Strings

“It’s difficult to judge when torpor will end but it is just normal torpor Gawain, I promise you.” Doyle looked up at the pacing kindred, he already felt nauseous from having to examine the Nosferatu lying on the bed, torpor had meant the normal ‘appearance’ had dropped away revealing the rotting corpse that Gawain’s childe truly was but of more concern was making sure that Gawain was mollified and not openly show his disgust at his task. “I would have thought she would have awoken by now, it has been over a week since she was found.” Gawain gently smoothed the matted hair away from her face, “She will have a fit when she finally arises, the swamp mud has ruined her hair…” He murmured half to himself and the room. Doyle coughed discreetly behind him, “You can leave, Mitnick will show you out.”

Gawain listened to Doyle’s footsteps fade away alongside the careful chatter of the young Nosferatu, ah his youngest childe was a delight, complete acceptance of his new life and future which in its way was sad that this was better than his life before. Unlike his Natasha, a sly grin crept onto his face and a dry chuckle before he whispered “Two havens wreaked in your rage my dear. Wake up soon but for now I will take my leave of you. If Lemp won’t act then I will.”

Entering the offices of the St Louis Post, a gentile blonde gentleman nodding at various editors and journalists before disappearing into a office. Pulling the requested work from his best diggers Gawain started looking though, the smirk at one sentence grew as he picked out others to go with until a spiders web of information sat in front of him. And now, he thought, its time to pull the strings for the dance to begin. Ventrue are wonderful dancers for this with their partners the Brujah, revenge is petty but one has to indulge every so often.

Picking up the phone he smiled as he greeted the kindred on the other end, "Atlas, that problem we were discussing?… "

Strings

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