy fleecing the system went against her sense of order, as well as arising her own personal distaste for the roaming wanderers. Her own personal reason for allowing the duo through on their manhunt to eradicate two of the Ravnos scum and she had not considered reparations when the fee impressed upon them, a vial each of their own vitae, turned out to be that of one of the sewer rats. Fortunately, it had been useful for her research and she wished the two luck on their way to the Norfolk coast to eliminate their targets. And, of course, those that had monetary stake in the casinos were nervous about the mysterious someone who managed to fool everyone, including cameras, for nearly 24 hours. Perhaps longer in some cases, and who else but one of those tricksters could accomplish such a deed. Setting aside her personal vendetta for the moment, something she could indulge herself in during that few minutes before sunrise when she lay down for the day in her sparsely appointed basement apartment in the chantry, she looked over her notes.
Adding a few points to the end of the third and final sheet of type within the thin folder in her neat and precise hand, she recapped her pen and tucked it into the briefcase in the exact spot it always had . Leaving the two folders free, perfectly manicured nails pressed the carrier closed, pressing the lock lightly in place. Rising at last, the room cleared, the lady lifted the files to hand, long digits curling around the handle, pulling it from the polished surface upon which it rested. Adjusting the spectacles which she took great pains to portray as a trendy affectation rather then the necessity which they were, she spun on her heel, information in hand with the destination intending to be that of Diallo’s office to offer it up and then retire to her personal distractions within the chantry.
Kassidy: Alice
Diallo:
::The ornate dining hall hosted heads of each faction, he settled ominously still at the head with this unamused, inattentive and reserved demure. The petty squabbling between clan heads, flung like fist fulls of feces back and forth as a mere logical debate turned into an argument that would lead either to war with the other in spiteful subterfuge. Paled eyes hollow in their very nature stared to the mahogany tabletop in its deep Merlot hues as if there were no others in the room with him. From the outside he appeared as your a typically unimpressed leader with his mind miles away from the issues that were slammed down on the table for his input, law and voice to silence them. As prince he let them argue like rotten teenagers for their way to be accepted by him the seemingly ignorant father.
Like a Malkavian sitting quietly without a single fidget, foolish grin or random commentary toward a voice none but themselves heard, this fiery Brujah sat with infinite control over his unyielding temper. In those first few years of his reign this squabbling in his house would have lead to a violent barking outburst who's echo was corporeal rather than simply a sound. This was his intent in the start of his reign. Now... he allowed speaking out of turn knowing that if he so much as rose from his seat the room would fall deathly silent with the understanding that the well tamed temper was about to boil past his reservations and someone would find themselves injured under a heavy handed ruler.
He'd made many an example out of overly confident Primogen and city officials in his years, treating each of them like the over fed, overly decadent children they truly were. Brute force after a heavy salting of logic found the position he sat within purged of a lord that was content to let personal gain sully the very title, the station itself, a symbol of corruption. What chance has a simple merchant with a heavily weighted purse and delusions of Godhood have against a Spartan who's very conception was little more than a warriors conquest by force? None, despite the laws of Elysium. The gore flew after a barrage of words far to logical to be heard falling with ease from the lips of a general, brute or warrior. The Primogen grew quickly ill at ease but when blood, sinew and the resonating sounds of an elder vampire seemingly in charge of things filled open court to put an end to the lack of logic an true leadership in lieu of personal gain... the horde fell eerily silent then.
The first few decades he spent cutting out the cancer one clan at a time by public example. Sadly the overlying statement was that each head held responsibility over the whole of their clan. From Antediluvian to mortal hopeful, each Primogen were suddenly held accountable for the actions of their house regardless of involvement or lack there of. Once he'd thrown off the law of peace within the domain of the old Prince turning the very tradition of accounting back onto him as an elder rose up lacking patience for laws he predated a hundred fold. The reigns pulled in tightly, suffocating the hierarchy into a more hearty compliance... bringing with it the iron clad understanding that 'Camarilla' was by the kindred, of the kindred and for the kindred. It would always be a novel concept, difficultly swallowed by those who sought little more than ultimate power. Dissidence had slithered in and made the whole far too easy for one dispute to topple the whole teetering collective.
