Sheriff's Estate - The Vault
Thunder rumbles throughout the city of Dallas. Each rumble is accentuated by a sheet of light, sometimes followed by a very distinct bolt of lightning that strikes something on the outskirts. Rain falls in heavy droplets splashing over everything outside of the estate.
Including the less than enthused security detail which is generally showing visitors away from the estate.
A sudden blur of speed slows into a man clutching a metal briefcase in his right hand. He stops a quarter block away and walks a more traditional speed so as not to rile the guards. A large tan trenchoat belted up with a low-tipped matching fedora atop his head obscure his entire shape. "Resident Giacomo Alfonso DiCosta to see the Sheriff," he says in a low voice slathered thick in a New York and Italian blend of an accent. "Please hurry, I rather enjoy these shoes."
Thanks to the fact that a 'hostile' seems to be headed toward the mayoral office, the guards are more than on the ball. A metal briefcase raises all sorts of flags, considering the incident months back with the VVEMT. Taking the case to scan it, they nod and offer it back to the man on the other side of the scanner. Then they motion him through the metal detector — something akin to what one would find at an airport or high school these days.
The man hands over his case gladly but gives a quirked eyebrow to the metal detector. "I must declare that I am carrying some weaponry, legally carried and obtained here in the State of Texas. The carry permit is within the case. Might I check those items with you?" The man asks politely as he removes his fedora and trench showing a fine suit and tie along with a neatly tucked pocket silk. Only in Texas is carrying a gun as commonplace as asking where a drinking fountain is. "Not that such banal trinkets can harm the Sheriff," he mentions simply as an aside with the slightest hint of a chuckle.
The guard eyes the stranger briefly, his hand held outward to take the weaponry from the visitor. With the King still in residence, weapons beyond those that are carried by trusted employees are not allowed on the premises.
A grunt from the guard at the chuckle and his counterpart calls into the estate to ensure that the Sheriff is indeed within the residence at the moment. Once the weapons are obtained, one of the men steps out of their nice dry booth to escort Giacomo to the door.
Giacomo moves slowly, perhaps so as not to alert the guards. His right hand reaches into his left suit coat pocket producing an M1911 pistol which looks as though it may have originated near that date. His left hand reaches within his right side and produces a simple buck knife and an additional magazine for the pistol. All are handed over at a similar pace before he reclaims his coat, fedora and case and follows the guard to the door. "Thanks, pally," he says in that hokey New York accent one might hear in an old gangster flick.
Another grunt from the guard as he opens the door.
"Giacomo Alfonso DiCosta to see the Sheriff," he announces.
Once inside the estate, another guard moves up to Giacomo's side handing him a towel. "Don't drip on the floor," she hisses, before leading him toward the Vault where the couches are.
"Then take this," Giacomo says flatly with a touch of snark. He hands the guard his wet trench coat and fedora and takes the towel, wiping off his shoes which appear to be the only wet part of him at present. After wiping his feet off he returns the towel, looks down and adjusts his pocket square. He collects his briefcase and heads in the Vault looking quite calm and proper.
A flash of fangs as the guard replies, "Do I look like a damned maid servant? Why the hell did they let that annoying Baker woman go?"
She does take the trench and fedora, carrying them off to a rack by the door which has a drip mat below it to catch the droplets of water that fall from the garments every once and a while.
The Vault remains empty beyond the guards for the time being. The Sheriff busily ensconced in matters upstairs. "Gregory, I need a background check run and I need you to find out what Mr. Darcy has been up to in the city. I have little trust for the man and I want the truth before I contact the Magister."
Snapping the phone shut, she holds it delicately in one hand and gracefully glides down the stairs. "Mr. DiCosta, I was not expecting you this evening."
A flat and icy look to the flash of fangs is all Giacomo returns to the guard. "You're the one with the towel," he barbs cooly without looking back. He waits patiently for the Sheriff to be complete with her duties, preferring to stand with his case at his feet and his arms crossed behind his back. As she comes down the stairs, he offers her a brief smile and a deep nod. "Good evening, Sheriff. I trust you received my package? I felt a more personal communique was more appropriate on follow-up."
The woman is about to snap back at the visitor, but a cool icy look from the woman on the stairs prevents her from doing so. Instead, the woman returns to her post by the door waiting for another towel to be delivered. Generally there are an abundance by the door, even on the not-so-rainy nights since someone tends to come home covered in blood.
