WHO: Silas and Garnet WHEN: August 26th WHERE: Some shitty bar WHAT: Introductions over shots WARNINGS: Reference to alcoholism, TBD
He’d made the common arrangements of a relocated kindred, presented himself to the Prince, and pledged his fealty while in the domain, as was protocol. However, the motions were done in secret. Not for some nefarious reason, but because Silas wasn’t one for the fanfare. It had been difficult of course as one doesn’t just stroll into the Ivory Tower and present themselves, but he managed through what channels he could muster as an outsider. He accepted what leeway was afforded him, and abided by the demands of his better. While still quite young compared to most other Kindred, he was wise enough to accept what scraps were thrown off the table. While not a willing servant of authority, the Camarilla tasted better than the alternative at least for the time being. He had wandered the boundaries for several weeks previously accessing the climate, and studying what he could of the movement.
Tonight, he was looking to blow off a little steam, and while hunting random anarchs seemed like an ideal distraction. He knew it was wise not to do so unless given direct orders. He found a small hole-in-the-wall bar that had survived gentrification in the area. The establishment smelled like sweat and mold, but it was discreet enough to linger for a couple of hours. He ordered whatever was on tap and gravitated to an empty table facing the entrance. Silas rarely stood out, a pair of skin-tight dark denim jeans and a faded black tank top covered his wiry muscles.
A waitress delivered his pint foam swirling on the surface of an amber pool, but Silas didn’t bother to touch it. He pulled his phone out of his jean pocket and stared at the illuminated screen.