Logs:Vampire Court - December 2017

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Vampire Court - December 2017
Dramatis Personae

Anastassia (ST), Alice, America, Arman, Caim, Callum, Charlize, Cinaed, Fabian, Jackson, Kaleina, Kanta, Lexi, Neferet, Neria, Ryuhei, Sabine, Tre, Valentin, Whitechapel

9 December, 2017

Three months after the rise of Prince Anastassia Petrovna, Court is back in session in The Makai, and the Kindred of Fallcoast are as snippy as ever.


The Makai, time for Court to begin, or perhaps just a little past the hour. Ostensibly, many of the Kindred may well have already arrived, and the Prince is one of them. However, Anastassia Petrovna has waited to reveal herself at the proper time, having some last-moment preparations being made before coming into view. Plenty of time for those Kindred already present to mingle briefly before things begin.

This is the first court that Neria has had the opportunity to attend here in Fallcoast, and so of course she is punctual, neither early nor late. Her attire befits both her clan and her covenant, simple but expensive, and she steps into the exclusive club with her head held high but her posture relaxed.

Sabine is here, dressed - as always - in some ridiculous bondage-inspired fantasia in PVC and latex, topped tonight with a head-dress made out of literal crow's wings. Her lips are painted scarlet, her fingernails black, and the newly-arrived ancilla stands with a little smile on her face near one of the tables inscribed with the Crone's insignia. It's not clear if she's choosing not to sit -- or just if she can't in tonight's dress.

Court. Charlize remembers those. Not very fondly, which is why she barely goes to them. But there's a new Prince...not that Charlize voted for her...so best come and check it out. Even if it is a continuation of an oppressive elitist idea when all kinded should be as one in a co-operative of mutual beneficiality. Charlize arrives in her dolly-bird gear; white latex knee high boots, a sunburst yellow minidress (sleeveless), a beaded vest, and a bandana in her hair. And, yes, tinted John Lennon glasses. The Daeva happy to wave to anyone and everyone as she bounces in. "Love the outfit" she smiles to Sabine as she passes.

Somewhere in that time that's passed, someone who looks like they don't belong, came in. Unfamiliar, too, but with the security, it's highly unlikely they are here by mistake. That someone is Jackson. He's certainly not at all dressed for an occasion of court by anyone's standards, a wife beater and ripped jeans, to go with a leather coat. He does, hwoever, look anything but apologetic about that. Hands tucked into the pockets of his leather coat, a small little whistle escapes from his lips as takes in the lavish place. A shake of his head follows as he moves to find a seat without a word. Eyes affixed suddenly to the throne with what can only be called a look of distaste.

Valentin arrives for court in good time, accompanied by a swirl of several suited ghouls that look mostly like castoffs from old seasons of 'The Apprentice' or something. Conservatively turned out in a charcoal gray suit, Valentin nevertheless wears it well and manages to cut something of a dashing figure as he strides in and takes a look around, seeking out a piece of prime real estate on which to stake his claim. Picking a spot relatively near the front, but not precociously so, Valentin nods at the few he knows as he passes on his way to one of the tables marked with the symbol of the Invictus and takes a seat. The servants are sent off to go play in the casino, or something.

Glancing around at those who have arrived, noting their selection of tables, Neria walks with deliberate steps towards the one marked with a cross and skull, standing beside it and resting one hand on the tabletop.

Arman Daniels is here, the first Court he's had the opportunity to attend in Fallcoast, dressed fairly plainly, though his appearance is clean and well-kept. He makes little effort to draw attention to himself, though when he appears at the Sanctified table, a little wave given to Neria as he joins her there - that is probably enough, in itself, to stand out.

Dark attire seems to be the theme of the evening, and so it continues with the entrance of Rome's greatest export since spaghetti western cinema, Fabian Valentine. The short-statured gentleman is this evening is attired in an ensemble rather ostentatious even in its simplicity from the deep purple horse- hair brush atop his steel-framed leather helmet to the segmented steel plates adorning his chest and upper arms. Overtop of his classically-inspired body armour Fabian has artfully draped a thick woolen toga in place of a more-traditional cape, dyed a purple so dark it appears black in most conventional lighting. Upon his feet are hobnailed 'sandals' of the same dark purple colour. He enters flanked by a pair of armoured, though not togaed individuals, their exposed sword sheaths markedly swordless.

Kaleina enters alone. This is supposed to be a safe place, so her retinue of bodyguards remains outside, contenting themselves with... something. She makes her way towards her fellow Crones and settles in, cane clicking with every other step.

