Hearing Jaklo coming his way, Coal turned to give him a nervous smile. He hadn’t talk to him yet, maybe he was shy like Coal? Introverted? He seemed like a nice person, Coal felt as if the two of them could be good friends-

“If you think this is just a club for mages then you will be rudely awakened. So think twice before you sign anything. This isn’t a job you usually get to retire from.”, Coal smile immediately dropped, his expression now blank. ”Great,, he thought, I have to work with an insecure jackass.

“Oh don’t worry, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you for your concern!” he said in his most disgustingly sweet voice. False kindness, a sure fire way to annoy anyone.
He heard Jaklo mentally huff as he walked down the stairs, only for Atlas to come bounding up with a bottle of liquor. He seemed to be in a happier mood, maybe he could lift Coal’s spirits too.
“H-”
"Well then. It seems we have a case. Cheers." Atlas slurred, well not slurred, but to Coal anyway he did.
”A jackass of a hunter, and an alcoholic vampire, great., Coal’s positive mood was deteriorating, and his urge to snap someone’s neck was growing. He felt as if he couldn’t take another word, he was going to worm himself into the drunkard’s mind and-
"Excuse that slip up. And you, boy". He turned to Coal. He was thinking, in a spiteful manner, "Don't go poking around in the head of somebody 7 times your age. I've met con men with more finesse than you."

”BOY?” Coal screamed in Atlas’ mind, loud enough to give someone a headache. “Hey, Jackass!” Coal snapped at Atlas in the real world, his voice literally shaking the room. Windows banged, the floor shook, and the donut box tumbled over, spilling powdery doughnuts onto the wooden floor. “You better learn to suck it up and be mature enough to work with someone, or I might have to twist your limbs off. For someone over a hundred years old, you sure are immature”, and with that, Coal teleported out of the room. Not as gracefully as the first time though. An explosion of smoke filled the room, a bang equivalent to a gunshot was also heard, the bang ringing throughout the house as Coal appeared downstairs.

Turning his head to only see Jaklo filled him with bitterness again. He was talking to Markiel, and temporarily distracted. Seeing his chance, Coal gave Jaklo a mental slap across the back of his head. He didn’t bother staying long as he once again vanished, without any of the theatrics this time. No smoke, no sound, just gone. He still could feel Jaklo’s sudden surprise, it filled him with glee.

”Who do they think they are”?, Coal stalked down towards Speh’s office. ”I could stop an army before they can even get close to me, and they dare try to belittle me?, Coal being so wrapped up in his rage hadn’t noticed he wasn’t walking anymore. Rather gliding across the floorboards, while an Athames flashed and waved threateningly at his side. An unfortunate habit Coal possessed that was triggered during times of high stress or anger..
Coal’s anger however was quick to die, in truth, he didn’t want to harm any of them. Just intimidate a little, like a rattlesnake shaking it’s tail, Coal just wanted the danger to move along with causing a fight.

No longer fueled by rage, Coal awkwardly stumbled as he struggling to regain his balance as the levitation spell suddenly ended on him, and the black-handled ritual knife fell down too, cleaving the wooden floorboard as if it was butter.
His cheeks flushed even though no one was there to see him stumble like that, though who knows, that silent freak of a vampire could be lurking about.
Sighing, he picked up the enchanted blade, leaving a deep gash in the floor boards. A part of him wanted to fix it, another hoped that Jaklo or Atlas would get their foot stuck in it and fall over. Coal went for the latter and pocketed his ritual knife, it was a pretty blade. Etched with runes and made of the purest silver, too bad it had a habit of slicing things clean in half. Well, everything except himself and his clothes.
The benefit of wearing enchanted clothes was that you gained the element of surprise. Without all that flashy metal, no one would be expecting a pair of jeans to be able to stop a fireball. And that was what Coal was about, surprises.

Finally reaching the door, Coal fazed through it and walked in the room. Hey, might as well show off his power as he was going into his first mission. Coal could guess Cerberus was already betting 20 bucks he’d die.

Drake crawled across the pavement, panting and exhausted. Though he tried as fast as he could to get to the office he had the sinking feeling in his stomach that it was all for naught. Slowly approaching the front doors into the lobby, he would tumble through the entrance. He didn't look up as he tried to speak. "Did I make it on time?" My hood concealed my exhausted and sweat ridden face.