"We did receive the package, though I do hope you are aware that such things are… shall we say… unnecessary." Isobel makes her way toward the kitchen, extracting a bag from the back of the small fridge. Pouring it into a glass she looks over at her guest. "I seem to be out of O at the moment, I do hope that AB-negative will suffice?" A bottle of synthetic is extracted as well. This is shaken, the cap removed, and both items are tossed into the microwave.
Giacomo gives a brief smile and a drop of the head at the Sheriff's remarks regarding the package. "Unnecessary…but perhaps not unwanted, Sheriff?" He offers a slight chuckle. "Such is the way I have operated since before I was made," he says with a shrug, "Old dogs, and all that." He nods at the offer of sustinence. "That would be quite nice, thank you." G continues to stand almost apparently at attention as the Sheriff prepares the blood.
"It would not behoove a lady to reject a gift," Isobel says in her icily neutral tone, revealing nothing. Then she is silent until the microwave chimes in with it's well timed *DING*.
Both the glass and the bottle are taken from the microwave and brought over to the table in the sitting area. They are placed upon it. While some chide her for not having servants to do such things for her, there are times when even servants are unreliable. Thus, when entertaining she must really only rely upon herself.
Taking a seat on the middle couch, her right leg crossing over her left as she does so, her only other movement is to lift up the warmed glass and dip her finger into it. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening, beyond a follow-up?"
Giacomo stands silently save a simple snicker at the Sheriff's remark regarding gifts. As she moves over to the seating area, so does he, picking up and moving his case as he goes. He sits slowly, as plopping down on furniture is not reserved. He too, crosses one leg over another, resting one hand on his knees and the other clutching his glass. He offers it a smell before taking a small sip of it. "Well first, to offer help in any affairs you or His Majesty may be needing. Though I do hope your staff around here is sufficient for such tasks as you may direct." While his background may be rough-and-tumble murder on the streets of New York, he seems to do class well. "And thank you for the, uh, refreshments."
Rain continues unabated outside, the thunder and lightning muted to those within the walls of the private residence of the Sheriff of Dallas. Most that have cause to be out of doors in the weather have returned home, safe and dry. Most.
The door opens once again, and with the rain is swept in a rather soaked to the core Marius; his short blonde hair plastered to his skull, his clothing pinned to his body, and with each step of his boot, a *squish* sound comes.
"The staff is generally more than capable of — "
Isobel's words are cut off abruptly when she eyes the door. She stands there staring at the man in the entrance for a long moment without a word. A hint of a smile tugs at her lips, though she squashes it briefly due to the presence of another.
The guard at the door is quick to throw the towel at Marius. "Sir. Your towel. You know how the Lady hates to have her home wet or bloody…" Even so, this time the guard just sort of scurries back to her post without so much as an argumentative word.
Giacomo sits politely, listening to the Sheriff intently as the door opens. His head swivels towards it instinctively, standing out of habit in deference to the newcomer. He shows and quickly stifles a smirk at the guard's dismay. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced properly. Giacomo Alfonso DiCosta," he says in his old-timey New Yorker accent. He places his right hand on his chest and gives a deep nod to Marius.
With the rain, the chances are good that if he'd had something to drink while out on the town, the natural bath would have cleaned most of it off. Most of it.
With the towel tossed to him, Marius catches it as if it is fully expected. Another step into the room is taken, the door now closed behind him, and the towel is applied to his head, and after rubbing quickly, the short hair is standing at different angles, spiking out somewhat.
"My Lady.. forgive my intrusion," He offers Isobel a brief bow without letting go of the towel. To the new vampire, he allows his expression to turn.. impassive. Without feature. "Giacomo." He doesn't give his name, however. There's that touch of conceit that any and all that enter the territory would automatically know who.. and who he is.
There is an order on the tip of the Sheriff's tongue. A glance at the visitor quickly stops the order from being issued. Instead, Isobel moves toward the door. "Ruby, be a dear and see to it that my dear friend is brought something warm and dry to wear with all due haste. I do not wish him traipsing about my home in such disgraceful dress." Winking at Marius, she turns back toward the visitor.
"As I was saying, the staff is generally more than capable of handling most things, though I do appreciate your fealty and will ensure that the King is made aware of it."
A glance back at Marius and Isobel mouths the word 'later' to him. "You must join us. When Ruby returns I will have her bring you some refreshment as well."
A brief moment of stillness and blinking as Marius does not return the pleasantries, but nothing more from Giacomo. He turns back to the Sheriff, resuming his seat and reclaiming his glass of AB-. "Oh, I wasn't referring to any of the more day-to-day. But do know that you may call on me if you need some…outside help. At times these cabals can get a bit…incestuous." He sips after that comment, allowing the Sheriff to communicate with her Whip behind him.
