In a world filled with darkness and confusion in the middle of the night, We traverse our story in the eyes of our main cast. A Coterie of kindred with one goal in mind. To complete a task for the Prince and gain his favor for their own selfish reas...
Ah, Chicago. A notorious spot in the modern times to mingle with your peers and get drunk 'til the daytime. One of these clubs is quite a popular one. Maybe among the donors, Or maybe among kindred.
A figure sat in front of his desk. An old fashioned quill in his hand as it irks with ink. He would've thought of sending a message to their sires, But these progenies has reached the age to earn their keep. Even if some of them do not accept this come of age.
Panning back inside one peculiar club that is simple called.. 'Club Nox', Our group of kindred sat inside a V.I.P room. All while having received their task from The Prince itself.
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"We are supposed to be five, Yes?" A curly haired, rich looking man with a heavy accent spoke from his seat. The owner of Club Nox himself. Yusuf Tarim da İstanbul, A Banu Haqim.
"The stars are telling me of the latecomer, She will come tonight. They whisper her alliance to my ears.. She will be of great help to us." The blonde haired woman replied. Her odd choice of clothing inside a club paired with her intricate bandana. Known as Priscilla Knowles. However, her friends may call her Pisces, A Malkavian.
"That's a name I haven't heard. Even with everything I know." The other lady with artistic choice in fashion pushed back her glasses. With her peach colored eyes and white hair streaks. To top it all off with a noble hat. Nothing in her mind would want nothing more than to spend the night sketching her sire right this moment. The fallen artist, Amity Chamberlain. A Toreador.
These two(three if you count the walmart-wish Pisces over there) had been dick-sizing for over an hour ever since the latecomer had been behind schedule. The one who instigated it might've been-
The middle age man puffs his cigar. His dark colored eyes scanning each and every one in the secluded room. 'This Coterie is certainly not what I expect...but it will have to suffice.' He puffs another from his cigar. His gaze casts upon Yusuf's direction. The fourth person in this coterie, Dylan Chael Wright, A Ventrue.
'Yusuf, was it? pleasant establishment you have here.' He says that in the most unenthusiastic way the coterie could've heard he had been. The aching coldness in his stomach has seem to be getting to him. 'Could you spare me a private booth and would you or your patrons know of a person of middle age with an impeccable palette for food? preferably a woman.'
The man himself chuckled at his request. 'You have sbesifik taste no? such request needs a bit more Zerust involve Friend, you do somzing for me, I do somzing for you, that kind of zeing. But Im not ze bad host, and I know the zeing zeat flows into our veins, so as will of good faize, I let you feed in my surf. and find your own quarry, and maybe zeis is ze start of doing favors yes?'
[In English translation: "You have specific taste no? such request needs a bit more Trust involve Friend, you do something for me, I do something for you, that kind of thing. But I'm not the bad host, and I know the thing that flows into our veins, so as will of good faith, I let you feed on my turf. and find your own quarry, and maybe this is the start of doing favors yes?]
