Vampire: The Masquerade

The sun has just set and you begin you day. Or, rather, night. After whatever washing or rituals you may perform at the start of your waking hour you go to leave your den. However, before you do, you notice that there is a note laying at your feet. You pick up the unaddressed letter and turn it in your hands. The wax seal is black, with the outline of a "C" in it.

A note from the Camarilla of this town. A note likely from the Prince.



Greetings. You are hereby cordially invited to my private estate tomorrow evening at ten to partake in a masquerade. You may bring one guest, and only one guest. Formal attire is not required; a simple mask is all you will need. All recipients are expected to attend unless excruciating circumstances prevent you from being there.

Put forth your most humble attitude and brush yourself up on the rules of Elysium.
~ MM




MM: Magnus Marangos, the Prince of Seattle. It seems the prince has invited you to an Elysium. You couldn't think of any reason as nothing of note has happened recently. Although it has been awhile since any large meetings have been had, so perhaps the prince thought we were due for one.

You have a normal night of feeding, reading, clubbing, or whatever it might be that you do, and the next night you dressed however you saw fit. Either from your home or another location on the way you picked up a mask. You get to the estate a little before nine PM. The mansion itself is gigantic. A wall surrounded the place and kept the main road far from it. You went in the front as everyone does. No need to sneak in, and the Prince's guards were no doubt patrolling the place regardless. Of course, they were not concerned with fellow Camarilla sabotaging the meeting. Rather, they watched for mortals and Sabbat.

You enter through the front doors and find yourself in the spacious foyer. To your left there are open doors leading into a hallway with a few doors on either side, and at the end you can make out the ballroom and dancers. The doors to the right lead to a living room where there are a few chairs and a fireplace. In front of you was the large, double doors to the amphitheater. A tall woman you recognized as the Tremere Primogen stood in front of them. She pointed down the hallway to your left, "Join the rest of the kindred. We will call for you when the Prince is ready."

Kandice leaned against the wall, a scowl on her face. She didn't want to be here, and she would have skipped if Anthony didn't drop by her apartment with a mask and literally drag her off.

You can't skip like this Kandice!

She gave an irritable sigh and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her black pants. She wanted nothing more to blow this joint, but she knew Anthony would drag her back.

What a pain.

"James, there you are," Gladys said, as James Wilder walked through the front door of his—her, he corrected himself—house. Outside, the skies were getting lighter and the sun was just about to begin rising. As a vampire, one of the things Wilder had to change about his life was becoming nocturnal. The sunlight burned on contact with his skin, so he had to stay indoors during the day and do his business at night. It wasn't a significant change, to be honest. He never really had much business to do and it really didn't matter when he did it.

"I wrote a song for you," his sire said. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, her stuffed bear, King Clarence, sitting beside her among a mess of loose papers. James still thought it hard to think of her as anything other than a young girl but, despite her appearances, her behavior and manner of speech usually made it clear she was older than she looked. Except when it didn't—Gladys was a pretty good actress.

She was dressed as usual, wearing one of her gaudy outfits—frilly and lacy, brightly-colored, adorned with beads and sequins. Like all of her clothing, it seemed to be nearly as old as she was; almost one whole century. Stained and worn, moth-eaten and torn. Wilder didn't think she ever washed any of her clothes. One time he couldn't stand it anymore and snuck into her room while she was out one night, gathered up all of her clothes and threw them into the washing machine. You could hardly tell the difference when they were clean anyway.

"I'm sure it's beautiful, milady," Wilder said, removing his shoes and leaving them in the entryway, then hanging his jacket on the hook beside the door. He began his nightly routine of covering all the windows with the recently-purchased thick, heavy black curtains that hung beside them. It would have probably made more sense to just leave the curtains closed all the time, but he had specifically bought this house for the beautiful waterfront view and it would be such a shame to have to cover it up all the time.

"Oh, it's nothing really. Most of the credit should really go to Leon, he helped me out quite a bit." Gladys patted the teddy bear on the head. She often credited the inanimate object with all sorts of feats, which Wilder didn't dare contradicting. If she believed she could hear the bear talking to her, then by all means, Wilder would listen to whatever it—he, sorry—had to say. King Leon Clarence (the First, supposedly) was her closest (or, really, only) friend and confidant.

