Heathcliff stands in front of the mirror, an experience the neonate Haunt always found unsettling without the proper focus to see his reflection properly, straightening his tie. He has a meeting with his Majesty tonight, and a proper appearance was nearly as important as the information he had collected for Asa in his briefcase. Though they both held offices in Avalon, Heathcliff's job was to keep the day-to-day things from interrupting the Prince, including himself. He puts on his jacket, grabs the briefcase and keys on his way out of the apartment, and drives directly to the club.

Passing through Court quickly, nodding to any important officials who might be present, he makes a beeline for Asa's office. He checks his suit once more to confirm all is in place, checks his watch to confirm it is precisely the correct time, and knocks on the door.

Asa was beginning to become annoyed with the fact that vampires don't appear on film. If they did, he could have a camera mounted outside his office door. He supposed the clothing might be enough of a hint, but still...

Checking his watch, he realized who it was; where had the evening gone?

Standing, he went to the door and opened it.

"Seneschal," Asa greeted the Haunt with a smile. "Come in, make yourself comfortable."

"Good evening, Sire, thank you," Heathcliff smiles, taking a seat in front of the Prince's desk and clutching his briefcase in his lap. "As you are aware, Sire, I was able to escape from the Amber Hills ambush with Doctor Lazarus' research. With his capture by the Brood, I felt it of great import to find out what had been occupying the Doctor previously." The Haunt's face grows dire. "My conclusions, sire, are distressing in the utmost, and I thought it prudent to only tell you at this juncture, and not the Reeve. I do not know whom you will trust with this information, sire, and I wouldn't dare presume. Not with stakes such as these."

Heathcliff clears his throat and removes a folder from the briefcase, setting in front of Asa. "I am afraid that I don't have the scientific background required to understand exactly what Lazarus has been experimenting with, I did found several hypothesis among his notes, summarized there...on re-creating the Lost Nights virus, as well as alternate uses and means of achieving an outbreak. He was quite fascinated by its ability to infect Kindred without being ingested through Vitae."

The Seneschal removes a second folder and slides it across the desk. "You may also be aware that I liberated," he smirks, "some of Horizon's research during the attack. The encryption has been extremely complex, but what I have decyphered so far indicates that Doctor Grimm was an alchemist and believed our state to be a result of an unsuccessful attempt to recreate the Elixir of Life. His cure, then, the Virus, is an attempt at the opposite. The Elixir of Permanently Dead, if you will. I am afraid that I haven't discovered the recipe yet, sire, so I do not know how close Lazarus is to finding it. I found no alchemical records within his research, but the Brood may have greater resources in that area."

Heathcliff watches the Prince's face pensively, uncertain how he'll take the news.

Dear god the man is a bureaucrat through and through.

Asa skimmed the paperwork, although it was a simple summary and meaningless without all of the original material and several hours of his own research.

"What alternatives did Lazarus propose?" he asked, curious.

If there were some missing element, possibly rare, it would explain why Horizon had been so slow to mount a second attack.

"Notable among his proposals are the idea that a vaccine could be created, that the lethality of the illness could be reduced while the length of its effects increased indefinitely, and a drug made that could reduce the symptoms of this less-effective virus. He also suggest that there exists a bloodline that could spread this disease like wildfire, Sire." Heathcliff tries to clear his throat as he produces yet another folder. "I had Michael Hall look over some of his other notes, the autopsies of the Brood's serpent ghouls. He found that there is a rare drug present in their systems, the Brugnalia plant, or South American Devil's Weed. It is not native to the northern hemisphere."

"The Morbus," Asa clarified, referring to the disease carrying offshoot of the Mekhet.

What was more troubling was the the recent news reports that suggested one might be present in the city.

Coincidence? Or design?

"We must divide our efforts, as one might be in the city -- and to find out where the source of this plant is, since it seems the Brood has taken the Lost Nights virus legacy for their own. Suggestions?"

Heathcliff nods at the name of Morbus, which the Lord had already imparted to him. "I have also seen the news, Sire, and already dispatched Michael Hall and Amos Rodriguez to confirm this suspicion for us, though, of course, I didn't inform them of 'why.' I have every confidence that they will follow the letter of your Law during the course of their investigation. My hope is that they can narrow down the territory the Morbus is operating in so we can conduct an effective search." The second question is more difficult to answer. "I have, of course, already searched the online inventories of plant stores within Sacramento, and found none carry the Brugnalia. Though, I believe foreign flora must be documented upon entering the country. The TSA would have such information. Assuming, of course, it was registered legally and not smuggled in. If the latter, Sire, I believe our best course would be to infiltrate and question local occult groups, as they would be the primary customers and suppliers of such."

"Excellent, it sounds as if you have matters well in hand," Asa replies, slightly surprised. While the Seneschal had obviously grown to enjoy the privilege of his position, it also seemed he was growing into the responsibility, as well.

"Let me know if you run into any difficulties, and keep me informed, yes?"

Heathcliff smiles, pleased that the Prince seemed pleased with his work thus far. "Of course, Sire. I shall get back to these tasks, if there's nothing else you require of me." A thought strikes him, and he says a little less formally, and with much less composure than usual, "Also, my Pal- ahem, Madison Wells...I purchased a small, unmarked tombstone to mark her passing unto Final Death. I know she was of your Clan, Sire, and if you'd like to pay your respects to her there, I am happy to divulge the location to you, and will not be offended in the least if you decline. I just...didn't know what else to do to honor her memory." The last is admitted rather sheepishly.

Asa was silent a moment, remembering the Paladin.

Such a shame.

"Yes, please," was all that he said.

Heathcliff smiles weakly at Prince Clarke, glad he was not alone or judged silly for what he'd done. "Of course." He takes out a pad and writes the name of the cemetery and the plot location and hands it across the desk, then waits patiently for the Prince to, presumably, dismiss him.

Asa glances at the paper, committing it to memory; when the Seneschal leaves, it will be destroyed.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Staley," he says, excusing the man.

"And thank you."

"Thank you, Sire, I am pleased to be of service," Heathcliff says, bowing to the Prince, then collecting his briefcase and departing without further delay.