Fashionably late, Neferet enters the casino flanked as almost always by her pair of ghouls; a dark skinned man in an expensive suit, and a Japanese woman in a smart business skirt and blouse. She makes her way toward the designated location for court tonight, hazel eyes doing a brief scan over the assembled gathering of the city's Kindred. Neferet finds a seat in the area seemingly marked for the Carthian Movement while the ghouls make themselves unobtrusive, almost disappearing into the background. Smiles and the wringgle of fingers in a greeting are offered to ward Charlize and Anastassia, others treated with politeness for now at least while she sits and folds well manicured hands in her lap to wait.

From a door in the back, emerges Ishihara Ryuhei. He's not a very noticeable figure, truth be told. He doesn't command attention, nor does his presence seem to demand anything of those present. If anything, he is simply unassuming. Like some garishly dressed Japanese youth. A white stocking cap is slipped over his head, with a series of buttons and pins tacked on to it. One side bears a black star in glossy black. His hair, long and poker straight, cascades down from underneath of the cap in streaks of color. Blonde, and silver, and pinks and blues and purples, with callico colored braids framing a fine, delicate face sculpted from polished ivory, and accentuated with thick, dark lashes and smokey eyeshadow in shades of black and tangerine. Piercings, too, adorn his face. One at his right eyebrow, a glistening black hoop, and a ring in his left nostril, and finally, a ring through one corner of his plump, rosepetal pink bottom lip, corkstrewing around and ending with black spikes. His slender, willowy form is clad in a layered series of tanktops, in various colors, over which he has shrugged on a white hoodie with black kanji splashed wildly all across it. A pair of black jeans hang dangerously low on his hips, with a thick, studded leather belt wound around them. Those jeans may as well be painted on, as tight as they cling to impossibly long, slender legs, and are frayed and torn here and there, before they disappear into a pair of bulky white high top Nike Dunks, with red accents. Ryuhei casts a quick glance about to the assembled, before he silently... too silently, makes his way to the table at the dias, and claims his position there, just beneath the throne, in the high backed seat that is engraved with the symbol of the Circle in it's polished, black wooden surface.

Cinead steps into the casino with sure stride - keen icy-blue eyes sweep over the surrounds in one smooth motion as he spies the Invictus table. Muscles ripple under his Italian made suit as he virtually glides over to the table with his left hand occupied by a black lacquered cane in his left gloved hand. The long black locks sway with ease over the the tops of his broad shoulders as he claims a vacant chair. Back straight and chin inclined - a regal pose.

Just before the selection of tables, Jackson stops and examines them all, as if deciding which table he should sit at, despite them being clearly marked. A long deliberation. A look back at the fully armored Fabian has that look of distaste, from a moment ago, turn into something else, something worse. It seems to make his decision for him and he finds his seat at the Carthian table, not particularly beside anyone, tossing his shit-kicker covered feet up on the table and leaning back. Classy.

Neria glances aside as Arman settles at the same table as she, favouring the other Sanctified with a slight smile, murmuring something to him with voice lowered, gesturing with one hand.

Lexi makes her way into court over by charlize quietly as not to disturb anyone talking. She smiles up at Charlize as she enters and takes her spot by her side.

Kaleina glances over at the woman seated with her and furrows her brow slightly. "That is a very… complete introduction." She sits up straight. "Kaleina Mhairi, lady of Blackstone."

Finally, the moment has arrived. There's no real fanfare, no sudden music or anything like that – just the long shadow of Anastassia Petrovna as she comes into view at the entrance. Her hair is done up in a Japanese-style bun, complete with chopsticks -- much different than her usual penchant for letting her hair down in waves. Her attire is quite different, too -- a black Victorian-style jacket over a white silk blouse, leading into a dark charcoal grey floor-length skirt.

After a moment, she moves forward, heading up towards the front, nodding here and there at various Kindred. Bypassing the Primogen table, she moves up onto the dais, turning around and moving to sit upon the throne. "Good evening, Kindred of Fallcoast," she begins. "I see several new faces here that I haven't seen before; welcome, and I'm sure we'll get to know one another soon enough."

With all the enthusiasm of a single mother spending a child-free morning in line at the DMV, Fabian Valentine has opted to rest his elbow on the arm of his chair and to deposit his bearded cheek upon his firmly-curled fist. He's attentive, certainly, but it isn't until his ghoul arrives with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice that his attention is truly obvious.

