Art Nouveau decor throughout the main lounge pays homage to an era when architecture and interior design were the perfect marriage of form, function and art. The walls are purples and pinks that blend into more subtle hues with the constant green lighting. Small tables with four tall chairs can be found scattered about the room. Large purple couches can be found nestled between the table sets, and in front of a smaller stage used for poetry readings.

The bar itself is long, taking up the entirety of a wall. Tall chairs are scattered on the patron side, and behind the bar is a beautiful greenish glow. The glow comes from the shelving where the majority of the alcohol is stored. The nearby glass racks reflect the glow splendidly as well.

The night is warm, hazy even despite the dry heat that runs rampant in Dallas. The nights are slowly becoming longer again now, by mere seconds but the downward swing has begun. This evening is really of little importance to anyone. Humans in the city go about their business, the werewolves and shifters have surpassed their full moon, and the solstice was days ago.

The Absinthe is actually quiet for a Thursday night. A few patrons scattered around the small stage listening to some guitarist sing Freebird.

Isobel can be found at a table in the very back corner. A quiet table. One that no one else even thinks of coming close to. From her champagne glass, she pretends to drink the synthetic they've poured for her. From her expression, one can not be certain whether she's enjoying the drink or merely suffering through it.


If it's synthetic, Gregory's money on she's suffering through it. At best. If it's crossing her lips at all. He knows her remarkably well — for a human that's still fairly new in her employ, anyway. After all, in the span of a vampire's life, a year-and-change is hardly a drop in the bucket. So, perhaps it's safer to say he knows the most common habits he's seen in her over the course of that year.

Regardless, the Absinthe isn't necessarily a place Gregory frequents all that often on his own. He's more of a Warehouse guy, himself. Nonetheless, if this is where his boss can be found, this is where he comes. He passes between the tables with long legged ease and pauses at the edge of her table without hesitation as he reaches it. A small red USB key is placed before him, his body blocking it from all but her view.

"That's the latest."

Like he even needs to say it.


The Warehouse, while a fine establishment, is far too loud to conduct business. Isobel, happy for the distraction, sets the glass down upon the table and offers the man a nod. The USB key is picked up, and she has it hidden away in less time than it takes to blink. She is not fully integrated with computers yet, but plugging a device into the laptop isn't beyond her. She can do that much.

"Thank you, Gregory." That she's not had to call him seems to put her in slightly better spirits. "Were you able to find out anything else of worth?" Icy blue eyes peer at the man as though she'll be able to tell if he's lying before they shift off to the bar. "If not, you may consider yourself off-duty for the evening, though I do expect to see you at the estate before the dawn for your instructions." They would be called in to him, but she's been preferring things a little more face-to-face at the moment.


Gregory gives a simple nod in response to the thanks. He alights on one of the tall chairs opposite her, at least for the moment. "There are rumors floating around that a shipment of blood from Vida Medical Services never reached its destination. About 100 gallons out of Lewisville." So, just a little northwest of the city. Whether it means anything or not? He doesn't know. But, he offers it, anyway, just in case it turns up helpful later.

"Other than that?" He gives a mild shrug. "'S all I got for now. I'll definitely be there before sun rise, whatever happens." He knows the drill. Why she's so insistent on the face-to-face, he's not sure. But, he doesn't actively question it.

"Am I wrong, or does something have you…" Finding the politic word here cause him to pause. "Concerned? Some I need to look into?"


"Lewisville?" Isobel doesn't show signs of interest or disinterest. Merely neutrality again. Though she does seem to be considering it. "Out of my jurisdiction, but I shall bring it to the notice of the King, thank you, Gregory." Two thank yous in one evening? That may just be a first. That the blood has gone missing could mean any number of things, with most of them favoring the 'not so good' category.

"Perhaps not so much as concerned as thoughtful." It's waved off though. "Nothing more pressing than the visiting dignitaries, but you were already aware of their presence." In her home. It's a bit disconcerting. "I would like it if you could find me all the information on a man by the name of Zane Wright, and also Mayor McNaab. Find out who will best support us in the coming election."


"Consider it done," Gregory nods. "Give me a couple of days for a prelim. You'll get the rest by the end of the week." He has contacts that he knows will come through. He really is very good at what he does. A point of pride, really.

The echoed thank you doesn't go unnoticed, but neither is it remarked upon. Instead, he gives a bit of a wry, almost sardonic smile at her reaction to her 'houseguest'. "How much longer do you think your dignitaries are staying?" It's a casual question. But, he likes to know these things. It helps him know what to expect. "All's still quiet on the northern front?" As long as there are no tensions between the visitors and their hosts, it's all good in his books. Generally speaking, he's not the sort to get involved in vampire politics. At least, not directly. Investigate? Gather info? Poke around and see what's going on?


