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[right][code]The Overlook, Tuesday Evening[/code][/right][hr]
While yesterday’s meeting had been an overall waste of time, there had been a few pieces of information to come out of it that were actually useful.

Namely, that Kari’s notes had ended up in the hands of Blake Schmidt - and he ran a group called the Elite. It was one Anya had [i]some[/i] knowledge of, but very little. They didn’t run around in the same way 8th Street and Greenwood did. That made them a little more interesting to Anya. Another group for her to manipulate… Her agreeing to get into Schmidt’s head to get the notes for the coven came with other possible benefits for her. 

But she had to meet the man first to enter his dreams. Anya knew enough about him, and had heard enough rumours, to know she couldn’t approach him by herself. Not through any means she’d be willing to take. That didn’t mean she couldn’t gain access to him. After all, the rich often knew the rich. She had connections.

All it had taken was a polite message to Ezra after the last coven meeting, requesting their own meeting to discuss business concerns, to have something set up the next day. Efficient, something Anya appreciated when her life was at stake. Even if a dream meeting would be her preference, she’d given the option of a real life one for a reason. Trust, and all that.

She arrived just a few minutes early to the chosen location - the Overlook Bar and Grill, located at the top of the tallest building in the city. It offered a beautiful view of the entirety of St Portwell, while being so expensive and exclusive that most could only dream of eating in it. For those outside of the select few it could take months to even get a reservation.

“Do you have a reservation, Miss?” 

[color=9966CC]”Yes, under Vanburen. Ezra Vanburen,”[/color] Anya smiled at the smartly dressed woman at the entrance. It wasn’t particularly busy at this time of the day, but it seemed they didn’t just let anyone in anyway. The staff member raised her eyebrows expectantly at Anya. [color=9966CC]”Anya Baksh.”[/color]

“Of course, right this way, Miss Baksh.”

Anya just nodded as she followed the woman inside the luxurious restaurant. The tables were made of smooth, white marble with sleek grey chairs facing them. The windows overlooking the city took up the entire outer wall and the two layers of tables around the outside were slowly rotating. 

She paused a short way in to look at a somewhat out of place statue among all those classical, beautifully made ones interspersed between the central bar and kitchen along with the smaller ones up in the fake rafters. A short laugh escaped her lips as she stared up at the statue of James Vanburen, before moving on. 

“Here you go, Miss.” 

It was a bit disconcerting stepping from the central path to the slowly moving outside as Anya was shown to a two person table right beside the window. A perfect location to look out across St Portwell, she noted as she sat down. It made sense, of course, that those rich enough to afford it would enjoy looking down on everyone else. 

Her choice of outfit made her truly look like she belonged in the pristine, greyscale, upscale restaurant. A black halterneck top, with subtle geometrical, dark grey patterns when it caught the light, and a layered, grey skirt she had to brush underneath her to sit down properly. She took her dark grey scarf and muted brown, wool coat off once she’d sat down. She turned her wrist towards her to check the time. One minute before they’d arranged to meet. She shouldn’t be waiting long.

It was a few minutes past the agreed upon hour that Ezra arrived at the Overlook, or rather, emerged from the set of swinging doors cutting off the dining room from the back of house. The manager of the restaurant, an older man in a poorly fitting suit,  was at his side, talking in a low voice as Ezra scanned the dining room. He gave Anya an apologetic look and held up a finger signalling to her that he’d be another minute before turning his attention back to the other man. Ezra led the man behind the bar, their hushed conversation momentarily growing tense as Ezra ran his finger underneath the counter and then started gesturing violently towards an arrangement of drinking glasses and expensive looking bottles. The manager started speaking even faster, but was cut off by Ezra’s ever so slightly raised voice. If Anya strained, she would be able to make out him saying, [color=darkgray]“You find this acceptable?”[/color]

The pair disappeared behind the swinging doors. Moments later a young man in a starchy white jacket and with the fear of god in his eyes came out of the doors, approached Anya’s table with a pitcher of water in his hand as well as two glasses. He swapped them out with the ones already on the table, muttering an apology underneath his voice, and then went over to the bar where he put their glasses as well as the rest of the offending glassware in a plastic tub and whisked it to the back. Another minute passed before Ezra emerged from the back again, alone this time. He rolled his neck and adjusted his well-tailored suit, discreetly pinching his hand while messing with his cufflinks as if to double-check that he hadn't been transported into some kind of dream world. 