Sometimes this made Wilder sad, until he remembered that she was over ninety years old. She'd had plenty of time to make friends if she were lonely. Sometimes Wilder questioned—never aloud—if that had been why she had created him. She seemed to insist that it had merely been a matter of utility, that he existed only for her convenience, but he couldn't help but wonder otherwise. Of course, he didn't mind working for her. Being a vampire was new to him and difficult and he couldn't possibly make it on his own, although he had considered the possibility.

"He does have a way with words, doesn't he?" Wilder replied.

"Oh quite so, quite so. Here, listen." She began to read the song. The lyrics seemed random and meaningless, but it had a good rhythm and some clever rhymes. It seemed to mention spiders a lot, which made Wilder uneasy. He didn't much like spiders. Gladys seemed to know this too because her room was now decorated with a spider motif, cobwebs made from black lace hanging from the ceiling with stuffed spiders sitting in them and such. She had been interested in spiders when she had done the decorating but her interests moved on, like usual, and she kept them. Wilder was sure she kept them because she knew it kept him out of her room.

Wilder praised her for the song when she was through reading and claimed it was her best work, like he always did. She denied that it was but that's what she always did. "There's going to be a meeting," she said. "Soon." She wasn't looking at Wilder anymore, instead gathering up the papers she had written on.

Wilder raised an eyebrow. "A meeting?"

"Yes," she said, picking up the stack and straightening it out. "King Clarence told me." She stood up and walked over to the bar-style counter that divided the living room from the kitchen, setting the stack of papers on top and then disappearing around the corner into the kitchen.

"What about?" Wilder called after her.

"What?" she called back, walking back into his line of sight carrying a bowl of water.

"I said, what about?" Wilder repeated.

"Oh, I don't know. Leon didn't say." She walked over to the living room and bent down to pick up the bear, keeping her eyes on the bowl of water in her hand. Wilder could see that something was floating in the water.

"What's that, milady?" Wilder asked, genuinely curious. Her strange fascinations changed all the time and this was no doubt part of a new one.

"Tea leaves," she answered. "They say you can use them to tell the future."

"Do you know how?" Wilder asked, not expecting a reasonable answer. Did anybody really know how to tell the future with tea leaves? They were just leaves.

"Not yet. I'll figure it out. King Clarence will help me, won't you?" This question was addressed to the bear, of course. Wilder didn't hear Leon's reply but apparently Gladys did, because she frowned and said "What do you mean, I'm on my own?" She forgot about Wilder and began to argue with the bear as she walked down the hall and into her room, shutting the door behind her.

James Wilder sighed and shook his head, making his way to his own room. As he pushed open the door, which was already slightly ajar, a bucket fell from its perch balanced on top of the door and landed over his head. The bucket must have been filled with spiders because now they were crawling all over him. He screamed and started batting at the arachnids, trying to get them off. He hated spiders and Gladys knew that and he knew Gladys knew that. She didn't pull pranks on him too often but when she did, they were quite terrible.

The next night, Wilder found the note on the doorstep. Gladys appeared behind him, holding Leon under one arm. "What is it?" she asked. Wilder opened it up and read it aloud. "Marangos has called an Elysium? A masquerade—how appropriate! Mandatory attendance...I suppose we'd best not miss it then, hm? I will pick us up some masks while I'm out. You do...whatever it is you do, James."

"Yes, milady." With that, Gladys fetched her parasol from beside the door and left the house, shutting the door behind her (making Wilder open it again so he could leave) and headed into the city under the darkness of her lace canopy. She usually took the bus into town. They ran twenty-four seven and it was faster than walking.

Of course most of the shops were closed at night, one of the biggest inconveniences of being a vampire. Eventually she found a small shop that ran late and was just about to close down for the night. The shopkeeper kindly let her in and she nodded her appreciation. Consulting with King Clarence, Gladys eventually picked out a couple of masks, one for herself and one for Wilder. The one she picked for herself was quite fanciful, adorned with blue feathers that would match her eyes, edges trimmed with shiny silver leaf, and encrusted with sparkling rhinestones.

The one she picked out for Wilder was, according to Leon, more suited to his style; plain and simple. It was colored solid black and was smooth and undecorated. She had wanted to pick out something more elaborate, with lace trimming and intricate inlaid designs, but Leon had insisted that this would be a better option. At least it would match Wilder's tuxedo and top hat, Gladys figured. No doubt he would be wearing them. He loved to bring out the top hat whenever he had an excuse to.

Gladys brought the masks up to the counter, where the shopkeeper had been standing and watching her talk to her stuffed bear in amusement. She paid for the masks, putting them into her purse when she was finished, then thanked the shopkeeper and left.