Some had sighed relief as a demigod sloughed off the facade of Elder others stepped back conscious of their own self preservation. Resistance was not a factor that mattered though several houses attempted to ally with the intent of shaking him loose of the position... one phrase uttered calmly while facing down a firing squad armed to the teeth that intended to remove him from the station 'I inherit martyrdom from the founders leaving your names seared boldly on the Red List in my wake.' none could discount the claim he made freely to predating the law, none heard a sire so much as hint to his most trusted... he was well worn, battle ready and uncharacteristically logical provided others remained rational in his presence. Prior to the uprising he had made little effort to so much as attend matters of his clan, perhaps he found them misguided, poorly ruled or simply too young for him to bother associating with.
The Brujah withheld whispers of knowing the moment he rose from his place in open court. Clan elders knew but refused to do little more than recoil or veer away from loosening of tongues surrounding the topic of the sudden rule by force. He did little but upset the hierarchy and by upset the truth is he like an assassin loped the head off a serpent and settled in to wipe the slate clean and start anew. From that same mystery rose his childe, a female with the temper and free-spirited nature more befitting the clan name. She a general having whipped a crew of five subordinates that became the harbinger of the new Prince's rule... her lead as short as that temper would allow. This was how the reign would operate discreetly with a loyalty to the new Prince and each-other unparalleled by any other coterie active within the city limits.
The Prince and his childe's coterie remained the sole power for twenty years doling out harsh penalties for minor infractions until the youngest of childer in any clan came to the realization that the Prince's wrath was something to fear. Few prisoners, many final deaths until one day the devil set foot, preceded by the entourage in the foyer of the Tremere without invitation, remorse or fear of the clan, its elders not even its magics. As a hornets nest disturbed by a predator the offence for trespassing here of all places would not soon be forgotten or forgiven. He, nor childe or coterie would move forward to advance on the hissing and barking Tremere. The one given the title of the clan expressed her outrage to which the Prince waited patiently through, retribution for the insult replied to with a resounding silence.
With a slight cant of his head, the marble and expressionless face replied in the form of a formal edict that the time had come for the Camarilla's structure to be repaired. He would name the Seneschal and Sheriff at the following court and one of those named would be someone who now stood against him here within the Chantry. Retribution for the intrusion would not be had, her demands met with a coldly unfaltering, uncaring and chilled expression of himself and the coterie. It had been a statement to the Tremere of the Prince's operation. Their holy grounds meant little to him though he held some formal respect of the clan lacking the motivation nor surface thought to invade or otherwise overthrow its power. The Prince and his childe both void when prodded by gifted minds. The aura of the child a shade pale purple that fluxed back and forth to a dark blue his own a constant shade of serene light blue.
Court opened just as it had the final time for a twenty year campaign of terror, the whole of the Camarilla as it stood with its Primogen, Whip and clansmen drifted warily about the Prince, his clan and that coterie of death dealers. A hush after a few hours of hearing business from cooled heads wondering what two clans already knew. He took the floor without aid nor call to silence the crowd... The proposal spoke volumes of history, the basic structural philosophy of how the Camarilla once was and his decision to reinstate the full system. He would no longer rule with terror knowing that the basic principal would return should he deem Primogen incapable of accounting for their own. After careful consideration and attention to those who seemed capable of the positions he named the Sheriff with joy from it's clan and horror from the court silenced in finality as he named the Seneschal from the Tremere. He would answer no questions, hear no protest formal or otherwise as he excused himself from the session leaving the clan heads to squabble and children to whisper amid themselves.
