Bass Clef Club
Bass Clef is a fair sized Jazz club with the lighting dimmed so that the booths and tables along the back and side walls of the cafe area are slightly shadowed and more private. Eight booths line the bricked walls, four on each side of the club. To get up into the booths there is a single step so that they are not on the same level as the rest of the floor. The walls are decorated with posters from past and upcoming events and entertainers. Several cafe-style tables have been set up in the center of the club with two to four chairs surrounding each. Closer to the bar there are taller tables, being close to forty-four inches in height so that someone could stand next to it and rest their elbows upon them as they leaned in against them.
Across from the large wooden door that is the entrance, there is a very short stage comprised of black marble. In the center of the stage is a grand piano, and enough room for the remainder of the jazz-band to set up. The stage is normally lit up with a spotlight, making it the most illuminated area in the entire club.
Settled on the right wall is the bar. The lights around the bar don't seem to be as dim as those in the rest of the club, but the lighting is still very low in order to keep the atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Behind the bar the wall is done up in aqua-colored tile before the shelving for the various types of beverages; including soda. A door behind the bar presumably leads to the kitchen and storage areas.
It's just gone midnight and Michael's arrived in the club that's become one of his more common visiting places, he heads straight to the corner booth, his attention straying slowly to the stage as he slips into the seat and leans back, the young man on the stage performing a number of classic blues numbers. The crowd having mostly gone home the club's quiet except of the sound of music, Michael for his part has gone into that motionless state that vampires often take when they have nothing better to do, although he's careful to make sure he can see the door.
One down, one to go. Rather than hunting through the city for the next target, Isobel used the telephone to set up the meeting. Much easier on her, as she doesn't have to rely on having the good fortune at a chance encounter. Though Jazz is far from her favorite genre of music, she will indulge the party she seeks - at least in so far as the venue.
At precisely one minute after midnight, an extremely young looking woman breezes into the club. Her posture is absolute perfection, the dress she wears reminiscent of the era in which jazz was popular. Even with the strict dress code of the establishment, she looks over-dressed.
Spotting the one she seeks, she makes her way to the corner booth, regretfully declining dances with several of the patrons. She does not bother to sit, nor does she say anything. She simply stands there until her presence is acknowledged.
Rising from his sitting position Michael nods his head slightly motioning to a seat. "You wished to see me?" His voice is cool, and business like as he studies the other vampire, his own suit more modern in style.
A glance is given to the seat, her head given a near imperceptible shake. Isobel is perhaps hoping that this will not take long enough to bother getting into the booth. After all, she is merely the messenger, which is precisely what she says. "Indeed. I bear a message from the Sheriff." Her voice is barely a whisper, as she knows that Michael will hear her, but the others at surrounding tables and booths will not.
Michael remains standing as well as he nods very slightly. "Really? I will admit I'm surprised, and of course listening most intently." He too speaks in quiet tones, so as not to be overheard.
Brow quirking in an upward arch, Isobel says nothing of his surprise. It is simply not her place ask whether he is more surprised that there is a message, or the fact that there is someone besides the Sheriff himself delivering it. Repeating, almost verbatim what she has recently told another, she says, "The Sheriff wishes to convey his judgment of the current situation between yourself, Mr. Nishimura, and Miss Tyler." The inflection of her tone is one that should denote that she has no inkling of why this message should be a surprise to him.
There's a slight bow of the head. "Of course." He sounds only mildly interested. "I am however somewhat surprised that such a judgement was being considered."
"You will understand, Mr. Isonzo, that things have a way of reaching the Sheriff's ears. After all this is /his/ city, and he's well versed in what happens within it." He may be only mildly interested, but while she monitors his reaction Isobel truly cares not how he feels about the judgment. Her duty is merely to relay the message.
"The girl, Rose Tyler, does not currently posses the mental faculties to determine consentuality of any vampiric claim, and thus the Sheriff considers her to be /unclaimed/," she continues, ensuring the emphasis on the final word.
"Of course." Michael sounds as though the announcement doesn't upset him at all, he pauses a moment before speaking agian. "I presume that the Sheriff had more to say on the matter?"
"Oh yes," she says, mimicking the exact words to Mr. Nishimura, "there is quite a bit more." Isobel allows a smirk, though her face is quickly snapped back to its usual icy neutrality. "Despite the lack of claim, it is evident that she has been fed upon at least once. That she has been /glamoured/ at least once. It is evident that feeding upon such an /obvious/ and /public/ figure who is without the faculty to be subtle is monumentally stupid." A pause, as before, to allow that to sink in fully. "It is evident that glamouring a mind already broken by one of our kind's clumsy touch is not conducive to the regeneration, and reintegration of said mind into society."
Michael nods slightly as Isobel finishes. "I see. I would be grateful if you would be so kind as to thank the Sheriff for clarifying the situation." He seems to roll something around his head as he finishes speaking.
This is one of those times where the old infomercial adage, "BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!" comes into play. Isobel simply nods her head at his request, being more than happy to relay any messages back to Will. "He wishes to further convey that should any of these "activities" regarding Miss Tyler reaches the ears of our enemies, or the media at large, he will be extremely unimpressed with the lot of you. He would greatly prefer it that the girl be left alone, and strongly suggests that should she be approached she be approached without such activities in mind."
Isobel's eyes dart suddenly to the side, a hand held up as though to pause the conversation until the waitress at the next table move on her way. When the woman does so, attention is given fully to Michael once more. "Should you disagree with this assessment, the Sheriff will gladly meet with both parties to organize their audience with the Magister or the King." Her voice is a tad more stern as she continues relaying the message. "As I previously stated, Dallas is Mr. Grant's city. His territory. Anyone who endangers the vampires of this area /will/ answer to him, or the two aforementioned parties. The choice is yours."
Nodding Michael smiles very slightly. "I have no intention of disagreeing at all. In fact my only interest in claiming Rose Tyler was to prevent her being fed upon again. Now that it's no longer an issue I doubt very much that I'll have a great deal of interest in Ms Tyler in fact." He looks at Isobel for a quick moment. "I'd be grateful if you'd let the Sheriff know as much."
Whether it is the smile, or the look, Isobel's eyes narrow slightly. Still, she nods in acquiescence. "Your message will be relayed to the Sheriff. For all your sakes, I hope that the matter can now be considered resolved." They will not, perhaps, really enjoy dealing with the Sheriff should he need to pass further judgment.
Nodding Michael motions to the table. "Thank you, if there's nothing else perhaps you'll join me for a true blood?"
"I fear I must decline," Isobel says. She has her reasons, not the least of which are the fact that she can't entirely stomach any of the synthetics. "The Sheriff will be awaiting the replies, and I should not keep him waiting. He was not in the best of moods when I was dispatched."
Bowing his head again very slightly Michael speaks in neutral tones. "Of course." He sits back down now that the message has been given and he's made the offer of a drink.
Once he seats himself again, and Isobel is sure that his outward reaction is not to follow or harm her, she merely nods her head in a neat movement, then twirls away. She stops only to speak to a man wearing a wonderfully cut suit, and the pair leave the club shortly thereafter. She may not want the TruBlood, but the mention of it /did/ remind her that she was hungry.