"Well Leon...what time is it?" Gladys asked. "Oh, good, good. We still have most of the night left then. I'm hungry. How about you? Yes, yes. Then we shall."

On the night of the masquerade, Wilder indeed wore his tuxedo and top hat, as well as carrying his simple black cane. He did not need it as an aid for walking; it was merely an accessory, like Gladys' parasol (which she had brought with her). Gladys sat in the passenger seat of his car, a black 1982 Pontiac Firebird, while he drove the both of them the the Prince's estate. Due to her vertically-challenged condition, she could never learn to drive herself. This disappointed her.

Once they had arrived and Wilder found a place to park his vehicle, they entered the mansion. Gladys led the way, with Wilder following behind her respectfully. It was a few minutes still before ten and there were already quite a few kindred here. A tall woman, the Tremere Primogen, stood in front of a large pair of double doors and directed Gladys and Wilder to go down the hall to their left.

The hallway led to the ballroom. On their way there Gladys started talking. "Do you think so?" she asked. Wilder didn't say anything. She wasn't talking to him. "James?" Now she was talking to him. "Do you think it's rude to have a parasol open indoors? Leon seems to think so."

Wilder tried to think of a safe and dismissive way to answer. He didn't want to disagree with Gladys, but disagreeing with King Clarence was almost the same thing. "I suppose I can understand how some people might think so," he finally answered.

"Hmm...well, if you insist." Of course he hadn't. Perhaps Leon had though. She closed the parasol and started using it as a walking stick instead. Then they entered the ballroom.

"How about this one, Old Bean?" Harold said with a crooked grin, holding up a rather hilariously designed mask. It even had cat ears on it! Morris looked at it and made his monocle pop out theatrically.
"Perfect!" He liked it when Harold called him 'Old Bean'. It made him feel less like a master and more like a friend. "I'll wear this with pride! However, I'm not certain its safe for you at this little....get-together, Harold." Morris said sounding serious for a moment.

"Oh I understand. Don't want to cause trouble. That's the last thing we ought to do here, eh?" Harold said while scratching his neck.

"Indeed."
Morris had just arrived in Seattle not a fortnight ago. He had no idea exactly what possessed him to come but Harold had mentioned there was another 'episode' the night before booking passage. Morris knew he must have fell into another trance. He always hated it when that happened. No memory of what was said or done...it frightened him. Harold had recorded it as always and the paper had said Seattle....Prince....Taxi driver.... and some numbers that seemed to not make any sense. Morris was used to this, however, seeing how often it occurred, but this time, something made him uneasy.

"Well, I best get a move on," Morris said while gleefully putting on the ridiculous cat-eared mask. "Being late when meeting a Prince is rather bad form."
Harold had laid out a rather nice suit of clothes for him. Black on silvery gray with tails. Morris liked tails. Harold even helped Morris tie back his auburn hair in a fancy little ribbon. "I feel the fop!" Morris had said but nonetheless, he looked rather good. He had rewarded Harold with a glass of vintage with the smallest added ingredient of the vitae.

"Make sure Madame Fluffbelly has had her dinner! She gets testy otherwise." Morris said as he was leaving.

"Of course, sir." Harold replied. 'Sir'...that always unnerved him a bit but it must be the blood talking.
Remembering the odd note from weeks ago, Morris thought it prudent to take a cab to the ball. As the blue and black car strode up to the curb, Morris entered, stating the address. The cab driver was a rather unusual fellow who wore sunglasses. At night. How peculiar. He merely nodded and drove off.

As the taxi lurched up to the mansion, Morris paid the young man who nodded again and asked in a rather flat voice, "Are you going to need a ride back?"
"Perhaps, but this may take all night. I...don't think you'd be up for waiting." Morris said with a grin.
The cabbie turned and said "Oh, not to worry..." but then drove off.
Curious lad... Morris thought, remembering the scribblings again. As he strode up to the mansion entrance and saw its grandeur, the unusual cab driver was literally driven out of his mind.
"Blimey..." he whispered. He entered, seeing many faces all amask around him. Some, he knew, were of clan Nosferatu. He could spot that lot a mile away. Bald, most of them, and rather trying to look at. Luckily they were well dressed, he thought. They regarded him with gracious nods but looked wary. He saw a large man in a tuxedo and a shaved head with tattoos on it, talking to a lovely young lady with piercing blue eyes.
Ten quid says that's the Brujah. Morris thought.

