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Who: William Harwood & Roxie Marx.
What: William needs a drink or two. Or five.
When: Very early in the morning.
Where: Dusk.
Rating: PG.
Status: In progress.
It had been that kind of night at the office that warranted a bottle of scotch and a cigar. William's night had started off perfectly enough with his American secretary catching him up to speed on what had gone on during the day, and giving him messages that had come down from London. However, he ended up spending the majority of his night on the phone with local clinics that were stating that they were running out of stock. Just as William had anticipated, the numbers were going up, but there was not enough supply to meet the demand. How this had happened, he wasn't entirely certain, but he refused to do anything else until the wheels were in motion to rectify the situation. When he wasn't on conference calls with the owners and operators of blood banks, he was contacting his own offices in London to talk to his vice president and the lead scientist in the lab that was housed in the basement of the high rise that Sanguine Corporation occupied. From there, conversations with his American counterparts were had, and he spent far too much time yelling at whomever was on the opposite end of the phone that he cared to do.
We should never run out, or come close to running out, he'd thought, and likely hollered at various points during the night. Without the steady production of their synthetic blood and plasma, the clinics and blood banks would not be able to supply the vampire population with an alternate source for food. On top of that, William's company had hospitals and aid organizations that used their product as well. There couldn't be shortages without carnage in a figurative and the most literal sense of the word. With most vampires moving to synthetic blood instead of feeding on humans, it was an absolute necessity that there be more than enough in all of the blood banks and clinics that William's company owned and operated.
So, it had indeed been a night that promoted drinking and perhaps unbuttoning the collar of his shirt.
As he walked back to his condo, William passed a bar called Dusk that all but screamed to him that he should come in, take a load off and have a drink or two. To be entirely truthful, as much as he wanted to recline in his favourite chair and simply drink until the sun came up, the desire to sit in a dark bar and pound back glasses of whiskey until last call creeped up on him quite unexpectedly. Smiling to himself, he headed into the bar to find it not quite packed, but nowhere near empty either. He headed right to the bar, and sat down in the first empty bar stool that he could find. He desperately wanted a glass of Bushmills (at least twenty-one years old), but quite frankly, he'd settle for anything with a percentage.
What: William needs a drink or two. Or five.
When: Very early in the morning.
Where: Dusk.
Rating: PG.
Status: In progress.
It had been that kind of night at the office that warranted a bottle of scotch and a cigar. William's night had started off perfectly enough with his American secretary catching him up to speed on what had gone on during the day, and giving him messages that had come down from London. However, he ended up spending the majority of his night on the phone with local clinics that were stating that they were running out of stock. Just as William had anticipated, the numbers were going up, but there was not enough supply to meet the demand. How this had happened, he wasn't entirely certain, but he refused to do anything else until the wheels were in motion to rectify the situation. When he wasn't on conference calls with the owners and operators of blood banks, he was contacting his own offices in London to talk to his vice president and the lead scientist in the lab that was housed in the basement of the high rise that Sanguine Corporation occupied. From there, conversations with his American counterparts were had, and he spent far too much time yelling at whomever was on the opposite end of the phone that he cared to do.
We should never run out, or come close to running out, he'd thought, and likely hollered at various points during the night. Without the steady production of their synthetic blood and plasma, the clinics and blood banks would not be able to supply the vampire population with an alternate source for food. On top of that, William's company had hospitals and aid organizations that used their product as well. There couldn't be shortages without carnage in a figurative and the most literal sense of the word. With most vampires moving to synthetic blood instead of feeding on humans, it was an absolute necessity that there be more than enough in all of the blood banks and clinics that William's company owned and operated.
So, it had indeed been a night that promoted drinking and perhaps unbuttoning the collar of his shirt.
As he walked back to his condo, William passed a bar called Dusk that all but screamed to him that he should come in, take a load off and have a drink or two. To be entirely truthful, as much as he wanted to recline in his favourite chair and simply drink until the sun came up, the desire to sit in a dark bar and pound back glasses of whiskey until last call creeped up on him quite unexpectedly. Smiling to himself, he headed into the bar to find it not quite packed, but nowhere near empty either. He headed right to the bar, and sat down in the first empty bar stool that he could find. He desperately wanted a glass of Bushmills (at least twenty-one years old), but quite frankly, he'd settle for anything with a percentage.