Consigned to the small entry area where he can't get any of the nice white furniture dirty with rain (and perhaps the residue of blood), Marius ignores Ruby (but catches Isobel) now as he procedes to pull his boots off, one by one. It's become something of a running joke with them; he's rather.. infamous for his state of dress when returning in the evening. He is now known for the delight in which he takes while eating his meals, so to speak.
Once the boots are off, the wet socks are peeled, and allowing for the guest to continue his business, he simply nods his acknowledgment, a murmured 'As you wish, my Lady," offered.
It is when the jacket is removed, the shirt unbuttoned that Ruby reappears with 'suitable clothing' that looks a great deal like the Whip's clothes, only.. much drier.
Ruby not only returns with the clothing, but when the clothing is taken moves to cover the Whip with a towel. They do have company after all.
Isobel smirks at this and shakes her head. So much for teasing Marius about having to change in the foyer yet again. "I would tell you to simply wrap in the towel, but that would be unsuitable for our company."
Returning to seat herself on the couch once more, she nods to Giacomo. "Outside help. I see. Then I may have something for you to look into, provided that you can also do it discreetly. I am not so well versed with the Mafia scene as others may be so I have no clue if they can be more subtle than a pair of cement shoes in the Hudson River."
Giacomo turns briefly to check on Marius' status and offers a smirk at Isobel's comment. He takes a drink of his blood, savoring it on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. "Cement shoes are largely a creation of the movies. Not particularly practical," he offers with a smile. "We did a lot of double decker caskets, though." He drifts a bit while mulling another drink of blood as if thinking of fond times.
Due to company, this will simply be one time that Marius doesn't question the need for white furniture, white carpeting in a house for vampires. While not making excuses as to his appearance and/or his habits, there is that little thought in the back of his head that perhaps this room might be decorated somewhat differently? But, it's not his property, and certainly he has no flair for design, so as a result, he acknowledges that he has little 'say' in the matter. It doesn't keep him from questioning on occasion, however.
"Agreed." Though a towel, fully clothed, it really doesn't matter much to him. The years spent have made him less than modest.
Marius changes quickly, removing the wet clothing and handing them over before he gets the clean and dry. "The pants have been torn. I will see to their replacement," is given to Ruby so as not to interrupt the main conversation deeper in the room.
Once properly dressed, though he leaves the soaked-through, now squeaky boots where they are, he pads barefooted across the room silently for something to drink.
White decoration and white carpeting are not by the Sheriff's design, the house having been inherited from the previous Sheriff. When the house is her own, decoration may change. Something in a blue or green perhaps, but still none of the tacky red and black she sees most everywhere else that caters to the vampire crowd.
Ruby takes the clothing away quietly, not wishing to disturb them. She would still argue that she is not the maidservant but Marius scares the crap out of her unlife.
"There is one bag of A-positive in the back of the fridge, help yourself to it as it would seem Ruby may be a while disposing of your ruined clothing." Isobel dips her finger back into her glass, swirling it idly as she nods to the visitor. "Many things are the creation of Hollywood, and yet all things have some basis in truth." There is one to whom she would swear Bram Stoker met or wrote about, though he is many months true-dead so far as she knows.
"Marius, is there anything that this man may aid with? Something that would require 'outside' help?"
"Oh, I'm not saying we /never/ buried anyone in concrete," Giacomo says coyly over his glass of blood. "Hollywood actually got our thing fairly accurate most of the time." He sets his glass down briefly to adjust his tie, whose thick half-windsor knot was beginning to slip a bit. "I'm not hard up for work, I was just merely offering my services," Giacomo says over to Marius to give him a bit of context to the conversation. "It's just I do love to lead, oh, what was that Christian drivel book titled, 'The Purpose Driven Life?'"
"Carlos, my Lady. Or Daemon." The witch. Daemon.
Marius reaches the kitchenette and pulls open the refrigerator. "Only one left?" He doesn't recall dipping into the stocks; he's got his small group in Koreatown, and then there's…
Regardless, he takes the last bag and tears it open with his teeth before reaching for a mug. He's not very delicate, and doesn't really try to be. A brute in a china shop?
"Daemon. Perhaps if he approaches them, they will not be alerted that we know about them." Beyond that, it's all up to Isobel and the newly arrived as to how they are approached, and when..
"That is all I can think of at the moment."
