Ariel had finally bitten the bullet and gone to East Harlem. It had been an honestly incredible fucking mistake. Everything was changed - Hell, it wasn't even Little Italy anymore. It was the fucking barrio, mostly Latinx and Chinese. His anger purely stemmed from the erasure of his life, building this place up to what it had become, what all these people lived in and didn't even think about.
Eventually, he had found the building that he'd lived in, former tenement apartments turned into some restaurant. Ariel had broken into the building through the basement then quietly explored until he had found what he was looking for. It was the very first time he had ever felt like a fucking ghost. The anger welled up inside of him and a quiet voice urged him to let go, burn the place to the ground, feast on the chattle as they tried to escape.
Instead, he had left and pulled the leather biker jacket tighter around him as if he were somehow actually cold. His body was tense and the misery and anger floated around him like visible haze. So he was not expecting to be approached by the city's Sheriff. Was he that close to the edge that Amadeus felt like he needed to appear? No, according to the Elder Kindred, it had been an accident.
Ariel's pale wolf-like eyes peered at the Tremere and there was something... Dangerous about them at the moment. "It's a good thing--I," a man was walking past them, head down and minding his own damn business like most New Yorkers but it was enough to stop Ariel's words in their tracks for a moment of reconsideration. "I'm not feeling great."