A narrow corridor who's walls hung rows of upon rows of portraits of noble figures through out the ages, most of whom looked suspiciously like the same man just in clothes from different eras in time, echoed with the sound of bare feet walking against a clean marble floor. A man who looked like he was just pulled out of the dumpster out back was being escorted by four men in freshly pressed suits and identical low cut hair styles down the hall, though they looked more than reluctant to be near the man let alone touch him at all. The man who was so poorly dressed, if that word could be used at all, wore a pair of dark green cargo shorts with several burn holes in one of the legs, one could guess that they were bullet holes, and a sleeveless black T-shirt which had what could only be blood stains around the collar. The man's long dark hair hung down to his shoulder's, covering his face slightly, in tangled knots as if it hadn't been combed in weeks. The bottom of his bare feet were pitch black from what could of only of been days of not washing or wearing shoes. The man's nails were a near yellow color with grim under each, but what was the most horrifying feature about them was that each one were tipped with sharpened points, but the most monstrous part of the man's appearance had to be his eyes. They were surrounded by dark rings as if he hadn't slept in months, his brow was low in an almost permanent scowl, his pupils were thin slits, and then there was the color it self, a sickening bright yellow that waved any allusion the man was normal. The small group reached a door at the end of the hall and one of the men leading the freakish looking man knocked on it rather quickly, no doubt wanting to be rid of his duty of guarding, before opening it and ushering in his ward. A very business like voice greeted the man with the simple phrase [I] "Mister Haythorn, please be seated..." [/I]

Lloyd took a seat, though he gave a sneer with a very low inhuman growl to James as he did so. Lloyd had already knew that he had been called to do some sort of assignment to make up for his [I] past transgressions[/I], but he was still not happy with having to work with a team then again he didn't like being around anybody. He moved his gaze around the room taking in account each in every person there, like a predator picking out the prize prey. His sneer seemed to grow when spotted the Toreador, he never liked the so called "artists" of the Kindred, but that paled in comparison for his distain for the Venture. He continued his scanning of the room taking not of the Brujah, him seeming to be some what tolerable. It was when he laid his eyes on the girl in the corner that Lloyd thought that there might be someone in this little group that wouldn't make him want to rip out his own throat. Lloyd, like a lot of Gangrel, preferred Malkavians over most clans mainly do to the fact they seemed to always to have some piece of honesty to their mad ramblings. Lloyd turned his attention back to the Venture who seemed to be done with his endless speech. He didn't saw a word but he did offer a slight grunt, more of a growl, to show he understood the plan though he hated the underhandedness of this whole affair.