"Managed to make it?" Charlize smiles to Lexi as the ghoul finally shows. "I think we have a table over there." She gestures to the one where Carthians in Neferet and Jackson are seated before leading the way. Anastassia gets a look over but its not her kind of fashion. But, hey, everyone is free to be what they want to be.

Lexi looks to her regent and smiles proudly "Yes Ma'am. " She follows Charilze over to thier table.

Her eyes land on Charlize while she approaches the table, even though Neferet is speaking to Jackson in a low tone. Her fellow Carthian is met with a sweet smile and a glance over Lexi before turning full attention back on her current conversation however briefly before it ends. She relaxes back into her chair, turning her gaze toward Ana, waiting and observing for the counrt 'proceedings' to begin.

Valentin seems to smile lightly at whatever is being discussed at the tables reserved for the members of the Invictus, the leftmost corner of his mouth flickering upward into a slight smirk. However, once the Prince arrives and things seem to be getting underway in earnest, Valentin's attention moves mainly in that direction, pale green eyes resting upon the Dais with quiet interest.

From his place at the Primogen table, Ryuhei leans forward in the imposing chair that he has taken up residence in. His hands come together, wispy digits, each ending in glossy, dark painted nail entwining together. The tip of his button nose rests in his knuckles, and he lets his cold, unblinking chocolate eyes wander over those gathered as the Prince makes her initial greeting. When she passes the table, Ryuhei's eyes avert, casting themselves down behind the thick veils of dark lashes, as a gesture of respectful, but subtle greeting. However, no sooner than he hears the rustling of her skirts behind him, his serpentine stare resumes, seeking out Kaleina and remaining there, unblinking or wavering for the time being.

Caim was in the background, making sure the refreshments were appropriate. He watches the people go to their places and remains silent for now. He holds a goblet of bloodwine and begins to approach various people to give them goblets. He is polite and easy to dismiss, moving between the people.

Ryuhei would find that Kaleina occasionally looks in his direction, but it never seems to be because of him. In fact, she treats the strange looking person as part of the rest of the crowd and pretty much snubs him despite him staring.

Familiar to few these days, Whitechapel finds some place to rest against a wall like the super subtle person she is. She doesn't take a seat at a table, nor does she seem all that inclined to take a drink from anyone. The brim of her tophat is pulled low and her head is bowed shallowly as she listens in.

Jackson watches the Prince enter in all here pomp, even if it was muted by some standards. He takes her in briefly with a look of disapproval, perhaps. His interest leaves rather quickly, apparently not giving much to the ceremony of it all. Instead he turns his attention to Lexi and Charlize as they sit down, giving them a quick study before turning back to Neferet and seeming to respond to her at their table. He crosses his arms over his chest, and is practically lying his his chair, as it comes off the two front feet.

Lexi watches the prince enter as well, and begins to turn her attention towards charlize and the people at her table.

Anastassia leans forward in her chair, gesturing down towards the Primogen table just below her throne. "As you can see, the Court has yet to be filled. Primogen Sunset has departed on business, which means now the Primogen Council is a Council only of the Circle of the Crone. It also means that an Envoy will be needed, someone who can and has connections with other supernatural denizens that share the night with us. The Ordo Dracul will appoint a new Primogen in due time, as will the Lancea Sanctum, seeing as how we have new arrivals to the Praxis. As for the rest of you... I trust I will be receiving word of some nominations soon. I don't want to feel as if I have to choose who represents their covenant, after all."

Caim stops when he notices Whitechapel and walks over to her. "Boy seeing you makes me miss home." He says, his brittish accent clear on his voice as he moves to offer her a goblet of bloodwine. "So how were things back home before you left?" He asks curiously.

Over at the Sanctified table, Arman's eyebrows lift at the Prince's proclamation. A Council with only the Acolytes represented? How... improper. And the mention of the Envoy? That's an intriguing one to him, though he says nothing aloud, just leans over to say something toward the other at the table.

If you could do your best to enter without making as much attention as possible, you'd be another Callum. The man enters by quietly and softly walking down the stairs, and apparently doing his utmost to not collide or touch with another individual - to the point that he actively steps around a ghoul that is only slightly in the way.

His fingertips press over the table with the symbol of the Ordo Dracul, before he sits himself down - raising a hand to give an awkward gesture of greeting, a half-hearted wave.

Unaccustomed to the politics so much, Tre did get that there was to be court happening tonight and since being in the city for some time, it was a good idea to make himself known. Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a red Star Wars t-shirt and a black jacket, looks around noting most are dressed well nice he would assume. Still he walks off to find a place to hang out at.