Returning to the present moment in time where the heads of each house set to arguing monetary affairs the Seneschal leaned off to the side and away from a seat at the table listening with that same mild attention the Prince did. The Sheriff was rarely included due to a lapsing patients as the Prince's own drifted calmly away leaving nothing but that hollow expressionless demure of unfaltering calm. Surface thoughts would reveal that constant void no matter how deeply one delved with magics or mortal gifts no matter the instance, prepared or flat footed at the time. Speaking of time... it passed as the squabbling echoed into a high clamor as the statued leader rose from his place merely to wander and pause just slightly shy the hovering Seneschal with one glance of those chilled eyes that lasted merely a flicker before he turned with a calm tone filtering. "Perhaps we've settled and squabbled over enough for one eve, ladies and gentlemen." the gathered heads lacking resolution excused by the father who had heard more than he cared to, the meeting adjourned until the could either be civil or slaughter one another elsewhere.::
Kass:
The winds blow east, the winds blow west… Broken fragment of a child’s song nestling in her mind at that line where the conscious mind met its more subtle half, while the unfathomably dark eyes flicked from one occupant to another, seeking out which way the wind blew with each of these myriad faction beneath the bluster and argument. That one likely argued for the pure joy of contrariness; another, her own sire, perhaps argued one direction to swing one else’s opinion in its opposite, perhaps even the un-stereotypical leader himself; though unlikely for the warlock in question would not be so blatant for that one. As many directions as voices and Kass marveled once again at the patience of the leader, so unpredictable in his fashion. The very thought of his unpredictability bringing to mind the cause of her own entrance here, among the powerful in their own right, she a failure by the standards of her kind, most especially the one who had made her, who even now returned her gaze, the two women locked in silent duel of wills, almost equally matched, though the younger dropped her eyes first, a quick flick away as if the contest had been nothing, though the twain knew otherwise.
Their Prince’s act of seeming randomness not too long ago had brought her here, gave her a power beyond what she should have received by the reckoning of her kin and many rumors and such flew around the chantry, though none directly from the lips of either. It served both to keep the fractious clan awash in consternation as to how and why such had occurred. Was the public split just a smoke screen? Was the newly anointed seneschal not the fluke that she had seemed, the supposed failures at her learning the almighty magic of the others a feint? It took a mighty magician to fool teachers so thoroughly were that the case and it kept them uneven, suiting Kassandra herself. And the sire and head of the eternally squabbling, plotting den of rats, herself was content to let them wonder for perhaps the apparent dislike with herself and the brute of a Prince was another wheel within a wheel, and she had orchestrated her own pupil to be elevated to the scene of power. So things stood upon entering the meeting and the eyes of the elder vampire could be felt weighing and pondering, though they gave no expression away, every time they landed upon the childe of her vitae.
Even after all the time at the head of this argumentative, factitious crew, this Prince was still a cypher, so many falling afoul of him time and time again for their refusal to believe that he was not the archetype of his clan, those who were clumsy handed with their ‘tried and true’ manipulations were severed early on, her own sire rising to power in this fashion. She though was oddly flexible for the rigid hierarchy and most elders within suspected her of a banquet of sins, although none could be pinned and even the most diligent of researchers had been unable to uncover what had gone before she’d shown up, already strong in power; in the city one night, following the proper protocols, as always; Chloe was nothing if not perfectly correct and always polite. Kass ground her teeth a moment as the mortal trappings of her obsession with her sire and former lover had snuck upon her once again, lies though they were, real they had been to her heart while alive and they would not fade no matter what the erstwhile witch did. Damned clever bitch, the seneschal though and not for the first time, the thought only the beginning to a long series of self-hating recriminations like she was some emo artist pining over true love lost.