[color=darkgray]“Terribly sorry for the wait, Anya. I was having a word with the owner, Randall, about the decor when, well,”[/color] said Ezra, pausing ever so slightly as his eyes wandered and he sat down, turning his focus back towards Anya. [color=darkgray]“It doesn’t matter really. It’s good to see you again. Would you like a real drink? I’d like a real drink.”[/color] Ezra beckoned towards a waiter, [color=darkgray]“Scotch and soda, hold the soda. And for the lady…”[/color]

There was a moment, however slight, that it would feel as if Ezra was about to order for Anya as if to establish some kind of power dynamic, a subtle form of chest beating dominance. However, instead he merely gestured towards her with one hand, his other turning over the steak knife on his side of the table as if he were inspecting it for grime. 

In that moment Anya just smiled, a hint of coldness falling across her dark eyes before immediately disappearing. It was a hint at something she disliked - albeit, was used to. Even if he had continued and ordered for her, she would've adapted and accepted it. It was just a little too close to what she experienced in the family home she'd left… but she was never one to let her emotions, minimal as they were, control anything.

[color=9966CC]”A glass of the Château Lassègue Sauvignon,”[/color] Anya said, pointing to it in the wine menu she'd taken a brief glance over before making a decision. A middle range bottle - not the cheapest on the menu, making it look like she couldn't afford to eat here, but not the most expensive either, which would look like she was just here to use his money for an expensive meal and drink. It was always best to play it safe, when the bill paying could go either way. 

[color=9966CC]”It’s nice to see you again too,”[/color] Anya watched as the waiter poured water into both of their glasses before leaving with their drink order. [color=9966CC]”In the real world. Too much time spent in dreams makes things… difficult. Though I'm surprised by the standards of this place. I would expect them to be exceptional.”[/color]

She was talking about, of course, the incident with the glasses that were taken away - presumably dirty. It was the kind of thing that would get on her nerves if she ever ate out, but she didn't quite have the clout to pull it up like Ezra had. It was different than when she was with Sloane, too, who would bring it up in a way that made things distinctly uncomfortable. 

[color=9966CC]”But restaurant standards aren't what we're here to talk about. Should we wait for the first course before we get into business? Or at least the drinks?”[/color] Anya tilted her head to look at the bar, before looking back at Ezra with  slightly raised eyebrows. As fast or as slow as he wanted - she was happy to get right into what she was here for, or to whittle away at time with conversation before the time was right. [color=9966CC]”I certainly need the drink. I've had quite the… tiring past few days. Dangerous and frustrating would be perhaps a more apt description.”[/color]

[color=darkgray]“Normally I’d say we should skip the formalities and get right to it, but frankly you are the business. When I flagged that security team to keep an eye out for you I imagine they were going to be keeping a single stalker at bay, not get caught up in some gangland style bullshit,”[/color] said Ezra, leaning forward. [color=darkgray]“Not that you’re to blame. I’m just worried that the protection I offered might have proven to be…inadequate, given the situation. Much like this place, you’d expect them be be exceptional.”[/color]

Ezra was referring to the fight with 8th Street. The security team had been there that night, but they had been grossly unprepared. Then again, it was doubtful that even the best of the best could’ve anticipated the sudden arrival of a hurricane accompanied napalm-like fire bombings, an undead horde of zombies, and a mass hallucinogen all dropped one after another in less than a five minute span. He’d assigned secret service when the situation had called for a suicide squad, the latter being typically quite hard to come by. Willingly, anyway. 

[color=darkgray]“You weren’t injured, were you?”[/color] asked Ezra, dismissing the waiter with a wave after he dropped off their drinks. 