Raising a finger, motioning over one of the staff working at here - presumably a ghoul or otherwise well controlled - Neria presses a small note into his hand, murmuring something soft and then waving him away. The man begins to drift around the room, sticking to the edges, fading into the background.

There's a quirking of her brow as she's approached, one golden eye sliding toward Caim as he offers forward that drink. There's a long silence offered in retort, before she jerks her chin upward and taps her fingertips hard against her hat to tilt it back.

"Haven't the foggiest, me, chickadee, none whatso." Whitechapel pips back, despite the arrival of others much more important than herself. Be rude to ignore the man with the drinks, after all. "Dank, I would presume, would I, I would indeed." It's his fault. He got her talking. Everyone shun Caim. "Wet, I dare say. Cold, the wise might wager, they would." A pause, a back and forth waggle of her hand limp-wristedly, "Londony, that, ey? Covers it, that." A blink.


With that, her attentions move toward Callum and his awkward waving, her head hanging forward with all the weight in the world. His social inadequacy is an incurable thing.

Snapping his head around so fast he looks like he's rehersing for an adaptation of The Exorcist, Fabian Valentine's almost-alarmed gaze settles squarely on the source of that noise some might charitably describe as conversation. "Well. Shit." His pale eyes focus intently on Whitechapel as she does her thing and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly, "Jack's back."

Lexi is paying attention to what is going on around her but mostly is just listening.

Anastassia leans back in the throne. "That being said, I imagine some might be curious as to why Court is being held here tonight, rather than the Dirigo Cinema Center as it has in the past. The fact is, the Dirigo was under ownership to former Primogen Francis LaSalle; with his departure several months previously, I'm looking into means of ensuring that the Dirigo remains under Kindred control. Now, that is not to say I believe the Dirigo is compromised as Elysium -- it is not, to my knowledge. But I am making certain that it does remain under our control."

She pauses for a moment. "As I mentioned earlier, there are a number of faces here this evening that are new to Fallcoast. I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting you all to welcome you to the Praxis; that being said, would those of you new to Fallcoast please rise and introduce yourselves?"

Sabine steps forward, her PVC dress whispering as she walks, heels clacking on the ground. "Good evening," she says, her voice some even contralto. "I am Sabine Laurent, Whore of the Circle. My sire was the haunt Fyodor Rostev. I was released and first recognized in the All Night Society of Paris one- hundred six years ago. I was most recently resident in San Francisco - I have come here for some change of scenery, and in the spirit of establishment I have offered my services as a sorcier and devotioniste to the Praxis as a token of good-will." She smiles broadly, full of white teeth. "Those selfsame services are available to the Kindred here, upon terms of negotiation. As I said, my ritual role is the Whore: ergo, I am for sale." A little nod, then, and she withdraws back to go stand by the Crone table.

There is a small pause when Sabine states her... well. Fabian frowns slightly glances at the other two at his table before sniffing rather sharply. He raises a hand, almost coyly, and says in a firm and clear voice, "How much would it cost for you to wear clothing?"

Literally freezing in his seat, Callum would have the look of a man who's staring at a train barreling down at him while he's stuck in the car, if he wasn't wearing a gas mask over his head. Instead, his head tics to the side for a moment, and then he slowly and awkwardly picks himself up, sliding his chair back so it doesn't make noise. There's hesitation until he stands straight - and he begins rubbing his fingers against each other, working up the nerve. Blessed relief flows over him like a wave as someone else starts talking before him, and then comes the point where Sabine withdraws.

His voice comes out as a gurgle, rasped and pushed through lungs that were damaged before the embrace, and obviously never really put themselves back together too well afterwards. "Callum. Ordo Dracul. Mek-" the word is interrupted as he hauls in a lungful of air in a painful 'Hhk' noise, "-het. Hello."

Then, just like that, he's sat himself back down in his seat and pulled it up once more. His hands balling themselves into fists.

Tre sees a face or two who he knows, but thats it. He checks out the casino from where he is standing, though he's close enough to hear what is going on and when it's mentioned that there are those who are new to the city to come introduce themselves. His eyes scan the area they are in to see who will be the first and once Sabine goes up, he sighs and knows he's been here for too long to not come forth. Besides, he didn't need any issues while he is here. Than watching as Callum comes to introduce himself, still Tre just watches.

After a few moments, stepping forward, he looks around than focuses his gaze on the Prince. "My name is Tre, Unaligned, Gangrel apart of the Bruja." he states. His slightly pointed ears twitch just slightly. He doesn't bow or anything, but he does move back to where he was standing.