Max watched in discomfort as the kitchenette filled up with people in what seemed like seconds, forcing him to abandon all hope of a one-on-one conversation. Holding his donut and newly acquired book over his head in an effort to keep them from being squashed or defaced, respectively, Max was slowly forced up against the wall of the small room. He looked in dismay at his briefcase and Thermos, sitting tantalizingly close on the counter but blocked by a vampire (Max was bad with names- Atlas, was it?) and a kid he had never seen before (possibly an alchemist? they always had a certain look to them, it seemed). Might as well be the Berlin Wall.

Unable to get a word in edgewise, Max attempted an awkward reach-around to grab his stuff, but realized it was unwise to violate the personal space of a vampire, even one he knew like Atlas. Out of options and unable to get a word in edgewise, Max decided to simply wait a few minutes for the kitchenette to empty out before retrieving his property. Now the only trick was getting out.

Pressed up against the wall, still lifting a Bavarian cream donut and one of the classic occult reference books above his head, Max slowly shimmied along the wall towards the door, his cordovan loafers scuffing on the linoleum floor. He smiled at Glory on the slow, shuffling way out the kitchenette door, mouthed "thank you, dear" at her as he tucked the book under his arm and snagged a fresh corn muffin.

Max arrived at his desk just in time to hear Jaklo's warning- a new case. Great. Max felt that careful scholar's excitement welling up in his stomach. His stomach promptly grumbled- he had had nothing today but a cup of coffee. With that thought in mind, he quickly wolfed down the donut before starting on the muffin at a slower, more leisurely pace, careful of where any crumbs might fall. He didn't think it'd be appropriate to be eating during the meeting.

Max took a moment to gather up a couple materials that might be helpful to whatever discussion was about to take place- his notebook, Tobin's Spirit Guide, his pocket-sized Ouija set. He stopped briefly and cringed at the crack of wood breaking, but seeing no immediate danger, shrugged and continued to put his notes together. As he had learned over the last month, there was a volatile mix of personalities in this place. Not surprising someone would get rubbed the wrong way and lash out, as long as they left him out of it. Max had no (mortal) enemies and intended to keep things that way.

With all of his notes and resources tucked under his arm, he walked in Seph's office and sat down quietly, patiently waiting for the briefing to begin.

Max, it seemed, had the right idea. This adolescent posturing was as dangerous as it was annoying. She slid sideways out of the small crowd and came face to face with Glory Grey. She smiled at the other woman, rolled her eyes and mouthed the words ‘boys’, before ruffling the little dogs head and slipping out of the room. She wondered if there was a reason that Wells and Raik hired such apparently unfeasibly young men. Perhaps the relative rarity of magically talented individuals led to a kind of ‘any port in a storm’ effect. Perhaps there were few older males because they destroyed themselves in childish fits before they could get their testosterone under control.

Visiting the bathroom on the way to her office, she carefully washed her hands. Some time ago she had seen a demonstration of how many bacteria the average person left after washing and this made her extra fastidious about the practice. Thus cleansed she returned to her office and collected the book, her briefcase and a large tablet she kept in her desk drawer. She pressed her thumb into the finger print scan and unlocked it. Four new messages. One from Mother, wondering how she was. Two were trash that had somehow slipped past her filters, the fourth was from Emmaline, subject line: Ritual. She thumbed it open as she set off down the hall. As always the text of the ritual was covered with notations in bright red pen and tiny German notations. Leaky. Suboptimal. Meta-inocian? Stick with a single syntax at least. She rolled her eyes and muttered something uncomplimentary towards her pedantic sister.

She reached the office without further incident. Max was already inside. Raised voices echoed down the hall. She wanted more coffee but decided against risking another trip into the fray. Not taking one of Glory’s corn muffins also struck her as a mistake. She contemplated further negotiations with future Lenya about working out and decided it might be just as well. Taking a seat across the table from Max she opened her briefcase and removed her notebook, slipping the tablet away as she did so.

“And I thought universities were the pinnacle of brooding adolescence,” she commented. She pushed the printed copy of Die Shriken und Wunder across the table towards Max. A further thought occurred to her.

“Glory doesn’t read German does she? I don’t want to upset her with a book she might consider unholy.”

