Another limousine glided into the derelict lot. Aside from it's paint scheme, and the 'if you need to ask you can't afford it' mystique, there was very little in common between the two. The new arrival practically sneered at it's nouveau riche companion as it purred over the rain slick concrete. A more obsessive mind would have made all sorts of observations about how the two reflected their personal and political foibles, but Harold was Ventrue, and left the anal-retentive shtick to the Shadows, such as his companion in the plush leather sarcophogus of the rear of the car.
He wiped the traces of the small snack that the car's minifridge held for him in case he became peckish. In this case it was a rather palatable sashimi charitably donated from a nameless corpse that seemed to have gone missing from the Mercy General morgue. He paid no heed to his companions reaction to his eating habits, the squemish had no place amongst them tonight. He did offer a piece to his travelling companion though, it would be terribly rude not to offer, though sadly it seems that the Kindred of this city lack a sense of culinary adventure.
-1 willpower for use of Pound of Flesh (gustus discipline), + 2 vitae for 8 mouthfulls
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