Jackson perks up from his table, letting loose a small, possibly practiced laugh as his eyes land on Fabian after his comment towards Sabine. "Well shit, maybe I was wrong. I might have to like him." He seems to be musing to himself despite his volume. Before returning to his table conversation and tablemates.

Despite the soul-bore glare that's afforded by the alarmed Fabian, Whitechapel seems not to have noticed him just yet, a mercy provided by the 'conversation' in which she partakes. At least, such is the way it might appear.

Probably for the best.

There's a vague, lazy approximation of a smile that creases pale lips as she leans back against the wall, having politely declined any and all refreshments offered her, a casual rise and fall of her chest suggesting she's not yet beyond the habits of humanity still so near in a mind so fractured. She is silent when the Prince speaks, vacant politician's smirk practiced to perfection, her gaze wandering off to take in those that see fit to introduce themselves as newcomers to the Praxis already old to her.

It doesn't occur to her that she might be a 'new' face again.

One of her gloved hands is lifted to touch the brim of her hat in a mock-doffing of her cap to those that speak, each in turn as they offer their names to the court, until she turns to offer the doffing to Callum and her expression falls from pleasant how-do's to eyes-narrowed accusation saved for kids that dare trick or treat at the same house twice.

"You havin' a Johnny giraffe, then, ey? Ey? A chew'a taffy, you?" It then seems to dawn on her why he's introducing himself, her head quickly turning toward the Prince with a wide-eyed in-the-headlights freezing of her features. "Er, uh, quite right, right, right indeed, that, yes. Aah-ha-eh..." Her back straightens just a fraction, her hands smoothing over the creases of her coat, lips pursing as she waits for the gasmask-wearing fellow to finish.

"Whitechapel Jack, me," She introduces near afterward, "Former Priscus of the Ventrue, them lot, those, I was at that." She continues, "Former Prefect of the Carthian Movement, I was at that, that too, as well, indeed, me." ... Sniff. Her eyes move between those that introduced themselves and the Prince, before a broad if sheepish, too-charming smile creases her lips, brows lifting high. "A pleasure, diddums, it is, it-is, innit, ey? Mm." The skin above her nose wrinkles and she rests herself back at the wall, one eye closing in a quick wink, accompanied by a stiff nod and a pointing of one gloved finger toward the Prince.

Charlize offers a wave to Tre as he introduces himself...along with a couple of 'whoots'. She remembers him! "Hey" she calls out to Fabian. The whore looks damn good with no clothes on...looks like at least. Let her be free, man."

"Apparently he is shy when it comes to women." Caim says about Fabian before looking to the others. He would move to approach Sabine to offer her a goblet of bloodwine and given time will move to each of the new people with a goblet in hand. He keeps a friendly smile on his face as he offers the drinks.

Rising from her seat, with Arman joining her upright a moment later, Neria turns and dips a polite bow of her head towards the dais. "Prince. Primogen." Her gaze then moves between the sigil-marked tables; Invictus, Carthian, Ordo. It skips over the Circle, finding nothing there worth her attention. "I am Neria DeRosa, of Clan Ventrue." Simply stated, no affectations, but there is a note of pride in her voice. "Priest and student under God."

As she finishes speaking, Arman continues with, "And I am Arman Daniels, Shadow, Vicar of the Lancea Sanctum." His voice only sounds a touch more emotional on the surface, but there's the slightest tremble in his words, not a nervous one, but the sort of tone that belies just a bit of underlying passion. "We have come to the Praxis of Fallcoast to see to the spiritual needs of the local Kindred. And it is a great privilege to be here."

Lexi looks about as the newcomer's are introducing thier selves and smiles. Then turns back to her tablemates.

"Is that everyone, then? I still see some faces that I do not yet recognize," Ryuhei asks in his soft, lyrical voice that seems to still fill the room without aid. He lowers his hands to the table itself, as his gaze draws along the rest of those assembled, one brow ticked upwards. "Though my devotions to the Dark Mother have kept me from the revelry of peer interaction as of late, so perhaps it is just that I have been remiss."

