(Reeve) Open Door Policy II

[Dillon Connery]

The Reeve's office is filled with the soft sounds of The Rolling Stones, this evening. Dillon doesn't play the music loudly, because the door is open. A silent invitation to whomever is in the area that decides they would like a word with him.

He isn't sitting behind the large, dark-stained oak desk at the moment, but in one of a pair of squashy dark leather couches that face each other. Dillon's tastes aren't particularly refined, but they are old-fashioned sometimes. Feet clad in dress boots are propped on a black coffee table, while he leafs through a collection of periodicals. Several of such are stacked on the table by his feet, and they all appear to be from the current month. Subjects range from science and technology to the possibly more expected Popular Mechanics and Martial Arts titles. Some various firearm and law enforcement catalogs are mixed in as well.

Dillon seems to be skimming through and marking the lot of them for possible purchases or further interest; a much-used notebook sits on the cushion beside him, and all of the magazines have Post-Its sticking out everywhere. Though he is completely focused on what he is doing, he can be heard quietly humming along with the music. Even subconsciously making the words with his lips.

Though he wears no jacket, a vest takes its place. His tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt left undone. Sleeves are rolled casually to the thick part of his forearm. To an eye who appreciates such things, he might look very suave and civilized indeed.

But the Gangrel's Beast eliminates any doubt to the nature of the predator. It is bored, and anxious. Pacing around Dillon's psyche, ever growling with all three voices, dripping strings of hot saliva that hiss on the red coals at its feet. It isn't terribly hard for Dillon to picture the thing striding in slow, deliberate circles around the perimeter of the couches.

In fact, picturing it in this way helps him separate the hellhound from his thoughts to some degree.

And most importantly, ignore it.

His hand is on the leash, but that is it.

[Catherine Keyes]

Catherine still had the fear of retribution in her mind, and she figured the least she could do was thank...or perhaps apologize to the Kindred who had helped her in all of it.

She stepped carefully into the Avalon underground, the light touch of blush still on her skin, adn her clothes significantly more subdued than her usual dancer’s costume. The Black dress was her own way of penance for what she had done that night in the park.

If she had breath it would have caught at the feel of the Reeve’s beast, he was familiar to her as a person, but the Serpent within her still wanted to cower under a rock, despite it’s hidden appearance. She knocked on the door, a habit of her past.

“Reeve Connery, I am sorry if I am bothering you.” She began, making sure to remain in the hallway until she was allowed entrance.

Respect and fear, they went hand in hand in this situation.

“I was hoping I could speak with you, perhaps apologize.”

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon looks up toward the sound of the knock. At the identity of the knocker, he is given some small pause. Further still at the timidity and choice of her words.

Skipping the part where he stammers a question about her being more clear, Dillon closes the magazine in his hand and tosses it to the top of the nearest stack. As he stands, the friendly, lopsided smirk slides across his features.

"Miss Keyes! You're looking in much better spirits this evening than last we met."

Some might think it insensitive to joke about a Kindred's frenzy, but Dillon isn't trying to be hurtful. To be fair, he isn't trying to break the ice with comedy, either. It's more the product of his flippant, dark, and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor. Stuff just spills out. Less so when he became a deputy, more so now that he is the Reeve.

"But forgive me if think I might have preferred the tattered clothing." Case in point.

He winks for good cheer, and waves her in. The hand that does so hovers to gently usher her toward the sofas. "By all means, make yourself comfortable.

"When I hadn't heard anything from you or Mister MacMahon after that evening in the park, I feared the worst."

Feared the worst, maybe. But what he had his money on was that they got neck deep into even more trouble, and decided to skip town before he found out about it. Dillon supposes that might still be partially true.

[Catherine Keyes]

She took a few steps into the room, still painfully aware of the Reeve’s power. “Ah, yes, about that I wanted to return your handcuffs. I would not mind their use if it was in a consensual setting.” she said as she produced them and placed them gently on the desk.

“Also this was balanced on the door of my Haven, I’m not sure if it was yours or someone else’s but I really do think it is a horrible idea of a joke.” she placed the handcuff key next to the cuffs.

“But I would like to still apologize for what came over me, that is not a type of fear that I experience often.”

In a few steps backward she found the couch, the same place she has sat last time she was in this office.

[Mike]

Rage rolled off the Priest in waves as he made his way through Elysium. He felt as though the Reeve had been ducking him. The Deacon, the lay tender to the souls of the damned in Sacramento had not met with him, acknowledged him, never invited him for a meeting. Never mind that he was a new kindred in the domain, and the Deacon was the Reeve. He was a Priest! The Deacon owed him much information. The Deacon owed him an audience. And Father Thomas was about to Take what he was owed.

