[Sodium_noir] Recap - Buford, Ashlar, Gaspare

[Josh]

Hell is Other People
  Buford, Ashlar, Gaspare
  Three vampires
  The Conservatory of the Sinclair Mansion
   
  Buford turned to St Clair.  “Well sir, since it’s getting late, why not see if Miss Kane would be willing to sing a song for us now?  I’m sure she wouldn’t turn down a request to give a private performance for Mr. Ashlar, and I believe Ashlar would like to see how well Miss Kane does ‘under the gun’, so to speak.”
   
  "An excellent suggestion, yes." Etteinne replied. "Yes, bare with me and I will go and get her. Try not to miss me too much won't you all. Ash, Lady Gaspare." he shook Bufords hand and breezed out of the conservatory.

Burord watched the Toreador Primogen leave and then became slowly aware of Ash looked through the window behind him. His _expression one of puzzlement.

"I say, isn't that one of the Melcom crowd out there? Nied I think his name is."


  Buford turned and took two shuffling steps towards the window.  As he made his way next to Ashlar, he began thinking about what anyone outside might see while looking at the window.  If the reflection of the moon and stars didn’t cast their reflection upon the glass, the low light in the room might illuminate two shapes, indistinct, one slightly ahead and to the right of the larger shape behind.  He imagined the larger silhouette blurring into the smaller silhouette and running into the cracks and crevasses of the small square glass panes, until finally the only thing that anyone outside would pay attention to would be the first silhouette and the moonlit glass, completely ignoring the second person at the window. 
  
Buford scanned the backyard, letting his gaze linger over the honeysuckle and intricate stone paths winding their way through until he settled his jaundiced eyes on the man Ashlar pointed to.  Nied was short and squat, with something of the Danny DeVito about him in his tuxedo. They could just see him as he hovered right on the edge of the verander, peering out onto the Sinclair gardens. Fat, stubby, ring bedecked fingers wrapped around a palm tree, slowly throttling it. For a small guy he had some grip, his flesh pulping the thick bark of the imported plant until it snapped off and pitched into the lawn.
   
  There was something wrong about the man, wrong in a way that wormed itself into the subconscious and would never quite let a sane person go, even in their sleep.  Perhaps it was the infernal glee Buford saw in Nied’s eyes as he reveled in the destruction of the potted palm, or maybe it was the slight sparkling of self-satisfied drool at the corner of his mouth when he finished choking the life out of the plant.  Buford’s mind screamed for him to turn away, but he shook those thoughts from his head as a horse would shake off a fly and kept his eyes on the man below.
   
  After a moment Buford spoke, as much to himself as to Ashlar and Lady Gaspare.  “I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything natural on God’s green earth take so much pleasure in killing.”
   
  "I would have to agree." Ash replied. "At least, not without an audience." He retreated to his lovers side. 
   
  "I think you chose the best place to spend this evening Mr Buford. The Melcom board are dominating the floor out there. I wonder what her ladyship is getting out of the deal, letting them work the crowd must have cost them. She's a canny old maid that one!"
   
  Buford kept his gaze on the squat man below, as if he were afraid that Nied would somehow climb up the trellis and throttle the life from him should he look away.  He thought about Ashlar’s offhand comment about killing in front of an audience, and wondered exactly how old the man was and what circles he ran with when he was younger.  “If they all act the way Mr. Nied down there does, I’m surprised that Lady Sinclair allowed them on the grounds at all.”
   
  He let the silence rest between them, studying Nied a few moments longer before turning back to Ashlar and Lady Gaspare.  “Are all of Melcom’s board members this
” He searched for the words, wrinkling his brow as he took another drag from his pipe.  “
unstable?”
   
  "Not as far as I know!" Ash responded while peering over Bufords shoulder. "Alkthough the main guy really does have that air of steroid abuse and Jock mentality about him. I've heard stories about him loosing his cool that make me wonder about his own sanity. Our late friend Arthur Guiness used to tell a story about Mr Zorn and some New York magnate arguing over a table in a resturant. Apparently Zorn ended up frothing at the mouth, quite literally, and beat the guy half to death with his own Chair. Never even made the papers though so it might be a fairy story for all I know."
   
  Buford furrowed his hairless brow and took another drag from his pipe.  “We all know how easy it is to keep something out of the papers, Ashlar.  One story might be a fairy tale, but each new story makes the first a bit more believable.”  He removed the pipe from his mouth and used the stem to point out the window.  “Especially when we see things like that.”
   
  He knew what needed to be said, but needed to step lightly when he didn’t know everyone’s ultimate loyalty.  Buford seemed to debate taking another breath from his pipe, but instead cupped the warm bowl in his hands as he clasped them behind his back while he continued staring out the window.  He let silence fill the room once more, thickening around them until Buford had the physical urge to open a window for fresh air before he spoke again.
   
