Coffee and Cigarettes

Conner hates two things about California above all other things. You cannot smoke in a privately owned establishment, and the lack of snow. The Reeve loves winter. He loves the purity of the falling white, the way blood freezes while still in the air, the way it separates true hunters. To name a few things.

Now, he sits in a coffee shop, a pack of lucky strikes, unfiltered, sitting on the table next to a triple espresso. In his hand, a copy of Fahrenheit 451. He turns the page slowly as he reads in silence.

Sidor was patrolling the Domain, because duty could not wait, and there was no such thing as a night off. The light called him to the door, and he pulled his Fedora down to shield against the light and guard the darkness he held.

Where the kine gathered, so too did the predators. Like wolves to sheep. And so he was there too, a lion amongst wolves, to divert those who were not permitted to feed here, and ensure that the Domain ticked over smoothly.

He glanced around, feeling no Beasts and spotting only one familiar face. Rather than interrupt, he headed to the counter, and was met with strange opposition.

Dear sweet Lord, what is an 'iced frappe mocha'?

"An espresso, please," he said flatly, because he knew what that was.

Conner does not look up. He does not have too. He knows who enters by the strength of the man's beast. And by its familiarity. He flips to the next page in his book.

A hand finds its way to the cup on the table and then brings the cup to his lips. He had prepared before he came, using the stolen blood to ready his internals for the triple espresso he already had and strawberry cheesecake that he would order in a few minutes. Conner goes still for a moment a flashback to something from his past.

Blush of Life -1 Vit - Mask of Tranquility

Dr. Kingsley was out and about in the Domain. His hands were in the pockets of his black jeans as he moved past a coffee shop -- then stopped, turning as he felt the oppressive power of a Beast far stronger than his. He did not eminate one himself... but inside, his little creature was twitching, driving him to flee the known predator within.

You see, Sidor Grigoriev was scary. He had no visible face, and that caused Neil a bit of discomfort. And then, upon entering, he noticed the Reeve. His mind flicked to the last night out he had spent with Deputy Grigoriev, the Reeve, and a pretty Russian Kindred he had not since seen, in which the two lawmen had alternated between being ominous and speaking in Russian even more ominously. In the smoky, quiet bar, Neil almost thought it had felt like he was auditioning for the Mafia. One of these days, he'd have to add Russian to his to-do list.

Stepping into line behind Sidor, he quietly said, "A pleasure to see you again, sir," by way of greeting ot the Nosferatu. For the Man, it certainly was, even if the Beast was terrified.

For a moment, Neil couldn't help but muse. Their blood drove them to hate and fear each other... but Kindred, at their core, could be such social creatures. And Neil had enjoyed his evening at the bar with the Deputy and the Reeve, even if it had been an odd meeting.

Sidor glanced beneath the shadows at the approaching man. Oh, Kingsley. Another one of the various newcomers to the Domain. He gave him a very slight nod of acknowledgement as he paid for the espresso, and picked up the tiny cup in his scarred left hand. Blushed, the knotted line stood out vividly against his hand.

He kept his face angled so that the mark of his curse was invisible as he turned and glanced over the mostly empty coffee shop, the fedora obscuring the light.

"Good evening, Dr. Kingsley," he said flatly.

Conner flipped to the next page of his book, continuing his reading as he does. He felt Sidor and Saw Neil, giving them both only cursory glances. They knew he was there, and if they wanted to speak, they would approach. Conner was not protected by the same law as the Prince, no matter how much he wished he was from time to time...

Stepping up to the bar, Neil ordered a black coffee. As the Priscus of Haunts greeted him, he replied cordially, "How are you this evening, Mr. Grigoriev?" as he pulled a fiver out of his wallet to pay. His calm blue eyes peered at the shadow beneath the fedora, a look of polite interest on his face.

"Well enough. Would you like to take a seat?" Sidor said levelly, his espresso cupped in his scarred left hand. Since there were other Kindred here, it seemed unlikely that he would be doing his duties worse here than anywhere else, and that, of course, was what was essential.

Duty above all.

As he stepped away from the bar, he nodded slightly to Conner, the movement stark and contrasting with the eerie stillness of the composed Nosferatu.

"Good evening, Mr. Greyson."

"Good evening Gentleman." Conner says with a nod to the Haunt and the Shadow. Conner flips to the next page of the book, not interrupting the other kindred's conversation.

Neil smiled cordially and said, "That would be excellent, sir," to Sidor's suggestion. As was proper, he would sit where the Deputy wished to sit. Then, as the Haunt greeted Conner and his Priscus greeted them, Dr. Kingsley replied, "Good evening, Mr. Greyson. I hope you are well this evening?"

If I'm going to keep bumping into these two, I had better learn Russian...