Was it her imagination? A treacherous facet of her mind, worming it's way into her perceptions of the present, or did the water feel putrid and foul, as though slime swirled unseen through the entire pool?
Oh. No. That wasn't it.
It was the foul man who had just begun to speak to her.
Taking her foot out of the water, Josephine turned to regard the creature of composed of sickly, wax flesh and the crystalized impressions of brutishness and aggression.
She longed to cleave that round, round head of his open and gleefully pull handfuls of gelatinous pulp to throw around the room.
And that thorn inside her, that little piece of Hell: strangely, it stayed silent.
"Yes," Josephine replied. "The sheriff of the sewers. I've heard of you. From a credible source...Hello Konrad," Josephine added as the Gangrel Priscus arrived.
"Tell me, Konrad, do you think Sheriff Cross here thinks he's a hard man? Do you imagine that, just before the light of the sun touches the earth and sends us all into the seas of shifting dreams that he takes comfort in just what a hard man he is, or do you imagine he cries little bloodstained tears as he remembers just what he's done to get here?"