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Blush Blush, 
Blush, Imbibe, Blush Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Jennifer glances upwards, following the Whip with her eyes.
What happened in the domain before she had arrived? She resisted the urge to check the expressions of Brenn and Dr. Powell. Instead, she endeavored to try and keep her eyes focused on the Whip.
If there was indeed no Priscus, then it was clear to her who ought to be the man for the job.
Sliding through the door, Castor looks stone faced. There is the initial rattle of the Beast when he enters and the ensuring rigitedity. Then the shame of his lateness. He hates being late, especially to important meeting. What's worse is he is still quite new in the domain. "My apologies for my lack of punctuality. I mean no disrespect. It won't happen again." It was a childish error to make so soon after his arrival. As he apologizes he looks at the Deacon, trying once again unsuccessfully to look him in the eyes. Castor finds a position standing behind Dr. Powell. He does his best to look casual, if a little uncomfortable.
Doctor Powell remained quietly patient as she waited for the Deacon to officially begin the meeting, her attention coming to rest on the shadowed Haunt. When he addressed the group, Josephine simply gave a near imperceptible nod of acknowledgement with his opening statement. It had indeed been a rough few months for the Nosferatu, and the good Doctor looked forward to bidding adieu to their unfortunate recent luck. Despite everything that had occured though, they had gotten through it in the end. That was what mattered.
She already knew who had her vote; there would have been no swaying her decision. Indeed, she assumed the decision would be unanimous.
Her attention was divided when the door opened again, and her posture; formerly attentive but relaxed, stiffened. The scent alone that drifted through into the small room certainly suggested that he was a newcomer to their number; but she remained briefly rattled at the abruptness of his entrance.
"Perhaps you could introduce yourself," Doctor Powell suggested softly. "For those of us who haven't met you before." She turns in her seat a little, shifting it to the side to provide a little bit of room for him to stand. It was a polite gesture on the surface, but mostly she tended to avoid letting people hover behind her. Particularly those she didn't know.
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Blush Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Blush Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Jennifer jumped slightly as the door opened, clasping her hand over her neck that would lead to a Breach if a human was walking in. As Doctor Powell acknowledges the man as someone who should introduce himself - a Kindred - the neonate lowered her hands to her lap.
She gives a nod of acknowledgment to the newcomer, giving him a toothless grin of welcome. The neonate hoped the newcomer would interpret the expression as one of welcome, which was her intent.
Sidor was about to speak again when Castor walked into the room. He didn't particularly care about his lateness so much as he cared about the fact that the other Nosferatu had taken a very odd position behind his protégée. He gestured sharply towards his own chair, standing.
"Sit," he said flatly, before walking to drag another chair from the second room. He sat down again, closing his eyes for a moment. "This is Mr. Castor Drake, another newcomer to this Domain and a member of the Sanctified. Brother Drake, allow me to introduce Dr. Josephine Powell, Sanctified, Miss Brenn Lawrence, Unaligned but seeking Carthian Membership and Miss Jennifer Hazelton, Unaligned." He said nothing else for a moment, letting Castor follow who was who.
"As I was saying. It is necessary to elect a Priscus whom the Clan fully supports. Please, nominate anyone you believe deserves it."
Castor takes his place in Sidor's chair as instructed. Giving each Nosferatu nod and a smile, he does his best to appear friendly. So these are my clanmates.
"Thank you for the introduction, Deacon Grigoriev." Then to the others. "I'll commit your names to memory."
It seemed inappropriate to nominate a new priscus when the only member Castor knew was the Deacon. Instead, he would wait and give support should Siodr be nominated. These were the politics of residents, not newcomers.
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Blush Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Blush Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Jennifer leaned forward in her slightly as the Whip finished his proposition. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, formulating her thoughts.
"Whip Grigoriev; fellow Family;" Jennifer looked first to the Whip and then looked about at each of the Nosferatu. "I acknowledge that I am new to the Domain and would not protest a rebuke for being so bold. Yet in my short stay; I have found the Whip to possess qualities that would make a strong and dependable Priscus.
I would not presume to suggest that I know him well, but he is both our Elder and the possessor of an official clan title, bestowed upon him no doubt because our predecessors believed he would address the family's needs in the domain."
The neonate paused for a moment; as though reviewing a mental list. She then nodded her head to the Whip and fell silent, her eyes moving to the next elder, Dr. Powell.
She had been most impressed by the Doctor and was curious to her thoughts.
As Castor moved into a position where Doctor Powell could actually study the new Haunt, her posture relaxed back against the chair. Her attention remained on him for a few seconds as Sidor introduced him, although her expression only displayed curiousity. She said nothing else as the shadowed Nosferatu returned to the real matter at hand - the selection of their new Priscus.
She had missed out on the last selection process; had in fact, never had the opportunity to elect anyone for anything official before. Josephine was quite sure that the moment would stick out in her memory, as a milestone for herself, being able to do something that mattered for her Clan.
It wasn't so long ago that she wouldn't have cared at all.
Doctor Powell gave a small nod of encouragement as Jennifer spoke, and responded firstly with a simple: "Well said." She waited for a split second, in case the younger Kindred wished to speak further; but continued herself a moment later.
"I can't speak for anyone else; although Miss. Hazelton and I seem to be of a similar mindset in regards to our choice-," she gently inclined her head in Sidor's direction. "I have no doubt in my mind who can lead us; who has our best interests at heart. Deacon Grigoriev," she stated with a calm finality.
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"Well, the nomination has been given once, twice, and now I shall give it thrice, but the reason I shall give is that Mister Grigoriev has already served the clan in this Domain longer than any other, and thus it is a position that he deserves. If it is accepted of course," Brenn said simply, transferring her gaze from the Russian to the Newcomer. She offered him a brief, lip rending grin, and then glanced at the faces of her other clan mates.
Part of her wanted to laugh, remembering the ridiculous argument she'd had with Sidor over 'backdoor nominations', now that she knew that almost half of the clan was a part of the Lancea Sanctum; obviously the one clan member known to have once feuded with the Deacon would be the one to rig an election.
Sidor felt the stab that he knew was coming, on some level, because he was the longest standing Nosferatu and he had performed service. And yet, there was the simple essential truth. He did not want to be Priscus. He had not wanted to be Whip, nor had he wanted the title of Deacon thrust on him. Sometimes, he wondered if his Requiem had been designed to test him under the strain of the lingering, mad creature within him, no Beast but a Man with sin so rarified that he lived in the strange paradox of becoming a better person since he had lost his humanity.
The Lord worked in mysterious ways. Sidor did not pretend to understand them all. But his worst and biggest temptation was on him, and he was loathe to think of the test of character he would endure.
Power.
"Brother Drake?" the shadowed Haunt said, his voice quiet. The vote had ceased to matter. It had been done. "Would you also have me as your Priscus?" There was nothing in his voice that implied saying 'No' would be punished, either. It seemed genuine, behind the layers of control and restraint that moved his tone as delicately as a surgeon handled a knife.
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