There were three men and one very striking woman standing near the far end of the room. All with black hair. The woman in a very slinky evening gown. If that lot is who I suspect, best keep a distance... Morris told himself in his head. And sure enough, the shadow of the woman had moved in a very odd manner. Nope...not going over there... She turned and smiled at him but it did not extent to her eyes.

A voice was murmuring in his head. What about THAT one! That one in the corner! See her? Hehahahhaha! She's one of us!!! Morris winced. He hated that voice. It sounded like a rat speaking with a bad Cockney accent. "Bugger. Not now..." he said to the voice with clinched teeth. Morris then, walked slowly toward the young woman who was a bit under dressed. He did note the plain mask she was wearing and the scowl on her face. Before he could reach her however, a woman bearing the familiar sigil of Clan Tremere had approached him.

"The Prince is nearly ready to see you. It will only be a few minutes more."
Her voice was rather hushed.
"Oh, thank you, madame." Morris answered. He had noticed the woman now approaching the young woman in the corner.

No more light protruded from the horizon. The dark, cold night brought safety to the kindred. Three long years in what was only the beginning to a life of immortality. On this night was the meeting called forth by the Prince, and Vance would answer the summoning. From one of his wardrobes be produced a a rather flamboyant mask. He dressed himself in a pair of dark blue jeans and a lighter, blue flannel. In addition he wore a small green scarf around his neck. He wouldn't feel cold of course, but he loved the way it looked.

The last piece of the outfit was the mask. He walked over to the mirror in the bedroom of his spacious domain. Slowly he lifted the facade and placed it upon his face. The costume was complete. The mannequin had been properly outfitted. From every miniscule wrinkle in the jeans, to the shimmer of his lip stud, he was a perfected piece of artistry. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled some of it down behind his ear; every possible combination must be given a fair trial. The subtle change of the tips of his ears showing brought about a new form, a new perspective. Such subtle differences formed the basic compounds of a proper foundation.

Unsurprisingly Vance did not leave for the masquerade on time. He arrived at roughly 9:13, which was about twenty minutes after he had originally planned. After all, how could he have planned to lay his eyes on one of the most attractive things in the world, himself, and then become infatuated? You simply cannot prepare for these unannounced pleasures of the world. They sneak up on your like an preying courtier to fill you up, and then depart when you want them to stay with your forever.

It was a short walk to the mansion. Living on the outskirts of Seattle in the same direction as the mansion made it a coincidental luxury. Tonight it was especially benefiting considering that gawking at himself had cost him twenty minutes. But, this was a small and miniscule issue that in the long run would mean nothing. The meeting was not until ten and he would arrive well before then.

He gave his name to the security at the gate, and then was admitted in. Not two minutes had passed before he stood in front of the mansion's doors. The Prince had good taste and he applauded the enclosures of fauna on either side of the walkway. Although if he were prince, he would have the fences on the other side of the garden adorned with pumpkin plants. Their vines would signify the end of the garden, but not with unnatural, metallic ending. No, the vines would represent that life has its tight grip around the dead and will grow with it.

If he came across the mansion's gardener, Vance would be sure to bring up this suggestion.

Once through the doors his attention was first brought to the Tremere Primogen standing before a pair of double doors that opened to the amphitheater. Before he could ask if they were meeting in there, she fed his curiosity. "Join the rest of the kindred," she said, "we will call for you when the prince is ready." Vance nodded and said thank you and proceeded down the hallway to the ballroom. The sounds of music and conversation blended together flawlessly.

The young woman in the corner simply nodded at the Tremere, and continued to scowl at her feet. Morris approached and saw that the young woman twitched oddly and looked up at him. She was pretty but very young. The mask obscuring her face a bit. She looked incredibly annoyed.
"Hello!" Morris greeted her in a jovial manner, immediately noting the irony of his tone and her scowl. She didn't answer and merely nodded again.
"Well, so much for making friends," he said, "best carry on then. But do be careful."
She didn't seem to even notice he was speaking.
"She'll come around, Reggie! They always do!" That cursed voice again. He had no idea why it called him 'Reggie' but it always had. "Theres another one! See? See? Awww ickle thing! Bringing a Teddy to the Monster's Ball! How adorable! Be on your guard, Reggie, that one is tricksy!"
"SHUT UP!!"

