[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Josh]

Buford, Ashlar, Gaspare, St. Clair, Sugar Kane
  Four vampires and a Singer
  The Conservatory of the Sinclair Mansion
   
  At that very moment, the tall handsome Toreador primogen reappeared. Opening the door and breezing in with a stunning young lady on his arm, they were laughing at a private joke while Ettiene pointed to one of Lady Sinclair’s more unusual objects d’ arte. Ashlar stood up, but motioned for Lady Gaspare to remain seated.  Buford was already in motion, with a curt, “Lady Gaspare, it was a pleasure meeting you,” before quickly striding to a wall between two large windows.
   
  As he walked, he pictured the room in his mind’s eye.  He saw the white, silvery moonlight streaming through the open curtains illuminating the bonsai tree he and St. Clair spoke of earlier, the wooden statue of mother and child, and dozens of other odds and ends that Lady Sinclair stored in her collection.
   
  "Mr Buford!" the young looking Toreador said under his breath. "Perhaps now might be time to ... I mean, no offence, the .." he subtly waved his fingers in front of his face and gave Buford 'a look'. "I'm not entirely sure how aware this lady is of our ... the Masquerade and all that!"
   
  “Tell them I’ve stepped out,” Buford growled.  Situated between the two windows, Buford turned.  He was fairly certain that the shadows were thick here, and anyone looking in his direction would have their night vision dazzled by the glow of the moon.  He glanced around and stage-whispered, “There’s no need for them to wait.  I’ll be able to hear them quite well from the garden.”
   
  Not a creature to leave things to chance, he pictured the wall where he was standing to be pitch black, frozen ink rather than warm velvet, giving the small alcove an unwholesome cast that most minds would just as soon ignore, along with the man behind it.  He did not truly disappear, but just about anyone looking around the room would subconsciously let their eyes skip over him and his wall, as if he weren’t there.
   
  Ettienne could only truly be described as breezing when he entered a room because the vampire had spent most of his unlife perfecting the art of disconnection. He barely touched the floor, barely stayed long enough for the punchline, barely looked at you, barely seemed to pay attention. But Buford knew the act, something gave away the faux flippancy. He flitted around the room leading Sugar with him, playing what the Nosferatu assumed was some role for the human. 
   
  Ashlar gave names even before they came close enough to see each other, Sugar Kane it was. He then sat again and took a tight grip on his own date, patting her arm and looking into her eyes.
   
  "Why yes," Ettienne sang in something between a french and a Highland accent. "Buford, I would love to introduce to you miss Sugar Kane. The next big thing!"
  
[An Obfuscated Tag]

       
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