[color=9966CC]”Thankfully I wasn’t,”[/color] Anya smiled, picking up her glass of wine. She tilted it towards him for a second before taking a sip, smile wavering as she thought back to that night. It had been… a complete and utter mess. The constant bickering was expected. The gang warfare wasn’t, for her at least. [color=9966CC]”There was a moment where it was a serious risk. Fortunately, they fled before the largest of them got to me.”[/color]

She tapped a finger against her glass with a slight sigh. [color=9966CC]”[i]Unfortunately[/i], it will happen again. I could avoid it by avoiding the coven, as I’m neither the target or the one at fault, but without me they're just as likely to burn down the city as they are to make any progress. Anyone else with enough brains to steer them is either too long winded,”[/color] Jack, [color=9966CC]”discounted for previous actions,”[/color] Britney and Greyson, [color=9966CC]”or stubborn and lacking in any tact,”[/color] Sloane. 

[color=9966CC]”I also didn’t expect gang-like violence from another coven. The ghosts of certain member’s pasts come to haunt us. I doubt it’s something any security team could handle and predict. Perhaps from a certain organisation, but I don’t imagine they are for hire.”[/color] She was talking about the Temple… at least from what she’d managed to gleam from the memories she’d been given access to. [color=9966CC]”Technically, you have a connection through your half-sister there. I don’t imagine she’d help.”[/color]

[color=9966CC]”But I’m not so worried about that kind of violence. It’s… something the coven is adept in handling. It’s the single stalker I’m more concerned with. That’s my primary ‘business’ today - as you say, I am the business. We have only one lead, and unfortunately it’s fallen into the hands of Blake Schmidt. I’m sure you understand why I would be reluctant to approach him in any capacity, especially alone.”[/color]

[color=darkgray]“Typically I can’t stand to be in the same room as the man until I’m working on my third scotch,”[/color] said Ezra with a scoff. As if to illustrate his point he took a healthy shot from his drink, analysing Anya over the rim of his glass. Was it mere coincidence that she was now looking for an in with one of the men whose dreams he had been planning on having her infiltrate? And what was that about his half-sister? Ezra drained his drink, noting to ask about that later. Anya was tricky to read. It was one of the things that made her interesting. 

[color=darkgray]“We should order food before discussing Blake. That man has a habit of making appetites disappear. Have you had a chance to look at the seasonal menu yet? The scallops are shockingly good for something from the Oregon Coast,”[/color] said Ezra with a shrug. [color=darkgray]“Jesus, I sound like an asshole saying that. To be frank, I only really recommended this place because of the drink selection and the view. The food here is fine for what it is, tiny plates of up-charged bullshit that can be found at any run-of-the-mill steakhouse for just about the same quality.”[/color]

[color=darkgray]“We’re actually about two blocks away from the best Korean restaurant in St. Portwell. It’s this shitty little hole in the wall, it smells like bleach, every chair in the place is broken, and it’s all cooked by this old grandma and she makes this bulgogi that annihilates whatever carpaccio, poached lobster, quarter slice of iceberg lettuce and call it a salad bullshit we can get here,”[/color] said Ezra with a surprising amount of passion. 

He held up his hand as if to slow himself down. There was a little glint in his eye, like all of this might be a test—a way to see how much he could jerk Anya around. Or perhaps it was  just the whim of someone who didn’t understand his privilege, who was blissfully ignorant of the fact that not everybody could just walk into the Overlook and get a table, a person trying to appear as if he was a local of the city instead of an opportunistic invader like an Attila, Alexander, or Genghis Khan. 

 [color=darkgray]“Look, if you wanna try out the Overlook to say you’ve tried out the Overlook by all means. It is, technically, an experience. Or if you want to have the best fucking Korean of your life that doesn’t involve taking the redeye to Busan then we can just order another drink, you tell me what Blake got himself involved with, and then we can have a dinner that’s actually so good that Blake can’t even ruin it,”[/color] said Ezra. [color=darkgray]“I’m good for whatever.”[/color]

“Are you ready to order?” said the waiter, appearing at the table side, the statue of James Vanburen looming over his shoulder. 

There was a brief moment of silence when Anya considered it. What was the right answer? Was there even a right answer? Nothing was meaningless to her. Everything she did was for a reason, everything she said was calculated. But here she couldn’t quite tell if it was a test, a game, or genuine ignorance. But if she were to go for what she wanted, properly, for once, it wasn’t the smaller and overly fancy portions of this place.