Though on a better day, Baron would find the antics that so quickly surrounded him amusing, today was not one such day. Between a pain surfacing behind his eyes and the very swiftly worsening weather (which he still found to be far too mundane of a topic on which to focus), he was quite frankly pissed, for lack of better wording. While teetering on the edge of snapping and putting the children in their place, Baron found some far off reserve of self control, and gripped tightly to it, his good hand mimicking the motion as it clenched tight, knuckles turning white. "Oh how satisfying, to dispose of these trifling whelps." He thought to himself, his face betraying no emotion but a polite smile.

Watching Max's struggle to get out with amusement, Baron found himself glad he hadn't strayed too deep into conversation before it had been too late. On the outer fringe of the meeting that filled the kitchenette so quickly like tumors in a cancer patient, Baron took a few careful steps backwards, cane moving in tandem with his feet. He nodded to Max as he made his exit, a move likely to be followed soon by Baron.

Between Atlas' utter lack of social skills, the new arrival ("Kale was it? Like the vegetable?") being a pain in the ass, Jaklo sporting an attitude of arrogance, and Drake doing... whatever it was he was doing, Baron thought he would find far better company in his books, and rightly so. Still, he stayed firm, body language not betraying any of these thoughts. He looked down at the doughnut in his hand, unfortunately a bit unrecognizable under his iron clad grip. He cocked his head to the side, frowning at the loss of the baked good. That was to be his breakfast, and he certainly wasn't about to go back in the cluster fuck for another.

As Baron turned to make his exit, he noticed Glory Grey, and felt a twinge of guilt for having missed her entrance earlier. He smiled at his discovery, nonetheless, and turned to address her. "Bonjour, madame. Divine to see you." He couldn't remember the last time the two had actually conversed -likely because he had been rather engrossed in his studies for the last heaven knows how long. He reached out and embraced her in traditional French sense, kissing the air to either side of her face. Admittedly, as one who lived in France many years ago, even Baron knew this wasn't real tradition, only a bastardization of real tradition. Right? He was almost certain, but he had missed quite a bit during his many magical hibernations.

"Ah, muffins? They smell divine, cher ami, merci." He said with a wide grin, grabbing one in the same motion as he tossed the mangled mass of doughnut he held into the trash. He waved the baked good beneath his nose for a moment, savoring the smell as he stepped carefully around Glory Grey with a wink. As he moved, he made a beeline to his own desk, where he resumed his previous position almost to the t -leaning back in his chair as tentacles sprouted from his back to help him sort through his books. Hardly posturing or display of power, this was simply where he felt most comfortable. Anyone who had been at the office at the same time as Baron knew it was far more normal to see him with tentacles waving around than not, hopefully something they could accept.

As he finished his muffin, licking the crumbs from his fingers, Baron was interrupted from his book by Jaklo's announcement. "Meeting in 5? And here I was hoping I could have a moment to read." He pouted mentally, as he struggled up from his chair. A tentacle tossed his book onto the desk lazily as he moved, but a thud caught his attention. The arc of the book sent it at a rose on his desk in a small vase, which he just barely caught as he desperately lunged with a tentacle. He grimaced slightly as he replaced the flower in it's position, and more carefully put the book down. A copy of the Tanakh, which he lined up quite purposefully parallel to the edge of his desk. He gave the book a quick pat to assure it's safety, before leaving his desk to walk to Seph's office. His exit was punctuated by a petal falling from his rose to the floor, lightly drifting through motes of dust.

Baron entered Seph's office with the telltale click, clack, click, clack of his cane that so commonly went hand in hand with his gait. He almost limped as he moved to take a seat, eyes straying across the room. He took a seat two to the right of Max, giving the man a warm nod as he sat down rather heavily in the chair. Baron sat surprisingly tall considering how he had just limped in, and looked briefly around the room before looking down again to a book, this one a leather bound journal detailing his case notes. Baron smiled at Lenya's comment, but otherwise didn't speak up as he awaited a briefing.

