---

Dio lifts an eyebrow at Sergine's question, then looks between the others as Rudy chips in to second. That look from Geoff sees her composure crack, finally, and she glances off to one side as she snickers. "Come see for yourself, sister," she offers to the Brujah. Rolling her muscular shoulders, she turns her gaze back to the group at large. "We're making do. It's just a matter of time though, isn't it? They come for us, then they come for you..." She hadn't come here to rally the troops or anything but the bait is impossible to ignore.

But Abel's isn't. She flashes him a smile that's a whole lot of teeth. "I only drink twenty year old scotch," she quips, then she gestures toward the newly-arrived, self-proclaimed catman. "Help yourself," she tells him, and she doesn't say her name again because she was never going to. If he hadn't caught it on the way over, then it might be an unpleasant surprise for him to learn that he'd been hobnobbing with the most influential Anarch in the region. The rest are doing it with full awareness, which is intriguing and a little suspicious too. That kind of friendliness from other Kindred never goes anywhere pleasant.

With her vague answer locked in, she rocks back on her heels, waiting for someone to either call her out for it or invite her to a second location. Never know with this set. At least when the Sabbat wants you dead you'll know it right away. But then again, they want everyone dead and they're not much good at fancy parties.

---

Travis saunters on over to the group, a sly smile plays on his lips hidden behind a simple black bandana. Feline eyes flick between the different Kindred as he approaches, his gaze landing on Geoffrey briefly with a slight inclination of his head one more again. He stands just outside the group, his hat in hand. He listens twice as much as he talks, as a general rule... but being new in town he wouldn't have much to add to the conversation anyway. He might have a vague idea of what's going on, but he was here more to find out what the situation was, and it sounded like he came to the right place.

He listens for a bit, his attention shifting between the different people talking. He wasn't sizing anyone up as much as he was watching body language, mannerisms, and gathering information on the local factions. Independent to a fault, and a rolling stone, it helped to get informed quickly when entering a new area. He had been through Florida a number of times, but never long enough to kick his boots off. Tampa, St Petersberg, Clearwater. Those were just dots on a map back east... yet here he was.

"Th'names Black Cat Calloway" He speaks up, squeezing into the smallest possible opening in the conversation before it turns to Clearwater. "I couldn't help but notice y'all passin 'round sumpthin" He tugs his bandana down below his nose, sniffin at the air before looking to the Toreador. "Sumpthin that smells reaaaaaal nice" He lifts an eyebrow. "Watcha' name? Watcha drinkin on? Can I get a glass?"

Travis would let them get back to talking area politics in just a shake - scoot in, get a drink, scoot out.

---

For being solitary creatures, vampires did enjoy to wag their tongues. Elysium was the place to do that, to air grievances, to discuss the goings on of the night and to spread the ever present gossip.

Sergine tread these waters well, having participated in them long enough to have survived and done great and terrible things. For now though, the Brujah is content it seems to become apart of the gaggle that grew. The extended hand is considered for only a moment before Sergine's own scarred hand clasped the Toreador's. Their grip is firm, strong, but they do not attempt to make some show of whos stronger, those were human games, and ultimately more of a faux pas then an advantage.

"Clan Brujah." There is a slight raising of the edges of Sergine's lips as he releases the man's hand, their eyes dropping briefly to the offered drink before shaking her head. "I'll pass, gave up that preference long ago."

They had been preparing to address Geoffrey's statement their gaze tracking back towards the gangrel, but then Dio slid into the conversation and Sergine's gaze locks onto the anarch's. Their gaze meets for several long seconds, both of them appraising, both of them considering the others strengths and far more importantly, their weaknesses. In the end an upnod is offered in return, game knew game.

Finally, Sergine's mind turned once more to Geoffrey's comment. "I have yet to hear of any particular strategy in regards to St. Petersburg, regardless it will need to be addressed, one way or another. Sooner would be my preference but...that.." Her lips twitch, separating to show the barest hint of teeth. "Is not my decision."

Slowly his gaze would track back to Dio, landing there with intent. "What's the situation in Clearwater?" Abrupt, intent, inquisitive.

Geoffrey Wodeward


To all things housed in her silence

Nature offers a violence

---

"I'll toast to your continued survival, then."  At his side, he tapped his last two fingers to the bottle he was still holding.

He didn't rush or hurry the clanmate circling the fringes. Let him approach at his own time, or not. Beyond the fact that Gangrel tended to Embrace loners and outcasts among other things, the Beast showed itself in more ways than just fur and talons. He could just be checking the perimeter, circling to make sure the ground was paced down before settling. Maybe he was just taking his time

"The night's still young, isn't it." He remarked to Sergine instead, either way, shifting his focus back to the Brujah easily enough. "I've been in and out of the area, but I think I like the climate. Maybe I'll stick around to see how that situation in St. Petersburg plays out."

They'd mentioned it at their introductions. It was interesteing, not unhead of, but intersting to him in a concerning kind of way. It suggested things to him that seemed to point to why he'd been asked to visit in the first place.  THings he held behind his tongue so as not to just dominate the conversation with gloom.

He couldn't see everything happening all over the museum from his vantage point, but it seemed like there was a hush that fell over an adjacent room. It got quiet, the way animals quiet when they sense a predator. A ridiculous analogy for certain in a house of predators.

Maybe it had something with the imposing woman Abel invited over as casual as that.

"I still go to Chicago, but I'd relocated to Milwaukee after all that shite went down. I do get on fine with Kevin Jackson" He let Abel know some of the trajectory he'd taken after all those fateful events. Even if he kept a base or a haven in a place, he still made it out to the road enough. Clients and requests still came.

" Prince Jackson, if you're nasty." He addended with a perfectly straight face, as though stating a fact and not making some pop culture refence. "But, yea, that sounds fine. I'll come by some night and we can talk about it."

Rudolph Longstaff aka Abel Beaumarchais
those boon times went bust
my feet of clay, they dried to dust
the red isn't the red we painted
its just rust

Toreador Ancilla | Blush of Health | Enchanting Voice | Deceptive Aura

---

“Well, I’m a hot commodity wherever I go,” he replied to Geoffrey facetiously, blowing on his knuckles and rubbing them on the chest of his hoodie. “It was a safe bet on your part, anyhow - there’s usually someone out to get me. It’s not usually werewolves.” Usually it was his own sire.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice to just above a stage whisper; intentional but theatrical. “No one’s quite finished the job, yet. Whether it’s a product of an overestimation of their capability or an underestimation of my determination to survive…who can say? Maybe they just get bored.”

He turned his attention to Sergine, and offered his hand to them in greeting as well. “Good evening. Abel Beaumarchais, clan of the Rose,” he introduced himself with a smile. On the surface, he and Sergine seemed an exercise in contrasts. Where their voice was smokey and craggy, his was smooth as silk. Where they were covered by scars, he looked immaculately polished. “Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked, gesturing to his coat. “It’s a beer specially-formulated for the Kindred digestive system. As Geoffrey can attest, I’m sure.”

Then Abel’s emerald, vaguely serpentine gaze flicked Dio’s way. He was the type of person who could appreciate a good entrance. And who didn’t love an agitator? Anarchs were so much fun. “No need to lurk,” he said to her. “This is a safe space,” he joked dryly. "At least, I hope so," he added with a wink.

He wanted to grin like a cheshire cat, but instead looked back to Geoffrey with only mild amusement. “Are you still based out of Chicago? If you’re sticking around, you should come by my new club. It’s out past Town & Country. I have some work you might be interested in.”