So she laughed, genuinely, then smiled as she drained her glass. [color=9966CC]”No food, thank you. Another glass of Château Lassègue Sauvignon, and… another Scotch, I presume?”[/color]

After a pause for Ezra to disagree, who gestured in approval, and waiting for the waiter to leave, she continued. [color=9966CC]”As much as I enjoy the atmosphere of classier venues, I’ve never been a fan of small portions nor the general lack of flavour. I was spoiled growing up on Indian and Caribbean dishes. And anyway, I can’t say I feel the need to senselessly brag about eating here. Even if I did, my friend’s will either respond with ‘so?’ or ‘where’s that?’”[/color]

Of course, there was the status that came with it, but she’d weighed it up. Who would she need to use that on, when the company already outshone the venue? [color=9966CC]”I’ll start with some background. A former member of ours, tragically deceased, had a great deal of information thanks to her… talents. Kari Wilson. It was her house where we were attacked, as she was looking into Father Wolf before he killed her. Her notebooks, containing a great wealth of information, were stolen by the group that attacked us… And sold to Blake. They are encoding, but we need to get them back before he finds someone who can decipher them. For once my covenmates saw sense, and gave the task of [i]influencing[/i] Blake to return the notes to me.”[/color]

She smiled, almost scornful - at the thought of her coven or Blake, it was difficult to tell. [color=9966CC]”I need to meet him to enter his dreams. It’s something I would rather avoid… But needs must. I understand it’s something of an ask, but it is part of protecting the business you could say.”[/color]

[color=darkgray]”This is a happy coincidence. Well, considering the man, perhaps happy isn’t the right word. Convenient, really,”[/color] said Ezra, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. [color=darkgray]“Last time we spoke I mentioned needing some help corralling some of my associates. Blake Schmidt is at the top of that list. Without boring you with all the details, I agreed to be part of a joint venture with him before I knew the man well enough to realize the grave error of such a decision.”[/color]

Ezra’s eyes moved towards the window, appearing to linger on an under construction skyscraper building illuminated by floodlights. The drinks arrived at that moment. Ezra grabbed his scotch, swirled it, and leaned back in his chair, his vision still focused on the distance. 

[color=darkgray]“There’s an upcoming charity auction held every year at the Harbor Lounge that is attended by just about every blueblood on the West Coast, including Blake Schmidt. It’s ultra exclusive and invite only—you know, want to look like a man of the common people without having to ever be in the same goddamn room as them,”[/color] grumbled Ezra. [color=darkgray]“However, I have an in with the event coordinator, so I can get us a pair of tickets. She’ll be so damn thrilled to hear that I’m actually coming this year. Speaking of family, that reminds me: which half-sister of mine was rubbing elbows with paranormal security forces?”[/color]

That was a very convenient coincidence. It made things much easier for Anya. One dream with multiple manipulations was far less draining than multiple dreams. It could all be done in one swift blow. [color=9966CC]”Perfect. I appreciate things being sorted so efficiently. Puts my mind somewhat at ease, and I’m certain Blake won’t decipher the notes before then.”[/color]

She smiled slightly, taking a sip of her second glass of wine before answering his question. [color=9966CC]”Patricia, again. Rubbing elbows isn’t quite how I’d put it… Have you heard of the Temple of Charming and Graceful Individuals? They’re, for most intents and purposes, a paranormal cult. However they have at least two members that subdued some of our best over an irritating Apparition problem. Security forces is perhaps an understatement when it comes to describing them. They followed one of our members into the void, which is a very difficult place to get to. I’m sure those two aren’t their only powerful members.”[/color]

[color=9966CC]”At its head is Lynette Richoux. Patricia is dating one of her sons, Casey. Her second son, I believe. Quite impressive, really. If his older brother meets an unfortunate end at Father Wolf’s hand he’ll be heir to the Temple. I’m sure she’d get some amount of power from being with him… You could very well have cult in-laws in your future.”[/color] Her lips pulled into a thin line that was perhaps close to concern. She certainly was concerned - not about Patricia, of course, but the existence of a cult like the Temple wasn’t pleasant to her, as much as Edict did business with them. [color=9966CC]”A powerful cult, but a cult nonetheless. They’re quite open about it too, with their hands in a fair few St Portwell businesses.”[/color]