There is simply no sense of urgency to Jackson and his introduction, if he is indeed, going to make one. He continues to chat at his table like nothing is going on around him. He even grins, says something low at the tables and then winks. At that, he begins to stand, but very slowly, only to then take a cigarette out of his pocket. He puts it to his mouth and then takes it out again looking around. Likely suddenly he remembers where he is and what's going on. He even feigns surprise. Eyes rise to the Prince's and meet hers. "Jack, Just Jack." A quick look Whitechapel's way and then back, probably due to her own use of Jack. "Gangrel." He makes a lazy motion with his cigarette at the table, as if the rest should be evident. He's about to sit down before pausing, and making an absolutely ridiculous and rpacticed bow at the waist. "Your Majesty." He falls back down into his chair then, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. Short and sweet.

Lexi waits for jackson to sit down then decides to stand up in her pink dress and smiles towards the prince. "Lexi ghoul of Charlize. Pleasure to meet you my majesty" As she bows quickly and then sits down.

Anastassia stands up from the throne, looking around. "To all of you... welcome to Fallcoast. In case you haven't already guessed, I'm Anastassia Petrovna, Prince of the Praxis. I'm still a bit new to things, I confess, but I am trying to learn quickly and not make the same mistakes." She pauses for a moment. "There is one other matter I do wish to address this evening: domain here in the Praxis."

Returning to his apparently default state of near-catatonic boredom, Fabian yawns softly and blinks a handful of times before making a sotto-voce comment to the people at his table. He rolls his eyes and collects up his glass of champagne. He sniffs and sighs softly, "I suppose it wouldn't be court if we didn't have Edgy McEdgerton here to spice up the evening. I'm surprised he managed to find pants." He casts a brief glance towards Jackson and allows his eyes to flick to the ceiling, "Next is the Daeva trying to seduce everyone..." He pauses and glances towards Lexi, "Ah, of course. The uppity ghoul. That's bingo, I think."

Charlize scratches her forehead, using her middle finger, completely accidentally in the direction of Fabian.

"You forgot the pompous Invictus cunt, you did, you, Mister Hunt." Whitechapel offers up, "I believe, I do, me, that's center square, innit, ey?"

Disgustingly late one (1) Kanta Geet swaggers in as if it isn't a thang. Dressed in skin tight white pants, and a black blouse. A cascade of black and gold hair down her back. She saunters on black stilettos over to where the Circle of the Crone are gathered and settles down into a boneless lounge.

Kaleina sits back for all of the introductions, but the mentions of domains seems to pique her interest just slightly - as if there is finally someting that warrants her attention. "Down to business..." She mutters to herself.

"He is the pompous invictus cunt." Caim says to Whitechapel before moving back to the woman and holds a goblet for himself. Overall he looks more bored then entertained. Still with new people coming he approaches them to offer them goblets of bloodwine.

Raising his glass in Whitechapel's direction and offering a thin smile, "And Ventrue off her rocker. But I figured those were a given, Jack." He bobs his eyebrows before leaning back to down a mouthful of the champagne, pointedly ignoring the various fingers and things raised in his direction. (Fabian’s pose)

Jackson chuckles, whether it be to Fabian's comment at him, or Whitechapel's back. It is at Fabian he looks, showing the pearly whites in a grin. "I knew I shouldn't have worn pants. It was a lot of effort." A sigh is released, obviously put on. "It's tough being right all the time." Once again, seemingly making a comment to himself.

Lexi just smiles as well, the comment of her trying to seduce anyone cause well she knows damn well, she doesn’t have to try. She looks over to charlize and smiles as she pat her leg under the table.

Ryuhei says, "Can we leave the lover's spats and overstating the obvious until after our business is concluded?" Ryuhei propositions, his voice as monotonous and peaceful as it ever is, soft and lyrical, though still carrying through the room clearly without aid. "I assure you that we are all so very, very interested in watching the catfight that is sure to ensue. As we all know well, I am always interested in the misadventures of our dear Alder Fabian, but for now…"

Ryuhei just lifts a hand up, palm down and horizontal, and slowly, he lowers it.

A vague tension of the muscles that cause a squinting of the eyes, Whitechapel's smile remains as she stares across the room at Fabian, growing tighter by the moment as her upper lip curls ever so slightly. "Pretty sure you qualify for both, you DO, diddums, you do. My, my, mmmmy," The letter draws uncomfortably at the last, as though she fought to leave it unsaid and failed. "Such the over-achiever, cheeky monkey, lookit you, would you, do." If one could bite words as they spoke them, one might assume this is what that would look like. Even still, she once more straightens her coat daintily, smoothing those imaginary wrinkles until it's just so, her ever-churning golden gaze meandering back toward the Prince, and then to Ryuhei.

Barely noticed Fabian at all, not her.

"I do apologize, me, noodle," Her smile remains thin, "But, in all fairness, fair indeed, all fairness decreed," She pauses, brows raised, "He started it."