Placing the now filled mug into the microwave, he pokes at the buttons. "Live long enough, and you question your purpose. Live longer yet, and you rediscover it." Marius looks up, and there's a hint of a smile that tugs upon the edges of his lips, "I have never questioned mine."
"Daemon then," Isobel says with an approving nod. "Marius or myself will fill you in on the details a little later." As she herself is not fully aware of all of them. The guest upstairs is not the most important thing on her docket at the moment after all.
"Do be careful not to spill it on the floor," she calls toward the kitchen. "They have just been cleaned due to an altercation earlier this evening." Between a human resident and one of the guards — not a pretty sight to be sure.
"The last. I have not yet had the opportunity to contact Mary for another delivery. There are several bags downstairs in my suite if you have need of them before the morning. Otherwise I will go to see her when I awake tomorrow." The stop there first before addressing some of Nan's concerns over at the AVL.
"I should warn you," she says somewhat icily to Giacomo, "that it would likely not be prudent to discuss 'Christian drivel' with the King."
"Well, that is cryptically circular," Giacomo remarks with the slightest grin in reference to Marius' musings about purpose. He takes a drink of his blood and sets it down on the table in front of him. "Daemon," Giacomo repeats back with a quirked eyebrow as he listens to the two speak in relative code about another person. "Sounds intriguing. Perhaps more intriguing than my usual work." He then holds up his hands defensively at the Sheriff's warning. "I had no intention of doing so. I had heard of the King's…proclivities."
"This will be more than enough, my Lady."
Pulling it out as the *ding* announces that the mug has attained its proper temperature, Marius sticks his fingers in the mug to coat them and pulls them out soon after to lick the blood off of them. "I wil give him the necessary information regarding what it is we desire." 'Why' is no one's business but their own. "Daemon is a witch. One that I would see burned at the stake like his ancestors undoubtedly were. But, there is need to.. speak with him." before he is burned at the stake.
"If you will excuse me, however, my Lady.. I beg leave to depart for my chambers. There is something that demands my attention before I sleep for the night."
"If you are certain…" Isobel nods, knowing the Whip has likely fed for the evening elsewhere. Fine by her, provided she hears no complaints about it.
"That being said, should you come upon him we would like him brought in. Discreetly. Try to do so with a blindfold as I do not fancy unnecessary breathers having access to my home." The finger comes out of the glass and she licks it clean.
"You may be excused, Marius. I wish still to speak with you before you sleep this evening." There are things that must be said, that she has been trying to say for the last few days though their schedules are just not meshing as much as she would like them to be.
Then back to the visitor. "I will tell the guards at the gate that should you come bearing a blindfolded human, witch, whatever he may be, that they are to let you in to wait."
"Understood. Good evening, Marius," Giacomo says with another deep nod to the Whip as he departs. "Should I acquire him, I will ensure he is both unconscious and without sight as he enters here," Giacomo says with a few nods to accentuate his understanding. "Safety is important. Oh, I almost forgot." He reaches to his side for the case leaning against the couch. He rolls the numbers on the lock before popping it open. He reaches in and slides over a small paper pouch. "I've no need for it, nor its previous owner. It's titanium, not silver." Enclosed is a thin titanium bangle with an embedded celtic braid pattern on the exterior.
Oh, he is good. Much better than the false fealty she was hearing the other evening. Isobel eyes Giacomo for a long moment, unmoving. Quietly, she tilts the glass of blood up to her lips and downs it all in one neat gulp. Then she narrows her eyes on the small paper pouch.
After taking it and opening it, she eyes Giacomo again for a long moment. There is no twinkle in her eye, or smile on her face. The action of taking the bangle out of the paper pouch and slipping it onto her wrist should be enough.
"I will see that you have the information necessary before you wake tomorrow eve. Was there anything else you wished to discuss this evening?" All icy cool neutrality, though she does shake her wrist once to look at the pattern closely.
Giacomo grabs his glass once more with very little blood remaining and watches intently as the Sheriff opens her gift. A smile bearing no teeth as she opens it out and slips it on her wrist. He mentions nothing of it, allowing a silent understanding about the gift. He closes his case and relocks it as he speaks, "I require nothing else save your leave and the expression to the King of my allegiance to his wishes." He stands and drains his blood. "Also, many thanks for the drink, Sheriff."
"The leave you may have." The information, as promised, will find its way to his sleeping location before he awakens. "The King will be made aware of both your presence and your allegiance." Isobel finds it pleasant that for once someone has been so frank in such matters that it actually causes her to smile a little. Standing as well, she nods. "You are most welcome. Do not forget to collect your items from the guards on your way out."
