08-30-2013, 04:45 PM
Samantha can see the holdovers of that older map in the dry erase marker's etchings on the smooth white surface of the table. She can probably identify the reason for the changes. New metrics. Her analytical mind is able to slice that map into more In it, in those metrics and updates, Samantha can see (or at least guess that she sees) the hand of the new Seneschal, Wenceslao.
The red to green ratios for boot and supply movement along lines becoming more reliable. Before and after. Safer. Markedly so since that Nosferatu antitribu's head found its way off the elder's body and into a state of slow decay upon that spike. A landmark all had to walk past to enter the new and more secure Elysium and approach the war room.
But her presence does not halt the conversation or the Prince's train of though. Even her greeting is ignored – at least for the moment – as he continues.
"Everywhere," he answers, sweeping over the map before he returns to that stretch of Colfax that is Gray's corner.
"The hold their bloody covens beneath Union Station," his finger stabbing at the place like he wishes doing so could dig out the very location he speaks of.
"But you are in an interesting location. A border. A no man's land normally reserved for Anarchs, Autarkis, thin-bloods and occasional stray Caitiff, and therefore more often a staging ground and field for harvest, a spawning ground for their dirty hordes of shovelheads and a place where they can slip from our ring of steel and blue," moving his finger from Colfax in a serpentine line just outside the borders of gentrification.
Projects in Sunnyside. Dirt cheap trailer parks and meth labs off Federal. Sun Valley. Montbello. Places saturated with publicly subsidized housing, projects, and squatters. And then there's the 16th Street Mall and the other corners that pepper the inner city the kine go for their fixes and drugs, some closer, others a further hike. Rescue missions here and there.
And of course there are the condominiums. A completely different part of the city. Projects of development and redevelopment and as the Prince's eyes graze over these finer places, the other side of the coin he is illustrating to Gray, those (aren't they a deeper and more inhuman?) blue eyes find Samantha.
"Lady Balbec," Rasmussen finally returns, as if the words directed to Gray can serve as enough of an introduction between the two before he gives a name to the other Brujah.
"Allow me to introduce Gray, a fellow Brujah who lost his sire in the siege," a hand out to quickly and casually indicate Gray as he posts his fists onto the sturdy table. "He comes to continue his fight in our ranks." Had Gray ever said that? Specifically? It doesn't seem to matter.
"You are tireless, Lady Balbec, and the fruits of your labors always impressive. Please go on."
The red to green ratios for boot and supply movement along lines becoming more reliable. Before and after. Safer. Markedly so since that Nosferatu antitribu's head found its way off the elder's body and into a state of slow decay upon that spike. A landmark all had to walk past to enter the new and more secure Elysium and approach the war room.
But her presence does not halt the conversation or the Prince's train of though. Even her greeting is ignored – at least for the moment – as he continues.
"Everywhere," he answers, sweeping over the map before he returns to that stretch of Colfax that is Gray's corner.
"The hold their bloody covens beneath Union Station," his finger stabbing at the place like he wishes doing so could dig out the very location he speaks of.
"But you are in an interesting location. A border. A no man's land normally reserved for Anarchs, Autarkis, thin-bloods and occasional stray Caitiff, and therefore more often a staging ground and field for harvest, a spawning ground for their dirty hordes of shovelheads and a place where they can slip from our ring of steel and blue," moving his finger from Colfax in a serpentine line just outside the borders of gentrification.
Projects in Sunnyside. Dirt cheap trailer parks and meth labs off Federal. Sun Valley. Montbello. Places saturated with publicly subsidized housing, projects, and squatters. And then there's the 16th Street Mall and the other corners that pepper the inner city the kine go for their fixes and drugs, some closer, others a further hike. Rescue missions here and there.
And of course there are the condominiums. A completely different part of the city. Projects of development and redevelopment and as the Prince's eyes graze over these finer places, the other side of the coin he is illustrating to Gray, those (aren't they a deeper and more inhuman?) blue eyes find Samantha.
"Lady Balbec," Rasmussen finally returns, as if the words directed to Gray can serve as enough of an introduction between the two before he gives a name to the other Brujah.
"Allow me to introduce Gray, a fellow Brujah who lost his sire in the siege," a hand out to quickly and casually indicate Gray as he posts his fists onto the sturdy table. "He comes to continue his fight in our ranks." Had Gray ever said that? Specifically? It doesn't seem to matter.
"You are tireless, Lady Balbec, and the fruits of your labors always impressive. Please go on."