Step into my office, Seneschal.

[Lawrence Taft]

Yet another night in the least desirable of places. If Taft were of a different persuasion, he might have some shame about it. Seedy motels and all the stigma associated with them. But, really, why? Places like this are so damn practical.

Inexpensive. Private. Easy to access.

He's used motels like this one for so many meetings already, the mere premise of a seedy motel is synonymous with Taft's personal 'office'. He smiles to himself as he waits for his guest to arrive. If there were any witnesses before - those who may have seen a bald man inviting others into a motel room - tonight's catch certainly tops the list. How sad for the kine who only graze the surface of that little detail's purpose. Vivian is a Daeva: her purpose for existing as she does is more closely tied to how much of a 'catch' she is than they could ever realize.

Taft understands. So, prepared for anything, he waits outside of the motel room. Twirling the keys idly as he waits.

[Lawrence Taft]

Bookkeeping - Blush of Life

[Lawrence Taft]

Taft's eyes hone in on the coming and going vehicles, dismissing his gaze as he catches a glimpse of the drivers. So, naturally, when the blue Nova arrives, he hones in. When the vehicle produces the vixen in satin, he allows himself a small smile. The woman of the hour, it seems, has arrived.

He straightens himself off the doorpost and quickly, fluidly unlocks the door. He doesn't know why it's important that he does it that way. Some vestigial remnants of a man who had once been a perfectionist, maybe. Taft can't entirely recall if the memories are his own.

Not one to show so much overt enthusiasm, Taft responds to her greeting with a polite tip of his head. The line of his mouth set into a thin, neutral expression.

"Vivian. You look..." his voice halts in his throat as the familiar but potent Beast engages his own. Which can easily be played out as searching for the right words. "Dressed to the 'nines'. I hope you'll forgive me for the quality our lodgings. But, please, after you." To drive the point home, he steps away from the door's open maw and gestures for her to enter. The room beyond him is dimly lit with yellow lighting. And its clear, by the arrangement of the table and chairs, that he's decided where their conversation would take place.

Dark, unswerving eyes drink the Succubus as he waits for her to enter. He cannot deny the power her Beast commands nor the power she holds over those taken with lusts. The attention she must put into putting herself together...

[Lawrence Taft]

Her laugh is answered with a wry smile. "Practicality over character, for me." he says, gesturing for the chair on their left. It just happens to be the chair furthest in the corner. When they sat, it would put her to his right. It seems appropriate.

He moves to secure the door after, taking the efforts to ensure the blinds were fully closed and the door bolted. He takes his time with the latter, turning to read the Daeva's expression.

"Without having truly had the pleasure of a conversation, I wouldn't know." Polite, but very matter-of-fact. Finally arraigning himself across from Vivian's chair, with his body at an angle, he gestures with an upturned hand.

"But now would be the time to do so. Tell me, Seneschal York, what makes you atypical?" Despite his previous statement, his curiosity is evident. Slight tilting of his head and an elevation of his brows would drive this point home, if she'd spent enough time around him to know it.

[Lawrence Taft]

"That does seem to defy expectations. It is not secret that those of your family usually draw strength from being the object of attention. Rather than simply observing it."

The lines of his mouth tighten slightly as he considers. "Perhaps that is it, then. I have noticed your eyes falling on the others. Mostly at Court. You study our associates much the same as I do. Though I imagine our ends differ." There is a hint of mirth twinkling in the corners of his eyes, as the crows feet tighten there. She certainly is amusing. For one of such a hollow, superficial clan.

"For myself? I have no doubt I don't fit the Shadows' mold precisely. Not for observation - those who survive on their wits tend to be observant. No..." He shakes his head, emphasizing the word. Dark eyes hold the Daeva's as he preps his statement. A few precious seconds pass before he does. "I differ as the blood of my creator differs. We do not simply observe with our senses and our understandings of things mystical; we gain our knowledge from what lies beneath the skin. The blood is more than the fuel that keeps us from Torpor. It is everything."

[Lawrence Taft]

The Daeva's own amusement isn't muted by decades of suppressing emotions. If her reactions are sincere, she seems like a generally friendly individual. Which isn't unusual - per se - but 'friendliness' among their kind is often flavored by the perceptions of the Beast.

He gives her a slight nod, seeing no harm in exchanging that information. "I'm sure you don't need to be told that our Elysium is a viper's nest. All are, really. We carry on with the Danse, learning what angles to press to gain allies and hinder our rivals. This, for me, is part of it. The rest is like piecing together a large puzzle. Finding where each individual fits into the grand picture. I believe everyone has a role to play, and, even if they struggle against it, fate binds them to this role." He indicates 'her turn' by tilting his head slightly and remaining silent, waiting for her to divulge her own ends.

"The Covenants? Considering each is as natural as... breathing." He lends his quip a tight-lipped smile. "But therein lies the problem. I constantly consider each Covenant's strengths and weaknesses." And yes; Taft sees some much stronger than others. "Each one's appeal is limited by what can be accomplished under their yoke. Even if a Covenant's values mirror my own, they may not have the vision to utilize my abilities. My role, you see, within a Domain should be to provide certain services that I am uniquely qualified to perform. And I have a confession that may seem equally blunt and avaricious, so I hope you'll pardon me for it." He steeples his fingers and leans slightly in her direction. "In the end, a Covenant's politics and beliefs don't matter to me; all that matters is that I work my craft. So whichever faction is most willing to cooperate along these lines becomes the one most appealing."