Someone In The Crowd
To a creature like Alexander Stone, Sunset was a hive of noise, sin and intrigue. A thousand thoughts buzzed in his ear at every moment, it was only practice and endurance that prevented such things from overwhelming him. To hear what he heard at every moment would drive a lesser being mad, although, whether he could truly class himself as not, was another matter. His eyes played about the room, reading auras, those on display, and those hidden away by the rudimentary defences of lesser kindred, as if they were open books. In a moment he could read the history of centuries passing by.
He held up his own hand, all Toreador bled purple, the colour of royalty, into the air. A vibrant blaze awaited him, senatorial purple speckled with black, like a flame dancing across reality. Carefully, he moved his hand across his vision, comparing each and every kindred he spotted to his own. Of course, those around him with the gift of Auspex would see but a pale imitation of his true shade, but even those who had put great effort into concealing their own would have no respite from him. He paused as the subtle motion of his hand drew over the Baroness and her coterie. The flames the danced from them were not to be sniffed at, but his focused pinned on her for a moment. While all Toreador bled purple, it was common knowledge that one could not only read a kindred's history through their aura, but their lineage. Once the flame of Stone and the Hispanic Elder's aura merged in his sight, one could barely tell the difference.
Both hands returned to the phone he had infront of him, reviewing the messages he had sent by title alone;
Gold
Decaprio
Malibu
Ignoring the various lesser kindred and kine that chattered around him, a group of near thin-bloods whom he had attached himself to for the evening, Stone focused his mind. Eva was a challenge, strong as the blood was in her veins, she would not be able to shield herself from him, but she would certainly pick up on the sensation of truly being 'watched.' The Toreador, Ventrue and Lasombra that made up her coterie however, were open books. The three 'higher' clans were close in blood, and by extension, close in blood to Stone. The latter two required a little more work. Stone was native in Toreador, but was fluent in the dialect of other-clan thought. He blinked, and he was looking through the eyes of the harmless seeming Jewish Ventrue, details, details, scrolled past his, no, her, face, as Stone watched. A thousand and one intimate details in half as many seconds. Another blink, and he found himself excitedly throwing his hands in the air. Her hands. How simple it would be to hollow her out and wear her skin as his own. The Lasombra had secrets of his own as well, secrets relating to Stone's new 'friends' in the Sabbat. It was child's play to delve through his mind, redirecting trains of thought away from anything that might point in his direction, not that anyone on this far coast of the world knew who he was.
By the time his sight returned to his own form, they had left, and much of the excitement had gone out of the Lounge. The other elders were soon to leave, whatever menial matters they had arrived to discuss already filed away in the vast complex of Stone's mind, but they were dull, colourless things. Hunting grounds and the like. His eyes, his own eyes, returned to his phone. Seconds had passed, before a list of bank accounts opened up before him. Gazing at numbers, numbers that meant little to the Vampire, for now. In the end, he simply home-screened out of them, the phone returned to his pocket. He stood, speaking a few words, to no one in particular;
"I need a walk, don't wait for me." He doubt they would have anyway, frivolous creatures, these young bloods, without any of the patience for the long game. It was not as if there was much left at Sunset for them now, he doubted they would be far behind him. Taking his leave, Alexander Stone made his way out into the warm LA night. He chose a direction, upwards, into the hills, and began to walk. LA beginning to stretch out before him.
"Finally, a worthy piece of art, childe." He mused. Before long, he was alone upon a bench, leaves rustling around him, as common as the thoughts of the Kindred that still lingered on his mind. His phone removed from a pocket, he dialled a number he recalled from an earlier glance. It rang fives times before an answer, and the voice that left Stone's lips was not, in the slightest, his own, smooth, and female;
"Leonardo? Yes, I know it's late, you have time for me. I want to talk to you about Gold."
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