Reid, Murdoch & Co. Building - The Caterer's Offices
The stench of Chesterfields and the harsh staccato of stilettos on a hardwood floor precede the Caterer. A second set of heavier footsteps, no high heels, follows after, but barely a step behind.
The speed and stealth that Angelica uses to grab the remaining folders and end up back behind her desk belies her supernatural nature as surely as her sudden fading into the background. Her eyes speak of no surprise, the second set of footfalls is expected.
Exactly 16 minutes and 49 seconds after Angie's initial warning, the Caterer rounds a corner and stalks towards her office door. In great contrast to the placid mannerisms of her assistant, the Caterer's nostrils are flared and her mouth twisted in a scowl.
Eleven seconds later, the Caterer is sat behind her own, lavishly brobdingnagian, desk and a sharp "Well?" snaps out from within.
The scene within is a nightmare of perfume, glitz and glam. It is as if the office itself strives to be dignified, for the business held within it to be taken seriously, while being at war with the desires of the Caterer herself. Dark wood and somber lighting conflict with garishly colourful tapestries that cover every window. The bookshelves full of ancient tomes fight a losing battle against ostentatious knickknacks on every surface and a plethora of crystal ashtrays.
A lazy gesture towards the man who came in with her is a brief reprieve from what is surely another pointless meeting.
"This handsome specimen is Lucious Antony, a recently awakened member of your little troupe", is all the explanation given before she points her lit cigarette holder between him and where everyone else is standing. The order is clear.
"Get him up to speed on where to eat and who does what, after. Do play nicely, children, it's been a while since he's seen the moonlight."
"Now, my darlings", with a saccharine smile, the meeting progresses. The details are similar to what Angelica gave you. No surprises, with answers to all the trick questions provided. What should the profits be this month? Where are you going for deliveries? What parties are you attending? Are you receiving bodies this month?
Albert is told that the humans he is looking for have to be type O, the names 'Donald Harris' and 'Nadya Popovich' are given with an arched eyebrow which implies that is all he should need to get started. The kindred, though she does not say 'Nosferatu', is an Invictus member who has made too many office faux pas, so to speak. You can follow up with Jemma Ives in the North side for more details on where he might be.
By the end, the smile is gone, replaced by a look of petulant displeasure. Not a wrong answer amongst you, as always.
"Mr. Antony, after you have gotten yourself situated, you will report back here. My assistant will have your assignment prepared."
The whole ordeal lasts barely twenty minutes. Short enough that it could have been a phone call, or a file sent by a courier. Short enough to punctuate that you go where she demands.
"If you don't have any questions, get out."