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Post by Mr. Smythe on Mar 9, 2011 19:40:21 GMT -8
Smythe enters nectarine and looks at the pretty people at play. Handing his coat, hat, gloves, and cane to the attendant, he strides down the stairs to the kindred room. It is subdued he notes-there is less joy in the Torreadors, and every one else is sullen. The blood plague, he thinks, is tearing this city apart in a way that even the death of Clayfield did not. So many questions and so few answers. He takes a small drink from a passing blood doll-a pretty girl in her twenties he imagines-a brunette in a striking red gown. He thanks Cindi in his head as he straightens his tuxedo: she has wonderful taste sometimes. It would never do to tell her, but she does run a hell of a club. Damned Good Show.
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Post by Melissa Devereaux on Mar 10, 2011 0:21:22 GMT -8
Melissa carefully stands from one of the lounge areas and makes her way towards Smythe. " I don't think we have been introduced. I am Melissa Devereaux." She gives Smythe a half hearted smile. " How are you doing tonight?"
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Post by Mr. Smythe on Mar 14, 2011 8:38:47 GMT -8
He watches the young woman approach, trying to place her face. She is right, they have not been introduced. She is striking, but is not a Torreador; he knows most of cindi's brood. "We have not been introduced. I am Smythe, of the Sunnydale Brujah. I am moremor less healthy this evening, though this matter of the plague is troubling."
He smiles, not half-heartedly, but with a hint of lingering concern. He motions for a blood doll to attend them with a waive of his hand.
"Forgive me for giving too much voice to my thoughts. I did not catch your name...."
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