Eva out and about. (Anyone)

Eva heads down the street, a small portfolio under her arm. As usual she is dressed in all black, as though trying to blend in with the shadows and not be seen.

She heads down J street, traffic roaring, the girl sticks close to the buildings, and far from the street. She looks up at addresses attempting to find the art gallery that she was hoping to put some of her paintings in.

Anton Flores found himself on J Street, having made his way down from riverside on the prowl for signs of other Damned, territorial markings and food. The Haunt is clad in slacks, shortsleeves and his only unsoiled tie. He's uncovered the jumbled tapestry adorning his arms uncovered for the benefit of those who would understand it.

Before reaching the corner of 10th Street, he leans against a wall like a disgraced scarecrow, ignorant of the Rack mere feet away from him. Wearing his Beast like a beacon as his gaze flickers about in search of things sought.

Eva sees him, but knows he cannot sense her, she nods politely to him as she gets closer.

Anton repays the nod with a long cold stare that's vacant of anything other than the Beasts ugly hunger and perhaps a little mild contempt. Had he detected the nodding woman's beast he'd have likely followed her. Eventually he stops staring at what he perceives to be a Kine child who should know better than to nod at strange men and crosses the street, resuming his pattern of leaning and watching.

She returns his cold stare with one of her own, her eyes like bottomless pits of tortured sadness.

She bares some fang at him in a gentle snarl letting him know just what she is and quieting her beast that his weaker than his.

Anton's frozen smile jerks ever so slightly as the Beast racks the flesh and bone part of him, goading him on to hunt down the weaker rival, to cast her down and discover just how bottomless those 'bottomless pits of tortured sadness' are with his nails and his teeth. It seems to speak to him with far more clarity than it used to. He maintains control over the Beast and its silent tantrum however, temporarily exiling it to the corner of Anton's mind where humanity and identity went to die.

With a nod of his head, he gestures the stranger over, the needs of the Beast still echoing within hollow eyes.

She comes within about ten feet of him, sensing something terribly wrong with this Kindred.

"Buono Notte... Good evening." she murmurs.

Anton lurches from his lean-spot. At this distance a few more nasty little details are visible. The milkwhite ruin crossing the gristle of his throat. A couple of missing fingernails. The amorphous enigma of Latin and more obscure tongues snaking around arms and hands. He speaks up, voice heavy and haggard. Syllables carrying particular weight are accompanied by a buzzing edge as Anton replies.

"Buenas noches. Know where a fresh arrival can wet his whistle 'fore he seek Elysium?"

The Rack... It's downtown... Or at Asylum... she murmurs, having learned this from her assistant. She manages to hold her ground and not shy away from his hideous visage.

Anton nods gently, causing his neckwound to contort into new and interesting blobs of white. He runs a branded hand through hair still slick with filthy riverwater, finding some unknown substance in there which causes a meaty *thwack* sound as he flicks it onto the sidewalk.

"I know that, wallflower. Thing about racks is they're always 'downtown', or at some dismal bar with an edgy name. It's the done thing. All we can do to slurp up the runoff from these Roman times we got. What I need's directions I can follow. Got any of those?"

Her lip curls in distaste.

Yes... Go down a few streets and make a left. The music is audible from many streets away, and there is always a crowd outside Asylum. You shouldn't miss it. she murmurs, walking back the way she came as she talks, not liking the unbalanced vibe she is getting off of him.

Anton's obscene grin wormed lips over prominent teeth, parodying the strangers reaction for a moment before sliding back into its rightful place. He walks behind her for a moment, whispering throatily.

"Obliged, Wallflower. You miserly with your words, but your charity's to the point. That's a quality I can take my hat off to. Walk as Grandeur now."

The Haunt slinks off in the direction given, straightening his tie as he weaves between automobiles. Mercy if there weren't more cars than should be these nights.

Anton's face gleams back, unchanging as he straightens his tie for the second time in as many minutes. His serpentine drawl buzzes a low drone as he explains himself.

"Now that's a whale of a conclusion to be jumping to. Ignorance personified. In spades. Sate my hunger? Filled my stomach outside county lines. See, I seek Elysium. Rhyme 'n reason dictate I might find something along that line near the Rack, or at least word of it. Bound to run into something resembling 'Proper Authorities' there. Would that be you?

Anton's brow shifts, lending the shape of disdain to his normally detached expression.

"That don't sound much like the benefit of the doubt to me. Yeah, I wanted to present myself with my Sin slaked. Lest it take ahold of this burdensome sinner when he explains himself to those who matter."

The Haunt brings up a gnarled hand, displaying the markings of ink and the ragged extremitys where fish have sampled his slumbering flesh.

"I can count the Damned I've met this last tenyear on one this hand right here, I don't want to take any chances."

Eva blinks, just a few yards down the sidewalk when her beast jumps again, she turns, watching the exchange.

Anton nods slowly, his sloping smile rocking back and forth as empty eyes shift from the belligerent Sheriff onto the wallflower then back agin.

"A Sheriff? Well it's a lucky coincidence you were here to lay rest to such brazen law-flouting, isn't it, Sheriff? I'll come with you. Get the formalities gone. Here's hoping the worm don't go a-squirm."

Anton's glassy eyes follow the rolling ones and he shrugs his shoulders. A gesture punctuated by a fibrous click.

"Tells you a lot about a city when its Sheriff 'doing their job' means roaming random on the offchance they hear a would-be poach thinking aloud. But enough doubletalk, yes?"

Anton follows to the car, eyes darting about his surroundings all the while. If he had to dangle in front of the Sacramento authorities, so be it. It'd be water under the bridge once he hooked up with Kindred of Path and Purpose.

Eva follows, staying quiet as usual, not really wanting to go anywhere that the creeper is going but at least figuring that the Sherriff will be enough to deter him from anything disgusting.

Gratzie... she murmurs softly, sliding in.

Mekhet, and thank you for your help. she murmurs in that soft voice, meeting the other womans gaze with her own sad one, gratitude for the woman not leaving her there with the creeper in their depths.

Anton steps into the car and feels part of him bristle with contempt for the fragility detected in the wallflowers voice as another part swelled with perverse pride at the notion that he could make himself so reviled by simply asking a question while wearing this smile with this skin. Or maybe it had been something else entirely. An absence of Purpose, perhaps. He stretches in the seat and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his shirt pocket eyes it for a moment and puts it away as he states his clan.

"Nosferatu."

The Haunt concentrates on the scripture that's been charred and etched and inked and oiled along a wiry arm as he awaits a predictable 'No shit.' or 'You don't say.'

Eva doesnt even give the Sheriff a second glance when she is insulted, used to it really, and finding it the norm.

Of course. Thank you for your help. she murmurs, a bit louder this time, just loud enough to be heard over the car.

The Haunt looks up from his arm, smiling back at the blur in the mirror, nodding as he watches things out of the window. Hungry eyes fall back on the arm-marks soon enough.

Eva Carino... she says, knowing that as a prominent and popular Kindred artist the sheriff might know her name.

"'Anton Flores' is what I call myself." The Haunt croaks, as his eyes take in the facade of the Grindhouse.