"Pardon?"
A young man answered. Morris hadn't even realized there was anyone standing there, let alone being able to hear. Morris looked at the young man and something about him made Morris want to burst out laughing. The man was clad in a plaid flannel shirt, rather worn looking denim, and a green scarf. He had an odd piece of jewelry on his face and very nicely coiffed hair. His mask was what really did it. Black with feathers and sequins. He looked extremely pleased with himself and rather pompous.
Fighting back laughter, Morris said "Oh, heh, nothing, my young sir. Just....thinking out load. I'm rather prone to doing that, I'm afraid."
The young man smiled a wispful little grin. "That is a very nice mask." he said. "Oddly enough, it suits you magnificently! My name is Vance. Vance Lexington. Surely you've heard of me." There was definitely a swagger in his voice.

"Sorry, I can't say I have." Morris answered. He felt eyes on him now. They made him nervous. He glanced behind him and saw a man with a top hat and cane and the strange little girl holding her Teddy staring at him. No. Staring at them. "Should I have?" He asked the man named Vance.

"Oh, well! I am a very accomplished artist!" he said with a flourish. Rather theatrical, this one. "I've been on display at some of the most prestigious art galleries in the city. People, mortals and Kindred alike, have been clamoring for my works!"

"Goodness, that is something. I've only just arrived a fortnight ago. It's been rather busy getting settled. I haven't had the time to see these galleries." Morris began wondering what sorts of subjects young Vance had painted.
Before he could ask, Vance said in a rather haughty voice, "Some didn't seem to bother dressing for the occasion, did they," his nose wrinkling. "Who brought their daughter here with a toy! And that one," he said pointing at the scowling young woman, "hardly dressed at all!" Vance then, began a haughty round on the Nosferatu lot near the center of the ballroom, but Morris didn't hear. That little girl's eyes were boring into him. Almost like she could see right into his very soul...

Gladys stared at the odd man with the cat-eared mask and the black tailcoat. He seemed to be a bit overly jovial and sometimes talked or even shouted to seemingly nobody.

"Malkavian," Gladys said. "You know, James, my sire was Malkavian. And so are you, my childe. I suppose that would mean I am Malkavian as well but I seem to have avoided the brunt of the...detriment...that most Malkavians seem to suffer from. Look at him. He's clearly insane. I don't know why they even let him in."

Wilder didn't comment. Leon did, though. "Well excuse me, Leon," Gladys said. "What—! I do not talk to inanimate objects!" She huffed in what seemed to be completely sincere appall. "Well, I might have had a few choice words with that blasted pencil but it's not like it's unusual to occasionally express your concerns out loud even when nobody's listening. It's not like I believed it would actually respond to me!"

Once in the room the young Toreador surveyed his surroundings. Almost immediately his eyes set on a group of three men and one woman. Was that... hm, odd. Quite odd. At any rate the Prince surely had a reason to invite them to neutral ground, and at least they managed to dress themselves in a presentable fashion. The woman in particular wore a strikingly gorgeous dress that was amplified by the latent, dark-red highlights in her hair. To any other eye her hair would appear that she had simple black hair, but to an eye trained as well as his it was laughably lucid.

With plenty of time to kill, Vance approached a man with an almost regal fashion sense. Possibly a bit outdated, but surprisingly complimentary to a masquerade. He tried his luck and struck conversation. The man had only been in Seattle for a short while, and wasn't aware of who he was! Vance went on to talk about his art, and informed his new acquaintance of the atrocious attire around them. Why, there was a filthy girl giving off a repulsive odor. She either soiled herself or was one of those crazy Malkavians with a phobia of cleanliness.

Then there was the Nosferatu. He tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Okay, yeah, they were deformed, but that was no excuse to wear shoes that clashed with their shirts. It doesn't matter if it matches the pants... the entire outfit must be perfect. Only those fools would make such a grave fashion mistake.

Vance gazed about the room and soon found his eyes meet the black-haired woman from before. Except she had those subtle highlights, and was... was that a a silver ring on her finger? She must be of an older generation to have mastery over subtlety. The ring adorned her petite finger, but her hair... that perfect hair... it flowed like the great Nile river, the finest silk in China could not compare...

Vance's head tilted slightly to the right as he became enthralled.

