Gnarled fingers drummed on the wooden desktop as Arnold Culler regarded the two letters laid before him. Anger battled cold calculation for supremacy in his mind. The claims that O-Yama had made to the Prince were, for the most part, ridiculous. Simply the disquiet rumblings of an ignorant observing citizen.

If O-Yama was truly such a sheep that he could not see the situation for all his overgrown wool, then Arnold would have to clip the offending obstruction from the man's eye.

Still, Arnold could not help but be somewhat concerned. Months ago, he would have had no fear of standing before the Court and declaring his proficiency as Reeve - but things had not been going as well as they once had. If this had happened just a little later, when truer progress was made toward the Brood's ousting from Sacramento, then Arnold would have no reason at all to fear the scrutinizing eyes of the other Kindred.

Who in this city would take my place, I wonder? O-Yama Hatori? The bound samurai who was defeated by cats?

Arnold chuckles, neatly folding both of the letters. Despite any concerns he would be prepared when the night of the 9th came. If one thing could be certain, it was that things between O-Yama and Arnold - and truly perhaps all of Clan Nosferatu in Sacramento - would never be the same.