Carrick wasn't generally what could be termed a social butterfly. More an antisocial Death's Head Moth. However, he was new in town and had found his meeting with Damon Salvatore interesting enough to want to get to know the other Supernaturals of the town. The thought of fresh blood, so to speak, was a welcome one.
The night before the party he spent an hour online, checking the inventories of local shops in search of a gift for the hostess. He eventually settled on a simple but elegant riding crop with intricate plaiting on the handle. Its leather surface was as smooth as satin, but the tough leather slapper at the end would deliver a vicious sting. He placed his order and called over one of his slaves, instructing him to collect it the following day. The slave seemed relieved when he realised the crop wouldn't be used on him and was told to giftwrap it, Carrick thought sourly.
The night of the party, Carrick dressed for the evening in a dove-coloured suit and a coordinating necktie in shades of purple and stormy grey.
Arriving at the Westenra estate he readied a political smile and rang the doorbell.