Is she late? She's late. Newcomers may have no idea who she is, residents hopefully recognize Rica. She joins the dias with the other leadership sorts, so she's probably just one of those Kindred who leave their Obfuscation ability up as a matter of habit, because she reads as mortal. Anastassia is given a grin, not even a sheepish one, but there's a broad hint of earnest apology there, wordless sorry, legit cause kept her. Whatever it was. Nod for Ryuhei as well, word up. She looks Daeva, stylish (she thinks) and so on. Who is she? Well, that's America. Gangrel Priscus and Sheriff to the Prince, though you'd have be told that, she doesn't exactly look the role(s).

Her introduction given, Neria settles back into her seat, leaning to one side slightly to murmur something to Arman before turning her attention back to the room, one brow raising as America appears on the dais.

As Rica appears, Ryuhei's cold, almond shaped eyes of brown swivel unnaturally in their sockets to fall on her. A silent huff, and his pliant, pierced lips curl up into a lopsided smirk, but he gives an upnod of recognition all the same. He greets her verbally, if only to allow all the new faces to know her importance, with a simple word. "Sheriff."

"Your interest in my affairs," Fabian says with a light grin as he faces the accusatory Ryuhei, "Are, as ever, a source of both joy and pride, my most learned Hierophant." He sips once more from his glass, returning to his well-rehearsed appearance of vague disinterest, only heightened when the topic of domain is brought up.

Jackson leans back in his chair again, once more placing his feet up on the table. He steeples his fingers across his chest, and puts that almost ever-present grin veer to Whitechapel. He can't resist one more jab, it seems, "Don't THEY always?" He doesn't specify who they are, but that's likely on purpose. At least, then, he finally stops talking loudly and goes back to the table and the people at it. Allowing the ceremony to carry on without him, anyway.

Lexi looks to her tablemates especially Charlize and speaks softly.

The Ordo table is kept busy by the fact that Callum has taken out a cellphone and is currently tapping away with his thumbs, his head craned to one side so that he has one green lens focused down on the screen.

Anastassia's eyes rove over the crowd -- quite a showing, especially compared to the previous Court when she claimed Praxis. A lot has changed in the nearly three months since. Some things -- like the ongoing verbal sparring going on between some of the others -- well, those don't change much. There's a bit of an eyeroll and a brief shake of her head. Sunset had not been joking when he first heard of her plan to become Prince and assume control of the Praxis -- he had likened it to preparing to spend her unlife herding a bunch of disparate cats who each want to be the apex predator.

Lips twitch, and she holds up a hand once Primogen Ryuhei finishes speaking. "As I was saying," she continues, "domain within the Praxis right now is, quite frankly, a joke. I don't presume to know what thought processes went into trying to slice the Praxis up into so many tiny slices that everyone could wind up with their own proverbial pizza, and still have slices left over. That being said, given my communist upbringing, I won't deny that I've considered just saying to hell with it all and scrapping it post-haste. The problem is, then there is no system to govern domain... and I can also imagine the yowling and banshee-level screeching I'd hear if I were to do that. So, I'm going on record right now: things are going to change when it comes to domain. How it changes, I've yet to decide upon fully, but this piecemeal system that is currently in place is going to go the way of the dodo bird soon enough."

She looks around. "Hence, it would be in the covenants' best interest to select a Primogen representative sooner, rather than later. I know, I'm repeating myself, but that happens on occasion. Seeing as how I do intend to share with the Primogen Council my plans concerning re-establishing domain under my rule, it might be wise to consider my words." She looks around. "As for those currently unaligned... I might suggest you gather together as well and discuss matters. When the time comes, I will want someone from the unaligned community present to further the discussions pertaining to domain. I'm not going to go so far as to say I'll accept an Unaligned Primogen Council member, but I won't have it said that I'm listening solely to the voices of those who have chosen a covenant either. After all, my Sheriff here is among the Unaligned, so it can't be said I'm disregarding the Unaligned members of the Praxis."

She glances around the chamber once more. "That covers everything I have to say at the present, aside from this: my Sheriff needs Deputies, and there are a number of positions remaining in the Court to be filled. I am disheartened at the relative lack of interest thus far; that being said, I would suggest you look into yourselves and think about whether you want this Praxis to be more stable in the coming nights, or if you want to still be piecemeal and allow everything to be devoured by the first member of the Brood or VII that comes along... well, that's up to you. I, however, would much prefer this Praxis to remain standing. And with that, I hereby declare Court to be adjourned."