Morris noted his new friend staring at the rather dangerous woman with the playing shadow. Vance stood there transfixed, almost ready to leap at her in awe. Ahhh. Toreador...That explains it.
"Don't get mixed with that lot, Reggie. Keepers, PAH! They can Keep out of my hair and out of our shadow!!"
Morris twitched. Why did that voice have to assault him here? Why! He tried to ignore it but he noted Vance would be walking into danger if not brought to his senses. He tapped Vance on the shoulder, "Trust me mate, you don't want to go gallivanting with that lot. Lasombra make very poor bedfellows." he said in hushed tones.

Vance snapped back and looked confused, "What? Wait...You mean they---Ohhhh." The fear in young Vance's eyes showed Morris that he was indeed, not a fool. Vance was now muttering something that sounded to Morris like "But she's really quite fetching..." but Morris wasn't paying attention. He noticed the little girl talking to her Teddy. Even going as far to lean in as if she believed it spoke back.
"And they call me mad..." he murmured to himself.

Anthony was busy making the rounds; unlike his childe, he was quite personable and got along with other members of the community rather well. Kandice had called him a smoozer several times in the past, and quite honestly that description fit him to a T.

Anthony noticed his childe sulking in the corner, giving a cold shoulder to another Malkavian he had recognized as Mr. Morris. Luckily Mr. Morris didn't seem to insulted, so at least he wouldn't be forced to smooth over that mess. None the less, he made a mental note to apologize for his childe's rude behavior. He sighed and excused himself from the current conversation before making his way over to the sullen young woman.

"Kandice," he said with a sigh as he leaned against the wall next to her. "You can't just sulk here in this corner; you need to go out and talk to others."

"I'm not a smoozer like you Indie," Kandice shot back, using Anthony's nick name. She never called him by his proper name since she learned of his nick name. Anthony never made an attempt to correct her; he rather liked the nick name. He loved Indiana Jones. In fact, he had a whole little shrine dedicated to the man in his house. Kandice had called it "creepy" when she first saw it. Like her egg collection wasn't any better.

"Now, now, it wouldn't hurt to at least talk to people," Anthony said, leading her away from the wall. "You need to get out more. Now who should we talk to-" He noticed Kandice looking at the Nosferatu curiously. While that was OK connection wise, he really didn't want her to start an argument with the ugly beings. There was better people to talk to first.

"No, come now, let's see," he noticed Mr. Morris talking to the Toreador Vance Lexington. He knew Vance as a struggling artist who seemed to enjoy painting horrifying, gruesome things. Anthony wasn't quite fond of his art, but he always pretended to be interested in Vance's struggles because it was simply easier that way. "Why don't we talk to them? Mr. Morris is a Malkevian too you know. Come now, let's come say hi. And for goodness sake, please don't start an argument for once."

Steering the sullen woman over towards the two, he greeted the two men with a cheerful wave.

"Good day Mr. Morris, Vance," he said with a wide smile, keeping a firm hand on Katrina's shoulders.

When her argument with King Clarence finally died out, Gladys looked up again and took a glance around. She noticed that the crazy man, the Malkavian with the cat ears she had been talking about, was talking to another man whom for some reason she thought she recognized. "Who is that, Leon?" she asked. Wilder looked too, but he didn't recognize the man. "Lexington? You think? I didn't know he was kindred. Must be a new development."

"Lexington?" Wilder asked. The name sounded familiar, even if the face didn't ring any bells. "You don't mean...Vance Lexington?" Gladys owned a painting which had been crafted by a Vance Lexington. It was...well, quite gruesome and macabre, to say the least. Wilder didn't like it at all. He wasn't sure what it depicted because he could never bring himself to look directly at it. Mercifully, Gladys kept the painting hanging on the wall in her own room, where he didn't have to see its horrific visage.

"Yes. Let's go have a chat, shall we?" Gladys looked up at Wilder. "Well, of course you don't have to. You can do whatever you want." He stayed with her anyway. To be honest, the other vampires...his kindred...made him uneasy. He feared that if he went too far from his sire, he might go into a mood. He wasn't sure if it would be a manic or depressive one, he could never predict that, but either way it wouldn't turn out the best for him.

Gladys walked over to where the Malkavian was talking to Lexington. By his dress and behaviors, Gladys determined that he was probably Toreador. They had a taste for art and fashion, it only made sense. A couple other people had shown up as well, a middle-aged looking man and a young woman. Gladys pretty much ignored them all and reached up to poke Lexington in the side of the leg with the tip of her parasol. "Greetings. How fare ye this fine evening?"