"I remember when I was that age. I wrote a great deal of bad poetry and had horrible taste in music but I don't think I did anything quite on this level," Max said with a half-smile. His eyes widened as he took in Die Shriken und Wunder. And to think he had been proud of getting Tobin's Spirit Guide- this find completely blew his paltry contribution out of the water. The Holy Grail of demonologists. "Khamsa fi ainek," he said in surprise, a habit he had picked up in Jerusalem. Seemingly unbidden, his fingers pulled out his Hand of Miriam pendant. Here was a book that was simply unclean- a profane work that nevertheless held true knowledge, as monstrous and terrible as true knowledge always seems to be. A key to power. "I- I will have to take a few notes, with your permission," he whispered.

Lenya asked about Glory and her possible reaction to the book. Max considered a moment before giving his answer. "Well, Glory is an intelligent young woman. I'm sure she understands that the best way to battle the unholy is to understand it implicitly. The quest for knowledge takes us to uncomfortable and dangerous places- sometimes the only way to quench your thirst is to drink from the deepest wells."

Realizing that the conversation was going to some dark places, Max shifted a little in his seat, straightened his already straight papers. "So, I found an importer in Boston who's shipping some of my favorite beers from abroad up here. Nesher, Staropramen, Baltika- some good memories of my studies." He felt his ears reddening- why were they reddening? "I, uh, also have a case of Gösser zwickel coming up with the load. Got a taste for it while I was in the Czech Republic. Most popular beer in Austria- sorry, you already know that, why am I telling you what you already know?" His ears felt like a blast furnace. "I thought you might, um, like a taste of home. I'd be happy to give you a few bottles of Gösser. Or, you know, maybe, maybe you could come by my home and have a drink sometime. Actually, you know what, I'll just bring them here for you, if you want them."

Max had no idea where the invitation had come from, or what it meant. It had just spilled out of his mouth. He also had no idea why he felt so embarrassed by making such a simple offer. Max looked down, suddenly very interested in his cufflinks and the notes he had compiled for the meeting.

Atlas expressed significant concern for Max. Somehow, he had messed up worse than him when it came to social interactions. Laughing to himself, he leaned over. He kept his distance, due to the high number of Judeo-Christian artifacts adorning Glory and Max. He stifled a chuckle at Lenya's quip. Atlas was good at one aspect of humor: Self deprecation.

"Did somebody say beer?", Atlas asked. The drink had quickly worked it's way through the vampire's system, leaving him sober. This bothered Atlas, but he ignored it. "I know of an importer in Canada, if you want. Have this amazing process involving maple syrup.". Atlas knew Max posed the biggest threat to him from within W&R, not even thinking of those who were hunting him from the outside. He needed to make "friends" here, and if he wanted to eliminate possible enemies Max was the best choice

"Hah. Hah.". Atlas still had no idea what to say. He noticed Lenya glaring. Or was it Jaklo. Or was it his imagination. Shrugging it off, he returned to his seat, and pulled out one of the few occult books he owned. He began to read, clicking his tongue. What was taking the others?

Lenya adopted a look of mock horror at the vampire’s words.

“I would have thought a man of your years would deplore the excesses of the modern age. Maple syrup in beer is surely unholy. Alas that we live in such a fallen world,” her voice was serious but the amusement twinkled in her eyes.

Since the firm had bought her on she hadn’t had many opportunities to interact with Atlas. He seemed standoffish at the best of times and that did little to inspire her confidence. There was a very real chance that she would be in danger in the near future and brooding loners were not the people she would choose to watch her back. Still Atlas seemed steadier than some and his age connoted experience.

Turning back to Max she found him busily examining his cuff links.

“I would be happy to stop by to try some beer, a taste of home,” she responded with enthusiasm. The other members of the little group seemed to be arriving now, taking their own seats around the office.

“You bought that old farmhouse didn’t you?” she asked, her mind slipping back to previous conversations. She couldn’t remember how far out of town he lived and she didn’t own a car.

Unconsciously her eyes drifted to the window. A rind of ice had already formed on the dusty glass. It was a cold snap and an early one. Bert assured her that he would be able to keep sailing throughout the winter but the 20 minute voyage home on a largely open boat looked distinctly unappealing. Perhaps she could work some kind of ritual to smooth the way for the rickety old fishing boat.

“How are your renovations going?”