Quirking a brow up at the Prince, a small smile rises on his lips a little. Looking over at America, he gives a nod, "Why not, sign me up as a Deputy." he says casually as he looks to the Prince and than to America. He doesn't look to the others at the moment, this is his call. He glances over to Charlize, recognizing her voice and smiling, "Hey Char." he calls over to her. (Tre’s pose)

Oh. The Court is over. That was fast. Callum's head tics to the side as he looks around himself in an attempt to once again remember where he is, and more importantly - where's the quick way out. Oh no, it's a main door. Callum shuffles in his seat a bit as he begins to hunker down, apparently deciding that staying where he is until everyone else has left to make his way out is a far better solution than even considering going out with everybody else.

Sabine smiles at Kaleina and Kanta as she moves to leave the table. "It was a pleasure to meet both of you," she says. "I think perhaps we should all as a Covenant see each other more."

It's over. Fabian is glad. Fabian leaves. The end.

It's over. Fabian leaves. Whitechapel is glad.

Clearly, this is not over. One can tell by that scheming expression. If one cared to tell.

The tophatted gal turns her attentions to the lurking Callum, heaving an audible sigh before she lets out a sharp, quick whistle, snaps her fingers and points toward the masked Shadow. "Ho," She barks, jerking her head to one side, toward the door. "Time to be away, away with fyfe and drum, us, we two. Toddle and toodle, chickadee."

Nothing out of America, other people are happy to do the talking and she's happy to let them to it. Though being late is a bit peevish. Looks unprofessional, or something, whatever the cause. Perhaps she thinks talking would just draw more attention to it. Anyway, here to be seen. Pointed out, introduced. Etc. When Tre flags himself as a Deputy Wannabee she'll give him a measuring Look, but doesn't seem inclined to discuss the matter right now. Everyone's here, after all. Not idea for job interviews.

And so it ends. "Well, that was illuminating. We ought to plan a more quiet meeting soon, shouldn't we?" That's directed at Neria as Arman gets to his feet, his expression one of muted enjoyment. "Until then..." A short bow is given, and then he's off, walking purposefully out the door.

Callum rouses himself from his seat by almost knocking it over as he's whistled at. There's the sound of air hissing out - or just the man himself, as he grabs at the chair before it topples. He straightens it up a bit, head tilting left and right as he stares out at the world through one lens - or both - before he then shoves his phone away into his coat. Gloved fingers flex a bit as he rubs his index and thumb together on his left hand, a bit too quickly pacing over to Whitechapel.

His right hand raises up and grips her sleeve for a moment, rubbing it inbetween his thumb and forefinger in a contemplative manner before he releases her sleeve. "Too bright here." He starts, head tilting to the side to stare off at Whitechapel behind one lens. "Too many people. Not a-hhk-ny food to eat. I am hun-hhk-gry. Need to find food." There's a pause, and he adds. "Too noisy."

A quick glance is given the tug at her sleeve, before Whitechapel's shoulders lift and drop in a shrug. "Right, then... pick your poison, ey? Ey?" She elbows him, "Poison?" She does it again, "Ey? Ey—ahh, wankaaah." She lets out in a drawn affair as she strides away toward the door with the good doctor in tow.

Rising to her feet, Neria takes a thoughtful look at the dais, and then the table marked with the stylised arrow of the Carthian movement, before brushing down her dress with one hand and beginning to walk to the door.

Tre walks over to the bar, not sure what else he wants to do at this point. He made it to the meeting, did his introduction. He orders something, than as he looks around, he sniffs the air for a moment. Mentally shaking his head, he looks towards the exit, maybe it's time for him to leave.

Charlize isn't sure she likes the idea of losing her domaiin but if it's for the common good...she'll think about it. Time to get back to "The Salty Seaman' and see how business is going on a snowy Saturday night. "Peace. Love. I'm out" she announces to whoever is left before heading home.

Lexi heads out with charlize and bids her farwell. "Yes, that does sound like a good idea. "

Whatever conversation that was happening at the Carthian table appears to have ended with Charlize's departure. Jackson gives a curious look to the aforementioned as she departs with her 'companion' in tow. He takes that cigarette from his ear and starts to stand, lighting it immediately with a zippo from his pocket. It's a casino, right? Not that he seems to care. Taking a puff and blowing it into the air, he takes a look at the leftovers and decides it's time to leave himself, giving a small little nod to Neferet and Whitechapel, if she's still around. Carthian Power or some such.