December the Third, 2014, at Eleven.
It was the first official meeting of Clan Nosferatu of Priscus Baldwin's leadership of the Haunts. The sunken hallowness of the Invictus Knight's face was neutral as he waited at the head of the table in the large meeting room at Nox, his fingers intertwined as he awaited the arrival of the Clan. The table was clear save for a small notebook and his pen. The only movement in the room was a slight adjustment of a jade cufflink he wore on a jet-black suit. No scents of lemonade or gentle perfume wafted through the still air. Baldwin's soap was Ivory.
Scentless.
It kept his corpse clean. That was what soap was for. It wasn't like he was chasing tail.
They would be here soon, he trusted. He adored timeliness.