Glory was still adjusting to the rapid-fire nature of social interactions in the office. At home, conversations happened slowly, shared across the teacup-and-junk-mail-scattered surface of someone's kitchen table. Here, quick reflexes were required to catch bits and pieces of talk as they flew through the air above her head. She clutched the handle of her basket of muffins, whose supply was quickly dwindling, much to her domestic pleasure. She had an irrepressible urge to feed people, and doing so brought her great satisfaction.

She observed Max's flight from the kitchen with pity, and held the basket aloft so he could reach a muffin without having to jostle past too many people. It amused her that Waylon seemed to have taken a liking to some of the people in the office already, Lenya being one of them. He was never skittish around her, whereas Jaklo seemed to make the mutt uneasy for some reason.

Baron's conduct was slowly becoming normal to Glory's everyday routine. His almost excessive familiarity was similar to the intimate friendliness of the French-Creole people she shared a swamp with growing up, who called her "Little Miss Doctor" and kissed her hands. There was something slyly flirtatious in his manner that she adamantly and primly pretended not to notice at all. She smiled at him and gave a brief curtsy, the flowers in the brim of her hat nodding their cheerful heads, and she certainly did not blush.

Setting down her now empty basket (When had that happened?), she considered the office's resident vampire out of the corner of her eye, who cut a rather imposing figure even when seated at his desk. He looked considerably uncomfortable, which made him less intimidating. "Atlas," she ventured, her tone soft and polite, "why are you... Oh! I'm so sorry." She unclasped the silver chain around her neck from which hung a very small, very simple cross, and dropped it into her satchel, which she left in the kitchen before approaching him.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, "If you have a moment before the meeting."

One would think that all the travel she had done over the past few years would diminish her warm bayou southern accent, but it seemed to have only gotten more pronounced the farther she traveled from the stilt houses and shrimp boats of home. She spoke slowly here, so her coworkers could understand her.

It came to Drake's attention, albeit still lying on the floor of the lobby, that he forgot his axe in the woods in his rush to get here. That didn't matter, after all the odds of someone finding it was minimal, and no ordinary person would be able to carry it anyway. However the lack of sleep, cold air outside, and his exhaustion made his desire to get up or even move nonexistent. He couldn't tell if there was anyone even in the lobby but he could hear the various familiar voices of his co-workers conversing to some extent. Why waste the energy to get up then? after all he could hear anything important, and it seemed pointless to get up and get into the business of others. It was so easy to blend in, like a chameleon, except a body lying on the ground may be hard to not notice, his still and silent behavior at least didn't draw any attention to himself instantly. Perhaps it is strange to be in such a position, in a work building no less, but this wasn't your everyday office or your average joes looking at computer screens and re-evaluating company assets, no this was a place filled with weirdos and magic and all that. Hell we have at least one vampire working in the business.

The smell of muffins and donuts were enticing, but Drake still refused to give in to well, doing something as simple as standing up and socializing. Regardless of how hungry he got, the longer he laid there in exhaustion the more stubborn he got with his situation. Like a seed planting itself in soil. He can hear the mumbled conversations of the others more so, none of which was his business so he didn't bother to tune in to them. Despite the floor being, well, the last place anyone would want to sleep upon, Drake could feel his eyes getting heavy, the numbness from outdoor weather fading with room temperature comfort and the adrenaline that had lasted him through his marathon of getting to the office wearing off.

@dragonmancer

Amid the hubbub of meeting and socializing, and as the hour had grown too late for anyone to expect any more arrivals, no one had thought to check the entryway on the first floor. The room was empty, save for a man lying on the floor exhausted with a hood over his eyes, yet the sounds of conversation and smells of morning food wafted in from the rest of the building. The air was warm, comfortable as set by the heating system, and inviting. Several moments passed, yet the man continued to lay there almost stubbornly.

Mithias listened as the young man's breathing quieted to near silence, yet the vampire could still hear it matching the slight rise and fall of Drake's chest. Quietly, and slowly, the vampire approached the person lying on the floor. One soft footstep after another in dress shoes, stealthy, like a cat intentionally avoiding alerting its prey. The floorboards betrayed his closeness with a creak, and the vampire came to stand just behind Drake's head.

