09-13-2013, 01:31 PM
"Conjecture about hypothetical outcomes aside," once Flood is settling into the driver's seat, once William has offered his apology out into the ether for whoever would accept it, once Vee has asked about sustenance - "Of course," had been his answer as the Tzimisce set to work on its trophy.
"If we were or were not lucky, if we did or did not display skill, has nothing to do with your track record or us comparing birth certificates, Mr. Kohl," a very formal addressing of Bertram by his surname punctuated by the Lasombra turning over the engine of that not-a-stolen-vehicle not-owned-by-local-lupines. Advantages Flood doesn't seem to think to elucidate on, but maybe that's why outwardly he doesn't seem as puzzled or hesitant to get into the diesel-engined box of faux leather and steel.
"Neither did my decision. I saw a loose end, and as fun as it was watching our fiend tie it up, it was equally practical to not let a lupine who knows about the old girl," a slap on the wheel to indicate he means the party bus, "run off to tell his litter," pulling onto the road and gaining speed away from the bloodied crime scene.
"I don't think another corpse would leave the mongrels any more or less angry with us. But it would leave them up a mutt who could spot us and one more set of claws," a hand off the wheel like he's weighing the pros and cons, but it doesn't sound like it's the first time he is considering them.
"But back to track records," his voice taking on a nostalgic quality. "I'll tell you a story. I use to own a horse. It won every race until it didn't. That's the race I made the most money on. Because I paid attention and ran the numbers. I didn't assume it would win because of its track record," the last part delivered without any stern tone or anger tingling his voice. Like the rest, it's more pedagogical and academic in a gritty sort of way.
"You shouted out your recommendations," he nods, "ones that sounded a lot like orders," a mockery of suspicion somewhere in the words, "but I'm moving past that. Just like I moved past them after weighing our options, and just how I tried moving past this armchair pissing contest you seem intent on wrangling me into. I can promise you next time I'll take your advice in the same unbiased manner where my unlife is concerned, and be just as ready to defend my actions."
They continue their journey toward Ioana's mountain chateau. As the vehicle begins to gain speed, gravity propelling it down the hill, Flood's attention becomes split toward a sign for a truck stop, one of the last before Aspen.
"Drive thru, anyone? It might be rude to show up with too much of an appetite," and sharing a meal might serve to diffuse at least some of the tension, or at least the act of offering seems to signal Flood attempting to return toward whatever passes for normalcy when four monsters are confined to such a space and disagreeing.
"If we were or were not lucky, if we did or did not display skill, has nothing to do with your track record or us comparing birth certificates, Mr. Kohl," a very formal addressing of Bertram by his surname punctuated by the Lasombra turning over the engine of that not-a-stolen-vehicle not-owned-by-local-lupines. Advantages Flood doesn't seem to think to elucidate on, but maybe that's why outwardly he doesn't seem as puzzled or hesitant to get into the diesel-engined box of faux leather and steel.
"Neither did my decision. I saw a loose end, and as fun as it was watching our fiend tie it up, it was equally practical to not let a lupine who knows about the old girl," a slap on the wheel to indicate he means the party bus, "run off to tell his litter," pulling onto the road and gaining speed away from the bloodied crime scene.
"I don't think another corpse would leave the mongrels any more or less angry with us. But it would leave them up a mutt who could spot us and one more set of claws," a hand off the wheel like he's weighing the pros and cons, but it doesn't sound like it's the first time he is considering them.
"But back to track records," his voice taking on a nostalgic quality. "I'll tell you a story. I use to own a horse. It won every race until it didn't. That's the race I made the most money on. Because I paid attention and ran the numbers. I didn't assume it would win because of its track record," the last part delivered without any stern tone or anger tingling his voice. Like the rest, it's more pedagogical and academic in a gritty sort of way.
"You shouted out your recommendations," he nods, "ones that sounded a lot like orders," a mockery of suspicion somewhere in the words, "but I'm moving past that. Just like I moved past them after weighing our options, and just how I tried moving past this armchair pissing contest you seem intent on wrangling me into. I can promise you next time I'll take your advice in the same unbiased manner where my unlife is concerned, and be just as ready to defend my actions."
They continue their journey toward Ioana's mountain chateau. As the vehicle begins to gain speed, gravity propelling it down the hill, Flood's attention becomes split toward a sign for a truck stop, one of the last before Aspen.
"Drive thru, anyone? It might be rude to show up with too much of an appetite," and sharing a meal might serve to diffuse at least some of the tension, or at least the act of offering seems to signal Flood attempting to return toward whatever passes for normalcy when four monsters are confined to such a space and disagreeing.