"Oh boy, Reggie. Wouldn't you know it. Ickle Teddykins fancies a chat!"
Morris winced again trying to block out the damnable voice. He noticed the little thing poking at Vance's leg. How adorably childlike, he thought. The sulking young woman has meandered near as well. He had not noticed her companion, a man he had in fact, met not 5 days ago at a pub near Capitol Hill.

"I would like you to introduce you to my childe, Kandice," Indie said, gesturing towards Kandice with a lazy wave. "I do hope she didn't offend you earlier. She has a bit of trouble playing nice with others."

Kandice wasn't really paying attention to Indie speak; her attention was centered around a little girl prodding Vance with an umbrella. She had an off smell to her, and Kandice could see why just by looking at her manner of dress. Her dress was dirty and it wouldn't hurt for a comb to be run through her red hair. There was tears in stockings and she could go for a new pair of shoes. However, her umbrella and teddy bear looked well taken care of.

Didn't know vampires toted teddy bears. Maybe she is recently turned.

"Hey," she said addressing the small child. "How old are you?"

Blunt and kind of to the point.

Vance looked down at the little girl poking him with a parasol. He looked at it and its holder and held back the temptation to escort her to the nearest baths. "Rather well, rather well. The name is Vance Lexington, artist extraordinaire. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, miss...?"

"Oh, I know who you are," Gladys said. "You probably don't remember us. It's been, oh, eight, nine years? Nearly a decade anyway. We went to one of your exhibits. Fine work you make, I own one of your paintings. 'The Fangs of Azathoth.' I'm Gladys Florentine and this is King Leon Clarence I." She put out her hand for a shake and then, as an afterthought added, with a nod of her head in Wilder's direction, "Oh, and this is my childe, James Wilder."

She was then interrupted by the young woman she had noticed before. "Hey," she said. "How old are you?"

Gladys sniffed. "A great deal older than you, girl. It's impolite to interrupt, dear, I'm having a conversation."

Kandice frowned, a bit miffed she was being ignored. Well, not a big miffed. Incredibly annoyed. She didn't like it when people disregarded or ignored her. It was one of her biggest pet peeves actually.

"I just want to know why you have a teddy bear," Kandice said with a scowl, and Anthony, who had noticed his childe was at it again face palmed. Couldn't she keep out of trouble for one moment? While she had tons of potential, her attitude made working with her and drawing it out hard as hell.

"Kandice!" He said rebuking the young woman before turning to apologize to Gladys. "I'm so sorry for my childe's rude behavior Miss. Florentie. She is a rebellious child, I do hope you understand."

Gladys looked down at King Clarence. "You mean Leon? He's my oldest friend, you know. I've known him since, well, practically forever. Longer than you've been alive, or dead for that matter." She looked up at the man who was profusely apologizing for the woman, apparently named Kandice. He was the rude woman's sire, seemed. "Yes, yes, well, we can excuse her I suppose. Can't we, Leon?" She paused, waiting for an answer. "Leon agrees."

Vance gave a short nod to the girl and extended his hand to the childe. "Pleased to meet all three of your acquaintances. I do believe it's been... well over a year since we had such a large scale meeting. I noticed the Tremere Primogen is here and I imagine there may be more." Vance turned and swept the room again. "None in plain sight it would seem."

His gaze soon fell upon the Lasombra again, and he felt the infatuation settling in. But moments later he snapped out of it and turned back to the small gathering he was a part of. "Won't get me twice..." he muttered while fighting the urge to turn and stare for a third time.

Kandice couldn't help but reminded of the Calvin and Hobbes comics she read as a child before school each morning. Gladys looked the same as Calvin as well, so that wasn't helping Kandice's mental image much. And Leon was much like Hobbes. He was inanimate obviously, but Gladys didn't seem to think so.

Now that this mental image was in her head, she couldn't get rid of it. She began to have mental pictures of Gladys and Leon getting into all sorts of adventure and trouble that Calvin and Hobbes did. She grinned at the thought.

"Thank you so much for your understanding," Anthony said greatly relieved, completely oblivious to Kandice's train of thought. As an afterthought, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to humor her a bit. Get more on her good side. At least Kandice was good at opening up opportunities like that. "Both of you."

"Oh please, it's nothing." Gladys watched as Lexington's eyes drifted over to the small gathering of Lasombra, where they lingered for a bit until he managed to shake it off and turn back to the group. Definitely Toreador. She turned back to the man with the mustache, the impertinent woman's sire. "I didn't catch your name."