As the light dimmed around him with Mithias' form blocking the window, Drake would become aware of someone standing there, looming over him impolitely. Just as Drake would have moved, would have thrown up his hood and protested at the lack of consideration, a hand appeared above Drake in his visual field. It was a very pale skinned hand, a man's hand, with the nails longer and sharper than they should have been. It was attached to an arm that bore a white sleeve with a sparkling silver cufflink and a silvery-grey suit jacket that extended above where Drake could see. In that hand was delicately held... a muffin.

@Wraithblade6

With blurry eyes Drake tried to focus as the near-sleeping trance was broken by the presence of someone else. However before he could even fully process it, he saw food, the distinct smell of the muffin now mere inches away from him. As he took hold of the breakfast item, he noticed the pale, strange hand, and looked up to find the co-worker vampire himself, or at least he gave Drake the impression of a vampire. "Mithias, right?" Drake spoke with a weary look of exhaustion, he smelt of charcoal and wood, which wasn't exactly a pleasant scent unless you happened to love the outdoor, happened to be a pyromaniac, or had some weird fetish with trees or burning things. Above all else he was clearly deprived of sleep and beating with sweat, evident by his moistened skin and bags under his eyes.

Getting up, now motivated with the trapping aroma of food, he kept eye contact with Mithias. "How long was I out?" he said before taking a bite out of his breakfast. it had just occurred to him that they were the only ones there in the lobby. "Is there a meeting?"

Atlas noticed Glory saying his name. He was reluctant to walk over, but saw her put away her crucifix. He put down his occult book. It looked brand new, yet emitted an aura of age. On the navy blue cover, in silver letters, read Per Aspera Ad Astra, Per Aspera Ad Inferi. Under the title, there was a small logo showing stylized wind and flames in a circle. Glory Grey was Atlas’ second biggest threat from within the building. Her crucifix was deadly to him and his kind. She was a quiet person, and Atlas could respect that. Time to attempt to make “friends”.

“Hello there, Glory”, Atlas managed. She was possibly the coworker he didn’t hate the most, if only because she didn’t talk that much. “What did you need?”, he asked, trying to be polite but failing miserably. He had begun to sit down when he stiffened. Someone he knew had walked into the building.

“What? What is he doing here? I haven’t seen him since..when was it? Before the turn of the century, at least.”, he realized he was thinking out loud, and laughed at himself. “Sorry about that, Glory, So, you were saying?”, he said. Should he walk into the room, he would address him. He kept his distance from Glory as he sat down. For all he knew, she could whip out her Bible and burn his face off. She was from the bayou, right? He held a fear of the bayou, ever since...wait. Why did he have a fear? He had never visited the bayou. Shrugging it off, he waited for a response, and for the old Count to walk upstairs.

Glory who usually kept up an unrelenting ladylike composure at work, faltered a bit when face to face with Atlas. Despite all the training Mama and Aunt Honey had put her through, teaching her to have an iron will against a vampire's supernatural "thrall," being close to the undead still sometimes made her stammer a little. Atlas was her coworker, and so she had resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt ad trust him not to hurt her.... for now. She wanted to be friends with these people. Travelling from city to city, never putting down roots, meant that she hadn't really gotten the opportunity to make connections until now. Unfortunately, she was working with a few people who frightened her a bit. Stammering aside, however, her nurturing instincts persisted even in regards to someone who didn't really have the physical ability to be nurtured. She would find a way to be neighborly to Atlas if it killed her.

She really hoped it wouldn't kill her.

"I er...I was thinking... since you don't.. I mean.." She cleared her throat and tried again. "I bring something in for breakfast every day, but I know you don't... have any use for that," she managed as politely as possible. "I was wondering if there was something else I could bring you in the mornings instead, so you don't feel left out. I've got a great big flower garden. I could bring you something sweet smelling for your desk, like some zinneas or poppies. I just feel bad that I never have anything to give you."

"Astute." Mithias replied and offered his hand again, this time empty, to help Drake up. With his enhanced senses and sight for prey, the vampire knew exactly how tired and dehydrated the 18 year old was. He could feel the pulse of every beat of his heart, taste the ashes in the air around him, and catch every blink of the boy's eyes as he tried to peer out of his mental fog as he came up to stand.

And yet it was pleasant that the child did not fear him. To Mithias, Drake was only that, a child. As such, he was an improper choice for feeding and would remain shielded by innocence.

