There was something in the act of smoking that was so... soothing. It was not that the Menace enjoyed it. No, the brief flashes of flame in the Lily were never pleasant for the monster that permeated Peter Baldwin's cold, dead Vitae. It was for the Man that he did it , allowing himself a reminder.

A reminder of home.

A reminder of life.

A reminder of times long gone by.

Scotch would have been brilliant, and indeed, he had one before him. Perhaps it would be consumed. Perhaps not. He still thought about it, the conservation of the Blood an omnipresent concern.

He took a long, satisfying look at the cigar burning in his hand, the smoke eminating from the tip just so and wreathing his fingers much like the Order wreathed the Invictus. The thought drew his eyes over a couple of inches; snugly resting on his finger on that hand was the veridian gold ring that screamed to the Kindred world what he was.

Sir Baldwin leaned back in the booth, silently observing the room. The cigar, still burning bright, and the full glass of scotch were a symbol to the world that he did not require any service at this time.

Yes, it was a peaceful evening. Perhaps he would be surprised, the Line would not ring, and he could stay here until this place closed and the peace was replaced with home and the daysleep.

-1V for Blush of Life.