The door to the Reeve's office was wide open, he took it as an invitation and walked right in. He noticed the feminine figure on the couch, but she was not his concern, this powerful creature in front of him was. His own demon wished him to leave. The Father refused to give in to the temptation as he stopped a few steps away from the Reeve's desk.

"Deacon" Standing there he present his left wrist towards the man, it has been cut open. It's not bleeding, but the priest hasn't healed it either. He squeezes his left hand, and blood rises to the surface of the long cut. Unspoken threat hangs in the air. "It is time we spoke."

[Mike]

   4 suxx to feed

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2013-05-15 09:09:43		Fr. John Thomas rolls 8 to Feeding (pre + Per) (10 Again)		8, 9, 5, 9, 4, 2, 10, 5, 5		4 successes

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon allows Catherine to place the items on his desk, and leaves them there. Just in case he wants to fact-check with Martha later. He grins brightly at her quip, but doesn't continue the flirtatious track. As much fun as it is, he needs to know more about what went down.

"Well, you're now the first and only person to wear them. There is that much." He quirks an eyebrow at the key. The question remains unspoken for a second, while he considers. A finger and thumb rub at his chin.

"Perhaps that was the best Mister McMahon could do." A pause. "Unless there is someone else that knows the location of your Haven?"

But no one else would have known the predicament she'd found herself in.

He starts to make the short trip to retake his seat on the couch. "Why don't you just tell me about..." he begins, but the Reeve's voice trails off as the Priest comes into view. Dillon stops between the desk and coffee table, tugging for his Beast to be silent. The danger radiating from the man begged for the hellhound to be set free; to rend the threat to pieces. Three canine maws rumble in hungry excitement.

As usual, Dillon heels the thing. Hazel eyes flick down to the slit wrist, and what he knows it means. Then over to Catherine.

"...what happened."

He didn't even intend to belatedly finish the sentence. But there it is. Flat, dry, and produced entirely as an afterthought.

After a blink, Dillon settles casually against the desk, resting the heels of his palms against the edge. The muscles in his forearm tense for a second, gripping in an apparent effort to remain calm. "Yes, John Thomas, I believe it is."

Seemingly unaware of the true depth of the situation, Dillon lifts one hand from its rest to gesture between the two Kindred. His voice is perfectly nonchalant, and the friendly smirk stubbornly remains. "Miss Keyes, Father John Thomas. Mister Thomas, Miss Catherine Keyes."

[Catherine Keyes]

Catherine’s eyes widened at the appearance of the Kindred who had started the entire thing. It was the feeling of dread and power that sunk directly into her soul. For more than once she was glad that she wasn’t alive, though the need to run was growing.

And if he recogni...

When the Reeve introduced them her eyes didn’t leave the priest. She acknowledged his presence, but there was and unspoken fear and anger mixed in her too still form.

The screams of accusation remained unvoiced in her head.

[Mike]

Father Thomas slowly turns his eyes towards the woman. There is a faint look of recognization, he remembers seeing her somewhere... he can't quiet place her face. He nods to her politely.

"Miss Keyes, I apologize for interrupting your business with the Reeve." He motions to the open door. "I assumed there was nothing important going on."

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon watches the interaction between the two. That startled pause by Catherine, her body language... it could possibly all be attributed to the menacing presence that the other Sanctified radiated. Certainly he gets many similar reactions among both Kindred and kine all the time. Even Dillon himself can sense the feeling of being on the edge of rash action. And it doesn't help that he can see the face of the possessed prostitute he'd ripped apart his first few weeks into the Domain.

All for a trickle of blood running out of her nose.

But it's the way John looked at Cat, with recognition in his eyes, that makes Dillon take a second look at the Mekhet.

Did I miss something, here?

His mouth ticks up on one side directly after the Priest's words 'I assumed', stretching his smirk into a broader smile for a moment. Though not quite a grin. As if there is something he finds particularly funny about the phrase.

"It's fine," he says with a mild wave of his hand. "That's precisely why my door is open. And I did ask you to stop by the other night, in Court."

Sliding off from his perch against the edge of the desk, the Reeve meanders around the Catherine couch toward the door. Shutting it calmly, he looks between the other two Kindred. "But first things first. The two of you seem to be acquainted already. I trust this isn't going to be a problem? I do have need to speak with the two of you this evening."

Dillon's voice remains pleasant. Cheerful, even. As usual, he speaks as a gentleman enjoying the social whim of the crowd he finds himself in. Which throws stark contrast to the words he offers to John Thomas.

"And for God's sake, heal your wrist before the both of you discover how fast I can beat someone into Torpor for threatening a Court Officer, with a weapon, in the middle of Elysium."