This is for adding a Search Category to the thread.
Conner backed the car out of the garage and headed toward Coben's place. "Call Mister Connery, advise him to meet us at this address in 25 minutes. If he has not there at the appointed time, we will leave him. I am in no mood to wait around." Conner says handing the address of the meeting point to Mister Grigoriev.
"Once we have picked up Mister Connery we will discuss the plan of action." Conner explains.
Last edited by West; Dec 27th, 2016 at 03:36 PM.
"Of course," Sidor said, pressing Dillon's number on the speed-dial. That was the advantage of having a Clan and Covenant that crossed over as much as his did- everyone fit on the speed dial.
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2 successes on num nums, if allowed
Having already been on the town, in his car, had at least given Dillon the opportunity to feed a little extra beforehand. Having set the record for fastest confusion of a prostitute, ever, the Sanctified Gangrel had hardly even given her a sermon. He did get her number, though. More fulfillment of his Damned Purpose could come for her later. For now, it was time to see what God's Will had in store for him and his fellow Kindred.
He is at the appointed rendezvous within the allotted time, the battered, flat black primer-coated El Camino grumbling with age and the damp air. Even as well maintained as the car actually was, the old beaters got finicky in these times of year. With eyes nonchalantly on the shadows, Dillon looks around for the two winning personalities.
OOC
Conner pulled to a stop and waited for Dillon to get into the car. He flashed his lights once to the El Camino accross the way and waited for Mister Connery.
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After killing the engine and locking up, Dillon strides purposefully across the way to Conner's car, checking his surroundings briefly, subconsciously, for any unwelcome or suspicious presence. It would be too subtle to be worth mentioning, but surely the two Deputies would see it for what it was. The shoulder harness under his coat carried his usual effects, which he'd retrieved upon hearing that his business this evening aligned with that of Conner and Sidor.
A gun or knife preserved the masquerade a lot better than his claws did. Best to prepare for the worst.
"Evening, sirs," says the Gangrel Priscus as he slides into the backseat of Conner's ride. "I assume this isn't a date to go clubbing?"
"Good evening Priscus Connery." Conner says hating the mans last name... "No this is not a social call."
Conner waited for before saying anything else. Once the road stretched out before him Conner said, "Neil Coben is our target for the evening. He is a Lord, or at least exibits the powers of such a lord. He will attempt to talk his way out of the situation. We will not allow it. Our goal is to capture or torper him and search his apartment. There is a torpered vampire in his haven and a mind crushed ghoul. I want them both..."
Sidor and maybe Dillon would know that Conner is headed toward Florin...
"No, Brother Connery, if I was inviting you clubbing, I would have dressed for the occasion," Sidor replied dryly, pulling the brim of his fedora down, to mask the shadows on his face. "Unfortunately, my gimp suit is still at the dry-cleaners." He was either in a good mood, or he was just taking advantage of the complete inscrutablity of his expression.
"We will take care of it," the Nosferatu added to Conner, and pulled the Makarov free of its armpit holster. He checked the clip and the chamber. It always paid to check, even if the odds of the barrel freezing here were considerably closer to zero.
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The address leads to a luxury apartment complex in the downtown area. It's white, broad and three storeys tall, flanked by a hotel and several restaurants. There's little sign of life here. Just the slow trickle of restaurant patrons behind the glass and a valet smoking in a pristine alley.
Conner knows from his previous visit that their destination is on the second floor.
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The irony of how Conner addressed him was not lost on Dillon. Not that he picked up on anything in the Mekhet's voice or expression, or anything like that, he just immediately imagined what it would be like to have to call someone else Dillony.
It is even harder to maintain a neutral expression when his Bishop busts out an honest-to-God flippant retort. Dillon could've patted Sidor on the back. Except, that would be pretty awkward.
So the Gangrel Priscus sits there in silence for much of the trip, with firm pressure on his teeth, and the inside of his cheeks tucked between them.
At the upscale apartment, Dillon gives a nod. More to himself than anyone else. Yep. Probably a Ventrue living here.
"I take it subtlety is not the order of the day, either," he says, regarding their intended tactics. It was probably a rhetorical question; if delicate negotiation was going to be attempted first, they wouldn't have recruited a Gangrel. But Dillon is fishing more for confirmation rather than information.
"As much subtlety as is necessary to preserve the First," Sidor replied. "But not much more. We are not here to have a small tea party and conversation." His eyes moved over the extravagent surroundings. "Still. It is likely the politsiya would respond quickly to an alert in a neighbourhood like this. Let us try not to attract any notice."
Well spoken, from the walking masquerade breach.
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