"Why yhes iht dhos yhou bhring him tho me, and yhou whill have what yhou whish for ahnd more." The man says and gestures for Dillon to follow. "And nhow, tho sheel ouhr ahranghement, chome and hhave ahe dhrink whith mhe."
The man leads Dillon down the back steps and through the bowels of the firestation.
perception roll Mister Connery.
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Dillon nods solemnly, and moves to follow the man. As he does, there is another check of positions, or for things out of the ordinary. He watches his surroundings with curiosity, actually interested despite himself, at the setup, and how this group has organized so well, so quietly.
Things will get worse before they get better. Father, thy Will be done.
2 successes
As he walks down the steps he notices something rather interesting under some steps...
Interesting
The man leads them through to what looks to be a old locker room, in it is what can only be described as a harem.
"Dho yhou lhike whath yhou shee Mhister Chonnory?"
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Dillon doesn't spend any undue time gawking at the barrels, but does his best to commit them to memory, along with the new 'plumbing' and perhaps a rough estimate of the general layout of the place. He is hesitant to jump to any conclusions, but puzzle pieces were hugging at each other in a way that suggested something very clever, and flashy. He didn't want to focus on one possibility so much that he missed something important, however, so he puts it aside and concentrates on more observation.
Which isn't difficult.
The Gangrel cocks his head to the side a bit, showing a fairly honest look of 'whoa'. Recovering quickly, he smiles slyly to the other as he looks at him sidelong. "Most certainly. It appears I've been playing for the wrong team." Dillon turns to him fully, a second later, bearing a look of gentleman's courtesy. "By the way, as we're about to sup together," been a while since he used that one, "I should know how I am to adress you. I Don't wanna be rude, you know."
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Sorry, browser lag kept me from editing in time. Can Dillon sense the proximity and/or direction of the other Beast? Enough to get a rough estimate on where it might be?
the other beast is upstairs from where you are
"Yhou mhay chall me yhour Mhaster." The man says, "Mhaster is ehnough ohf ah thitle fohr nhow. Pleash phick your mheal." the man holds out a had for Dillon to choose the person he wants.
int+medicine or wits+streetwise please.
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"Yes of course, Master," Dillon acquiesces with a bow of his head. While he didn't get a name, it still told him some very important things. Chief among them, this guy is likely the boss, not just a speaker. Few subordinates would demand such a title, for fear of invoking the true leader's ire. His name is also probably well-known enough to keep hidden, and though Dillon thinks he may be able to speculate, he doesn't, concentrating on the business at hand.
The pecking order also noted. Dillon isn't entering into a partnership, here.
Scanning the sea of flesh, the Gangrel gauges the dolls, and the state they were in. He attempts careful scrutiny- he didn't want to miss something important. His Beast is getting hungry again, though. It's hard not to simply see juicy, half-naked meats.
As Dillon surveys the field he also sees something else... not only are the women beautiful, but they are also look like they are under the influence. Some look just straight high, some look like they are drunk, and others look like they are chasing a dragon or two.
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Dillon observes the various stages of stupor the dolls are in, showing a detached sort of amusement. "Don't you mean, 'pick my poison'?" The alarm bells weren't exactly ringing, as this sort of thing is not necessarily unheard of. Decadent, yes, but not unusual. However, he knows that he might have little choice but to weather whatever is thrown at him, however uneasy he is about it.
"It will be a little more difficult to destroy the Reeve for you if I'm high as a kite, you know." He says it jokingly, not as though he were about to back out or anything drastic like that, but just so the concern was noted.
Sidor pulled up his car some distance from the firehouse, and climbed out. It was pointless to draw this out further- and Connery, of course, was a member of his Congregation. This meant that he was directly Sidor's responsibility, which in turn, meant that Sidor was duty-bound to retrieve him in as few pieces as reasonably practicable.
Oh, Otets. You would laugh, wouldn't you, at 'Bishop Sidor Rurikovitch Grigoriev, Priscus of the Nosferatu and Deputy of the Domain of Sacramento'? the Russian Haunt thought dryly, beneath his inscrutable shadows. He cupped the phone in the palm of his hand as he did, scanning the blueprints with a practiced eye.
He had had worse to work from. Soviet blueprints had not been the most well-known for their precision, or their clarity. With an invisible flicker of relish lost to the darkness of his face, he gestured for the group to gather around, and began to indicate the access points.
"Those who can shroud will take point. Scout only. I do not want you approaching within range of attack. The lay of the land here is essential- both for preservation of the First and for the security of our assets. Communicate via text-message. In addition, we have an access point beneath the building," the Russian Nosferatu said simply, and indicated the pipe on the blue prints. "This is of prime importance. To go unnoticed, the Brides are likely using it as a supply and access route. Therefore we must also investigate it." He paused.
"Volunteers?"
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