Across from Anya, Ezra had his hand on his forehead as if he was experiencing a migraine. His head continued to sink into his hand and push up his hair as Anya continued supplying him with a string of bad news. The scotch in his mouth suddenly began to taste like battery acid. His stomach cinched and tightened and with it came a sudden loss of appetite that no Korean grandmother, regardless of how perfectly she barbequed her bulgogi, could fix. Ezra waited for the statue of James to come to life and start smothering him with a cloth napkin and for the city outside to transmogrify into a hellscape, as this had to be a nightmare, but no such mercy came.

Trisha would join a cult. He chugged the scotch, acid taste be damned, and crunched on the ice. Of course Trisha would join a cult. Ezra resisted grabbing his cell phone and calling her right away, the weight of it growing heavy in his pocket. Of fucking course Trisha would join a goddamn cult!

[color=darkgray]“Yes, I’ve seen their flyers clogging up the trash bins outside of many of my businesses,”[/color] said Ezra, clicking back on his cool composure. [color=darkgray]“Perhaps they have a few individuals of actual interest, but I wouldn’t put too much faith, pardon the pun, on any New Age Movement bullshit ever gaining any significant traction to become a serious mover and shaker. Scientology and Miscavige massively limited the market cap in that field.”[/color]

He started to stand, [color=darkgray]“Finish your drink. I’m going to have a word with Randall and then we can take off. Excuse me for a minute.”[/color]

It was several minutes later when the balding man from earlier emerged from the back of the house, mopping sweat from his forehead. 

“I hope the evening finds you well, Ms. Baksh. I would like to apologize for the state of our china. Here at the Overlook we hold everything to the highest of standards and for something like that to be, um, overlooked is purely unacceptable. I’m afraid Mr. Vanburen had an emergency come up  with one of his investments and had to leave abruptly,” Randall cleared his throat. “I was asked to pass along a message. He says, ahem, that he’s sorry he cannot take you to a real restaurant, that he will pick you up for the auction, and that he,” Randall tugged on his collar, looking embarrassed to say, “ He will see you in his dreams.”

Randall produced an expensive looking bottle of champagne that was wrapped with a bow. 

“I was asked to comp this, as well as everything else you’ll have this evening, for you as a gift to celebrate your, um, and I’m quoting here, you convenient partnership,” said the owner. Shifty-eyed, he glanced over his shoulder, and then quickly added, “I would like to point out that we are a real Michelin star restaurant. I could bring you a food menu, if you’d like…”

Anya raised a hand to her mouth with a fake cough to cover up a laugh. She wasn’t surprised. An investment emergency… if that’s what Ezra wanted to call it, that was fine. It was understandable to want to deal with a family member being part of a cult swiftly and efficiently. It [i]was[/i] a shame about dinner, but she could tolerate eating here. 

While the state of the china had been subpar, she hoped Randall’s ability to keep his mouth shut was not. While nothing Ezra had said was untrue, it was all too easy to misinterpret. Such ambiguous phrasing… The poor owner probably thought he was witnessing the future front page of St Portwell’s finest business gossip magazine, titled ‘Ezra Vanburen’s latest fling: has he finally moved on from the Russian ballerinas?’. While Anya was generally unbothered, it would be such a pain to deal with and explain. Especially to Sloane.

But she was sure it wouldn’t be a problem.

[color=9966CC]”No need. I’ll have the crab and compressed watermelon to start, and the scallops with truffle pea puree for the main.”[/color] Anya smiled at Randall, speaking as if she’d looked at the menu and decided what to eat in advance… which she had. It was always best to be prepared. After putting in her order, she stared at the man until he finally got the message and left her on her own.

Raising her glass of wine to her lips, Anya’s gaze moved from the gifted champagne to the brilliant sight of the city from the window. With it spread out in front of her like this, it was impossible to not feel pleasure. Above all those inconsequential people leading their tragically insignificant lives. It was like a breath of fresh air after all the days spent corralling the largest group of idiots.

And one day, she would control it all.