Green River (Private)

[Dillon Connery]

Only a vampire with the kind of resources Kindred could push around in their long, unnatural existences would leave an eight-cylinder 1968 Chevrolet running any longer than he has too. Especially with gas prices the way they are. Dillon Connery's El Camino grumbles a throaty purr near a side entrance of the Avalon, awaiting His Majesty's Seneschal, Ariana Donovan.

They had agreed on Jiu-Jitsu lessons a while back, which stemmed from Dillon's half-nervous babbling at a Journey Concert they attended months ago. It's easy to let the smile sit on his face, thinking about how far they had come since then. All of them. The whole Domain... who had joined, and who had gone. The sheer rapidity of how things could change amazed him. He always thought it only seemed that way because he tended to view Domains more or less from the outside. The Gangrel errand boy, or attack dog that Chicago kept on the road for weeks at a time. Every time he returned to Elysium there, positions had changed. Old Kindred were ash. New were on the rise.

But no, it's just as exciting from within.

Standing there, outside the vehicle and leaned against the rear fender on the passenger's side, the Deputy quietly sings along to the music emanating from the speakers through the open window. It's just loud enough to be heard and enjoyed from the close vicinity to the vehicle. Wearing a simple combination of black--T-shirt, simple polyester running pants, and leather tabi-- he obviously isn't prepared for clubbing. He's probably drawing a few stares, too. But Dillon is in good spirits. Even more so because he knows Martha is safe, and busy enough that he doesn't have to worry about her. They really should try to do something together soon, the three of them. They are all friends, but friends who didn't share Clans or Covenants. It made things like this hard to schedule.

But Dillon had promised this particular evening to Ariana long ago; it's high time he deliver.

[Dillon Connery]

The Beast stirs as Ariana gets close, but just faintly. It sensed the challenge, perhaps, but it also sensed the familiarity. More than that, it sensed Dillon's mood. The very farthest thing from the Gangrel Priscus' mind right now is being harmful toward her. Cerberus knows it has no chance against Dillon's resolve in this instance, and barely even grumbles.

Dillon's other beast-- the car-- is growling impressively, though.

Smile brightening to reflect the one given, Dillon stands up straight and offers a nod. It is almost a bow, but not quite. Along with the slow blink, it's about as much as he can get away with in public. He still answers with a little cheek, though. "Getting better by the second, ma'am. I hope you are well."

He politely tries not to stare as he notes the Lordess' attire, momentarily thankful that the skirt had legs to it. However short. Dillon half expected her to wear an actual skirt just to tease him. He knows she has a mischievous streak, he's just not sure how deep it runs. Turning to the vehicle, the Gangrel swings open the passenger door and holds it. "I've always loved Credence."

One shoulder shrugs. "It's Southern without being 'Country'... there's a funky charm or... swagger to it, or something, I dunno." There's a bit of a scoff and a chuckle at the end of the sentence, as though Dillon isn't sure his adjectives hit the mark. "Which is funny... you know John Fogerty is actually from Berkley?" He points with a thumb in a southwesterly direction; like the nearby city can be seen from here.

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon grins slightly as Ariana turns his descriptors back on him. Livened with the Blush as he had been while standing there, he actually blushes. Latching on to the Californian Fogerty to cover his slight shyness at the compliments, Dillon leans down to roll the window up. Being undead, they didn't particularly need the air for comfort, and it would be much easier to talk without it. He'd just had it down in order to better hear the music while he stood there. "Sure is. I believe he was inspired or captivated by the Louisiana and Mississippi area, writing songs like this one. Born on the Bayou also springs to mind... and of course, Proud Mary is about a Riverboat. But it's pretty neat that he could capture the feel, and paint such vivid pictures with the music given that he never really spent time there."

Pausing to shut the door after making a last check to assure Ariana is clear, Dillon moseys around the front of the machine and continues the conversation when he slips in the other side. He turns the speakers down, low enough that the music could be heard in the background, but not interfere with their talking. "Of course, neither did I, while I was alive. I grew up farther East. But my little mother was a classy French Creole gal." There's a noticeable warmth to his voice as he imparts that.

"As for where we're going," Dillon buckles his seat belt. "It's not really a big surprise. I've found a few nice spots way out by the Valencia river-boundary during patrols that are secluded, but still well within the Domain's borders. We shouldn't be bothered, but if by random chance we are, we'll have our respective authorities standing behind us." By that of course he means that an errant Kindred would be in a very, very bad situation if they tried to accost the Seneschal and Deputy. This Gangrel has no qualms with the concept of defending Ariana using extreme brutality, and he's pretty darn certain that his boss would agree with him.

[Dillon Connery]

"It would probably be easier for me to list the states I haven't been too." Dillon's tone is one of dry, playful sarcasm rather than boasting. "But yes, rich in culture is the perfect descriptor." He seems as though he's on the step of launching into a tale, but doesn't. His thoughts aren't fully organized enough on the subject to keep himself from babbling. Maybe if they pursued it again later, after he has some time to think about it.

On the subject of pants, though, the Gangrel catches himself just before saying That depends on whether or not you mind getting your knees dirty, thankfully realizing at the last second just how naughty it might sound. He settles safely on a diplomatic shrug. "I'll leave that up to you. I just tend to wear pants all of the time by default. I'm not much of a shorts kind of person, myself." Call it a time period thing. For most of Dillon's existence, short pants were for young boys. He hadn't started wearing them regularly until it became the accepted form of underwear...

At the mention of the Ventrue Dillon had ashed, the only real physical reaction is a curious raise of an eyebrow. It's not that the situation doesn't still bother him-- it does. But there had been little he could do since then beyond moving forward. The mystery of whether or not he made the decision to disobey directives in order to preserve the First, or whether he was so completely and instantly brainwashed by a Lord that he only thought he did is truly frustrating, but he hadn't really had much time to dwell on it. All he knows to do about it is to persevere.

And he is not in the habit of avoiding topics in conversation that need to be discussed. Dillon has always made an effort to be as open as he can, because insecure avoidance and paranoia are more often than not a complete waste of time. He made that mistake with Sidor, but then, he had been a new Kindred in a new Domain. They worked through it.

"Yes ma'am." He takes care not to allow the words to come out as sharply dutiful as they might have. The Deputy is showing respect for the Seneschal, but she is still a trusted friend. Glancing away from his driving to briefly make eye contact and show that trust, Dillon offers a very humble smile of understanding. "What is it that we need to discuss?"

[Dillon Connery]

There is a slightly pensive frown on Dillon's face for a moment, and when he begins, the statement almost doesn't sound like he's answering so much as talking to himself. "It still makes sense, in my mind. Two floors of a nearby building just exploded. Cops are on the scene. Kine civilians soon will be. Perhaps walking around the corner from every direction, any second. The Kindred before me is determined to make trouble, desiring an end to his Requiem and perhaps willing to Breach the Masquerade to do it.

"The First Tradition must be preserved. It is the First, and at the top of both the Reeve and His Majesty's list of priorities for a reason." He shakes his head. "I did the only thing I could... didn't I?"

The question is rhetorical. He already had the seed of doubt planted by others. "Yet Coben did say 'Ash me now', as an order. So who knows? I'm not exactly sure how to go about learning the truth."

As a response to her almost using his first name, Dillon completes the sentiment. Again, he glances away from the road briefly, to meet her gaze. "I trust you, Ariana. If I were wary of all Lords because of the way one may have slighted me, then we would have never become friends in the first place. But you've earned better than that. And you deserve better than that.

"I'll tell you the story, sometime. But it isn't a pleasant one."