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City Status
Invictus status
Presence (Lady)
Obfuscate 2 Mask of Tranquility
Resources
Blush, Blush, 
Blush, Imbibe, Blush, Blush, Blush, Imbibe, The taxi delivers the three Nosferatu: Mr. Castor Drake, the unacknowledged Gene and Jennifer Hazelton before the Ridge Motel.
"Our leader,Grigoriev; that's Gree-gor-ee-yev." She sounds out the Russian name slowly for Gene. "- holds our family meetings here." Jennifer says to Gene as she leads the way inside. "He usually can be found here if you need guidance. He makes himself available to the Family."
The young Nosferatu leads the way to Priscus Grigoriev's office; knocking upon the door.
Sidor's voice sounded from inside the room, clipped and sharpened by the accent.
"Enter," he instructed them, feeling no sensation of a Beast at all. But he did recognise the way Jennifer knocked. It had a note of urgency and hesitance all at the same time, as though she desired to speak with him but was afraid that he might refuse.
The battered motel room he used as an office was much the same as ever- worn, overused furniture, smudges of dirt on the walls. As always, his desk had a spread of documents covered in cyrillic writing, illegible to anyone non-fluent in his native language. He stood, his hands clasped behind his back, as he awaited this new arrival.
Nervously, Gene followed Jennifer into the room. He didn't quite know what to expect, but had not thought that he would be walking into an average office. But, he figured, that was probably how the old vampires got to be so old-they hid in plain site, making their homes and bases average, boring, and therefore barely noticeable. One wondered what these old vampires thought when they finally died-when they, inevitably, found themselves staring down a sunrise or the eyes of an angry lupine. Did they regret not accentuating their anachronisms, not enjoying all the time they spent hiding? Did they think of the day they killed that delightful redhead by drinking too deep? What was the dying thought of a vampire?
If he didn't play this right, Gene was well aware that he would find out soon. Wordlessly, he tipped his hat to Grigoriev.
Bringing up the rear, Castor closes the door behind the group. "Good evening Priscus Grigoriev." His voice is friendly but businesslike. After offering his greeting, Castor takes a position in front of the door as if to stand guard. He removes his hat and holds it between his hands near his waste. Castor's eyes survey the room and eventually settle on Gene. Make a better impression than me kid.
Sidor studied the silent newcomer, his shadowed face rendering him as expressionless as always. He had expected an introduction, but apparently the new Haunt had been stricken mute the moment he walked in. How odd. He gave a little, unexpressive shrug, and gently prompted Gene.
"I am Priscus Sidor Rurikovitch Grigoriev, Deputy of this Domain and Bishop of the Lancea et Sanctum," he said formally. "Your name, please."
Another nervous one. Perhaps I'd be more welcoming if I wore some sort of colourful tie.
My name is Eugene Victor Betts, and I am Unaligned, Priscus Grigoriev said Gene, doing his best to keep his voice level. I have come here to announce my presence to my brothers and sisters of the Nosferatu clan, and to ask for your sponsorship before the Prince of Sacramento
Eugene gave the Priscus a smile.
I am aware of the three major traditions; Do not break the Masquerade, do not Sire lightly and without permission, do not commit Diablerie. And I have managed to establish myself at a job in this city, so I am sure that my moving here need not be a major drain on anyone's time or resources. I will, however, need someone to tell me of the laws unique to this city, lest I inadvertently break them, which I am sure is a situation no-one wants to happen
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City Status
Invictus status
Presence (Lady)
Obfuscate 2 Mask of Tranquility
Resources
Blush, Blush, Blush, Imbibe, Blush, Blush, Blush, Imbibe, "Priscus." Jennifer bobs her head once she had led the way into the office.
She falls silent; expecting the newcomer to introduce herself. That the prompt from the Priscus was necessary was slightly surprising; but it didn't change her opinion of the newcomer.
She understood the pressing desire to melt into the shadows in the presence of elders. Her ambition to be seen as a helpful member of the
domain battled with her nervousness on a nightly occasion. The young Nosferatu couldn't tell if the impression she made was favorable; yet she realized with some surprise that she was starting to become more comfortable in the Ridge Motel. Perhaps because it was her third visit; she wagered.
"One thing I forgot; Mr. Betts;" Jennifer says quietly.
"Is that the Herald Villiers - a polite; smiling woman dressing long skirts; speaks as the Prince's voice."
It wouldn't do for the same mistake to be made twice.
Castor remains in his position by the door watching but not speaking. He forms a tiny smile when the Bishop prompts Gene to speak but otherwise does nothing. Silent as stone and then singing like a bird. At least you know when is appropriate to speak. You're already better off than me.
OOC: Unless someone directly addresses Castor, just assume that he is standing guard at the door. Feel free to continue the conversation without him.
Sidor listened for a moment as the new Haunt began to describe himself. His shrouded gaze examined the man, his lips pressed together in a line.
"The city laws are posted in the Elysia- you will attend the Court and be introduced to the Herald should I approve of you," the Russian Nosferatu said simply, his face inscrutable as he considered his position. "Tell me more about this job of yours. It is not permitted for untenacied Kindred to own businesses, you see." And if you are not... how could you possibly expect to hold down a job? Social security, illegal working... I will not have a Masquerade breacher under my family.
I don't own the business myself explained Gene. I work a night shift as a security guard at a mortuary. No client complained about my performance up to this point. So for now, I have money.
Gene pensively lifted his cane up and tapped the head lightly against his chin. He wasn't sure if saying what he wanted to say would sound too much like asking a favor...well, if anyone called him on it, he could just claim he was stating a fact.
Can't be permanent, of course he continued I'd probably have to arrange a more permanent 'disappearing' than moving to the West Coast like I have so far. Perhaps arrange a legal death so I can drop off the grid. But I think I can fake a few more years of life before that has to end
Gene regretted using the turn of phrase he had almost the instant that it left his mouth. Well, what was done was done.
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