  “Ashlar, you’ve known the Prince for far longer than I have.  What’s his mind when it comes to Melcom?”
   
  The Youthful looking Toreador was thoughtful for a moment before replying.
   
  "Our esteemed Mr. Montoya is a man with a keen understanding of the mortal markets Mr. Buford. It is no stretch to say that he views Financial security as his top priority for a stable city. Melcom are one of the biggest and most lucrative companies in the world, let alone in Gotham, and that has not been lost on the Prince. However I do not think he is entirely satisfied with the company beyond their port folio. Nobody really knows who is behind the throne, and if it is one of the Undead, how they have managed to remain undetected for so long."
   
  Ash seemed to be weighing up similar thoughts to Buford as to whether he should proceed. He looked to his Tzimisce companion before taking the plunge.
   
  "Also, though it is not common knowledge, the Brujah of Dusk Industries have made it known to the Primogen that they are unhappy with Melcom's presence in the city and with the relationship between them and the inner council. Montoya has been eager to improve his relationship with Old Man Dusk, but his investment in Melcom stock seems to have queered that deal. He is currently sitting on the fence, waiting to see which of the two rival mega-corporations he ought to favour I believe."
   
  Buford turned back towards the other two vampires, leaving his hands cinched behind him while mentally filing away Ashlar’s remark about Montoya’s relationship with the Bruja.  Montoya must have a significant investment in Melcom for Mr. Dusk to be making an issue of it.  That, or Dusk was simply a victim of good old-fashioned kindred paranoia.  Buford made another mental note to look into the list of Melcom stakeholders and shareholders to see if any of them could be traced back to the Prince.
   
  “Well, my daddy used to tell me that, all things being equal, there was only one way to back a winning horse.”  He looked from Ashlar to Gaspare, waiting for either of them to volunteer an answer.  His lips curled into an impish smile before giving them the answer, a normally endearing expression turned into something else, an un-namable horror that caused the extremities to go numb and blood to frost.  “And that’s to cheat.”
   
  He let a gruff laugh slip, a throat-clearing sound that reminded Gaspare of the old men back in Italy who sat in the café and drank espresso, watching the world go by in a self-contented sort of way.  Buford made his way to a chair next to a well-appointed couch and gestured to it with aplomb.  “My dear lady, though it isn’t my home, I feel remiss in that no one has yet offered you a seat.   Please, sit so that we can continue our discussion in a more comfortable fashion.”
   
  After all three were settled comfortably, Buford continued.  “Unfortunately, we don’t know if Dusk and Melcom are actually equal.  We know who, or in our case, what runs Dusk Industries, and the Prince certainly knows what they are and are not capable of doing.  But Melcom’s a mystery.  We know that they’re big, and if the stories you’ve heard are true, their hands are in as many pockets as ours.”  Buford fiddled with his pipe while he thought, re-packing the tobacco and clearing a small air hole using the same small clever tool for both tasks.  He lit the bowl again, taking care to keep the flame away from Ashlar and Gaspare while he did so.  Once that was accomplished he leaned back, taking in the scene of the two old souls in young skin before him.
   
  “The only thing more dangerous than a mad dog that’s killed someone is one that hasn’t bit anyone yet.  At least with the first one, you know where you stand and what’s going to happen to your hand if you try to pet it.”  He took a slow pull from his pipe, watching the embers reflect in the eyes of the two vampires on the couch while the English Cavendish clouded the air between them.  “So who knows anyone willing to try and pet Melcom?”
   
  "I am reminded of that other piece of wisdom concerning Dogs Mr Buford. the one about them and Englishmen." Ash smiles a winning smile. His eyes never left the bowl of the Nosferatu's pipe. "Ettienne's sources also report that the Melcom inner circle, the seven here tonight, have been seen quite frequently walking about in the midday sun. Which makes me wonder if they are the thralls or the masters. Until we know that, I'd rather tempt them out with prime rib than try to pet them. However, as my sire would tell you, I've never been one for daring do or reckless abandon."
   
  Buford choked on his smoke, a short stucatto cough that Ashlar couldn't quite place until Buford took the pipe out of his mouth and laughed aloud, alternately tapping his knee with his pipe and pointing at Ashlar with it's stem.  "Prime rib!  Now that, sir, is some of the best advice I've heard in a while.  Prime rib indeed..."  Buford trailed off, smiling while ripples of his laughter occasionally resurfaced and his mustache writhed in gentle waves.
   
  After the laughing jag passed, he seemed to sink into the shadows falling across his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin with a strange (and somehow unnaturally disturbing) little smile on his lips.  "I think we're both right.  Tempt a dog out with a bit of meat, then see if he's agreeable to petting.  If no one can lure a pup away from his post, then we'll know that they're more afraid of getting swatted than filling their bellies, which may tell us more."
   
  [Tag]

       
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