At the end of the day, though, he knows his place. He's a useful outsider and conduit of important information. Long as his sources are on the level, he's good.

Which is why he checks, rechecks, and triple checks everything. From several different angles. If there's a red herring being thrown his way, he wants to know about it before it starts to rot and stink up the place.


"Take the time you need on it. It is not absolutely necessary information, just something I wish to keep my eye on," she says, speaking of the mayoral candidates. They could make her life much more difficult and that's not something she's at all looking forward to.

Isobel lifts the glass again, toying with it briefly. "As long as they wish to, I presume. The Queen and her entourage are quiet enough." They are not causing hassle at any rate, and last she checked her Maker was having fun playing escort. "All is well though," she concedes after a long moment.

"I trust that you have been keeping yourself safe and out of trouble then?"


Once more, Gregory gives a simple nod of his head. "As safe as I can be," given his job, anyway. "No problems I can think of." None that need reporting, anyway.

The Bostonian isn't actually in the habit of lying to his employer. He's judicious about what he mentions about his personal life, however. Generally, he aims to walk that middle road — enough information that she's happy, but not so much that he's unduly inconvenienced. She pays him well, but not that well. So, he makes sure she gets her money's worth.


Which is really all that Isobel can ask. Though it does take quite a bit to keep her happy.

"Splendid. Then order yourself whatever you wish and have them add it to my tab. The night is still young, Mr. Warren, and you should enjoy it and then get some rest so that you are bright eyed and… well bright eyed at any rate. The thought of a witch having a bushy tail disturbs me." The champagne glass is set upon the table once more, twirling it slowly as it sets there.

As an afterthought she adds, "Do try to find out why that shipment went missing. It may be outside of my jurisdiction, but I want to know regardless."


Given how close Lewisville is to Dallas, it's a wise precaution. "Already on it," Gregory remarks. What? You don't really think he'd bring something like that up to her without intending to follow up, do you? Kind of a waste of breath, otherwise.

At her invitation to relax, he does settle back, however, and pick up a menu that's still near to hand. "Thank you," comes his response. As a server draws near, he places his order — a Stella and a steak, medium-well, with roasted potatoes rather than fries… or the garlic mashed.

He does, however, have to chuckle at the idea of a bushy tail. "Yeah," he drawls softly. "I've never been much for bushy tails, really." He's still not convinced any human should have the ability to have such things — which generally means 'shifters'. But, why say it aloud?


There is silence as he places his order, silence as he chuckles. Isobel is a complete statue, listening to all that is going on around her. "Not everyone bears a fondness for animals, though they do serve their purpose." Donato certainly has several times.

"How are your parents faring then? I trust everything is well there?" If not, surely there would have been some sort of request made by Mitchum, which very likely would have gone ignored.


That rather sums up Gregory's feeling about them, really: They have their uses.

At the question about his parents, however, Gregory's own face takes on more of a neutral cast. He helped bail Mitchum out once; he has no intention of doing it again. "Well enough," he says, giving a mild shrug of unconcern. "They're coping, at any rate, from what I'm told." Whether by them or his contacts there, he doesn't say. He does speak to them personally with clockwork regularity. He doesn't, however, linger over such contact. It's enough to make sure Mitchum isn't doing anything too terribly stupid and Emily hasn't O.D.'ed on anything.



Isobel 'accidentally' tips the glass toward a planter, as though she's simply not paying attention, then sets it back on the table. Wiping the rim of it with a paper napkin, she winks at him. "I shall leave you to your dinner." Unable to stomach the synthetic, uninterested in watching a breather eat. "I shall see you before the dawn, not a moment later. Should you not be there, expect a call."

With the business having concluded, she stops right beside him. There is only the faint hint of an evil look in her eyes as she murmurs, "I grow hungry, and your witch blood makes you far too tempting a meal."


Gregory gives Isobel a remarkably pleasant smile. Were she not his boss, and were more in the habit of goading her, he'd flick a thumb and light a candle just for the play of open flame. Well… that, and were they not in a public place. But, she is his boss, and he isn't in the habit of goading her. So, he simply lets his eyes reflect her own, mirroring the look.

"By all means, then," he says lightly. "Enjoy your hunt…" Even if she is more likely to go back to the Estate than she is to seduce some fangbanger down the road. "See you before the dawn."

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