WHO: Silas, Amadeus, open to other Hounds. WHEN: Back on August 27th WHERE: An alley WHAT: Work meeting WARNINGS: TBD
With a roof over his head finally, and an introduction to one or two faces it was about time to check in with the Sheriff. It all started with his own unauthorized embrace, then the opportunity to hunt down his maker. Silas served as a hound to the prince of San Francisco so he was familiar with such work, enjoyed it even. He was groomed through the hunt of lesser infractions. Working his way up to the more complex cases he found purpose in delivering justice. Of course, the rush from physical altercations with other kindred was also pleasing. His leash had been quite long in that domain, and he knew that things would be different. In fact, he hoped they would be.
He was expected at least half an hour ago at the rendezvous point, and he was prepared for a lecture if this Sheriff was the type to expect a prompt subordinate. Silas wasnβt sure, he wasnβt familiar with Amadeus just yet. Heβd heard gossip and maybe even caught a glance here or there. From what he gathered; he was prepared to be respectful. The domain seemed entrenched in warfare and yet also didnβt feel lost. Hunters bold enough to stake a kindred one on one, and anarchs with enough balls to trample the boundaries. So, if these other Hounds and their Sheriff were as formidable as they seemed he would be happy to work with them. Sadly, respect or not nothing could be said about his unpunctuality.
Silas wore the same dark jeans with rips across the knees that he was most frequently seen in. He paired it with a leather biker jacket that had seen almost as many years as the owner. On the back, heβd personalized the piece with the sentence βItβs called anarchy arseholeβ in white paint. The letters were chipped and/or faded but still readable.