Fortunately for her mood and mindset, it was interrupted by the Prince himself, oddly beautiful in his way, though the controlled predatory nature was severely off-putting. A will that could hold back the legendary fierceness of his kind was a terrifying thought and yet she couldn’t help but want to taunt the devil, to find the spark that would set off that enclosed firebomb. He rose from the seat heading the elegant table and moved to her, his eyes resting on hers a brief moment. In the manner of her brethren, she tried to read the significance of the look, dozens of possible readings presenting themselves, that she would filter at a later time. Her expression showed no change from its previous, although she met his gaze fearlessly for the moment it melded with hers. She felt very mush the little fish in the big pond, the seneschal title even yet feeling heavy upon her shoulders and to show the slightest hint or flicker of weakness signaled the predator within all of them. The glance’s withdrawal left her feeling the flower deprived of the sun’s light, soon to be shaken off as his smooth voice cut through the bickering, all the jousters in the engagement swiveling heads towards him, almost funny in its absurdity. A cowed bunch, the pack clearly knew who the alpha was and the scene was illustrated in the brief moment of silence.
And brief it was as the squabbling continued unofficially, a corner of her smile quirking up as she overhead a poseur postulating the opinion that had slide from the snake’s tongue of the Tremere. Taking a quick note of it, and the possible connotations behind, whether a simple misdirection or whether the elder had a side deal occurring with that one, it was her requirement to find and know these things. The ever-present briefcase was lifted to the luster of the tabletop, a thin file being removed, then a thicker one. She stayed in place as the heads of the clans here broke into smaller groups, the discussion splintering, Kass continued taking her notes, while an unrelated document sat upon the table before her as if what she was working it. Settling the two files upon the table next to the requisition of funds emblazoned with the city’s official seal, Kass jotted upon her note pad in a language she had invented for herself, a mix of the l33t speak of the internet culture and abbreviations derived from the Lakota tongue, an invention of her own unlikely to be able to be deciphered, even still she took pains to conceal the subject of said notes, amusing herself with euphemisms and poetic snippets.
The papers contained within the file folders though were written in the everyday tongue, the necessary paperwork of the city. The fuller manila was the oft cursed red tape. The stack of paperwork that was necessary for any government type, while the thinner file were the highlights. Those things that were important he know, such as the three day pass for a certain duo, an infamous gangrel/brujah pairing. And the whispers of one of the damned gypsies being in town messing with the casinos. The young Tremere was slightly concerned about the Prince’s reaction to the former, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Fortunately, they had caused no issues and she had omitted her admonition to the massive Gangrel to take his erstwhile partner out of town for good. Last time she’d been in town, she’d destroyed an entire nightclub, reason enough in Kass’s mind to banish her, but she was of the Prince’s clan and it was prudent to not test that loyalty.
The gypsy fleecing the system went against her sense of order, as well as arising her own personal distaste for the roaming wanderers. Her own personal reason for allowing the duo through on their manhunt to eradicate two of the Ravnos scum and she had not considered reparations when the fee impressed upon them, a vial each of their own vitae, turned out to be that of one of the sewer rats. Fortunately, it had been useful for her research and she wished the two luck on their way to the Norfolk coast to eliminate their targets. And, of course, those that had monetary stake in the casinos were nervous about the mysterious someone who managed to fool everyone, including cameras, for nearly 24 hours. Perhaps longer in some cases, and who else but one of those tricksters could accomplish such a deed. Setting aside her personal vendetta for the moment, something she could indulge herself in during that few minutes before sunrise when she lay down for the day in her sparsely appointed basement apartment in the chantry, she looked over her notes.
Adding a few points to the end of the third and final sheet of type within the thin folder in her neat and precise hand, she recapped her pen and tucked it into the briefcase in the exact spot it always had . Leaving the two folders free, perfectly manicured nails pressed the carrier closed, pressing the lock lightly in place. Rising at last, the room cleared, the lady lifted the files to hand, long digits curling around the handle, pulling it from the polished surface upon which it rested. Adjusting the spectacles which she took great pains to portray as a trendy affectation rather then the necessity which they were, she spun on her heel, information in hand with the destination intending to be that of Diallo’s office to offer it up and then retire to her personal distractions within the chantry.