Well dressed in modern garb, with his thick black hair tied back and shades over his wild eyes, Mithias smiled and continued to act like a mere mortal, moving more slowly than he otherwise would have, casually, so as not to incite alarm. He continued politely. "You were out for the entirety of five minutes, and yes, there is a meeting today." Inwardly, Mithias smirked. Only a youngling would completely forget what day it was and what this meeting was about. It had been on the schedule... Nonetheless, he skipped chiding Drake. "Everyone else is upstairs in Seph's office. I... see you've been practicing fire magic. Perhaps you would be so kind as to share some of your insight on that subject afterward?" Mithias folded his hands behind him and walked with Drake to where they both should already have been.

@Wraithblade6

"haha, you want to burn things?" Drake grinned at the fang face, perked up at his offer to learn about the craft of fire. As he walked in with the vampire to the rest of the co workers, it dawned on him that he still doesn't remember everyone. He hadn't been working too long, and of course staying up so late and not paying attention at work didn't help his predicament, there also appeared to be a second vampire, or maybe he was just some weird guy that looks like a vampire, who knows. He smiled awkwardly, though tried to play it off as if he knew everyone for years. He recognized the well dressed lady as he recalled her often bringing in food, but like almost everyone else he couldn't remember her name, it was just on the tip of his tongue. "Hey everyone, hows it going!"

Glory looked up as two more coworkers entered. She raised a white gloved hand in greeting, which immediately went slack and fell back to her side. Mithias. The other one. Or was he the first? She couldn't remember. It was always difficult to determine the age of vampires. She bowed her head briefly.

"Good morning," she said, her voice ever so slightly strained. She could practically hear Aunt Honey's voice whispering over the strange music of cicadas, telling her never to look a vampire in the eye, could feel her mother's large, dry hands pressing the crucifix into her waiting palm, teaching her to be steady. This was different. She knew that. But instinct and muscle memory were powerful things. The soft human part of her mind sensed predator and grew small and careful. She was now in the room with two of them. One she could handle, her small and careful human self insisted, but two?

She shook herself and drew up straight-backed and smiling. She would not entertain those thoughts. No, she would give them - both of them - the benefit of the doubt.

"I was just speaking to Atlas about something that might interest you, Mithias. I always bring breakfast for them as can eat, but I feel awful for not bringing something for them as can't, or would rather not in any case. I suggested flowers for your desks, something that smells nice. What do you think?"

The words came out in a rush. Until today, she had mostly worked alone in the archives, isolated from the others unless they ducked in briefly to search for something. Today was the first day she would be spending any extended time with the more imposing members of the company staff. She took a breath.

"Sorry. I'm a little frazzle today."

"Thanks for the offer, Glory. If you have any spare flowers, leave them outside the basement. I'll pick them up.", he said, and almost gasped. He just held a conversation. He was so proud, he almost took out the champagne. And it was somebody that should hate him. At this rate, he would cure cancer. Then he remembered. Manners,

"Hey, I am an experienced sociable person", he said in a cringeworthy manner. He pulled out a bottle of green fluid. "This is some fertilizer I cooked up. It should work, but be careful not to let it around small children or animals.". He got up soon after giving her the bottle

He turned towards Mithias, smiling. "Well, looks like Walter Mitty finally decided to show his face after 100 years.", he laughed. "I still have the keepsake from Baphomet or whatever his name was.", he said pointing to his scar. "I also need to talk to you about something", Atlas said while grimacing. He gestured towards the book he had been reading.

Glory forced herself to smile as she very gingerly accepted the vial of viscous green fluid. She reasoned that it was probably impolite to ask him what the concoction was made of. She would try to deconstruct it at home.

She was now standing between two vampires and... a man who had recently been on fire? A tendril of Drake's hair still appeared to be smoldering. She avoided making eye contact with him, but very carefully removed one glove, pinched out the smoking strand, and slipped the glove back on again. In the very short moment during which her hand was bare, it could be glimpsed that the heel of her hand was thickly calloused, her fingernails permanently darkened with soil. This was not the hand of a delicate woman. She concealed it, this rough and dirty hand, as quickly as she could, re-establishing her finely cultivated patina of southern finery.

"Thank you very much," she said to Atlas. "I appreciate this gift. I'm sure you worked very hard on it."