A Night of Sophistication (Anyone?)

Getting back into Kindred society was more difficult than Harry had anticipated. After his initial visit to All Hallows Church and subsequent disfigurement (and really, disfiguring a Haunt? That's just adding insult to injury), he wasn't feeling too confident. Nevertheless, he decided to hit the Elysium. He had never been to Ballo Della Notte, but if he wanted to meet the high class, power hungry Kindred elite, he decided that was probably the place to be. If he was lucky, he might just find someone who needed something done -- a job, if you will.

So he bought a ticket (not a very good one, mind you) and decided to hit the town dressed in his Sunday best, a charcoal suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. The suit fit him fine, but something about that classic Nosferatu unease made the already heavyset Haunt's suit look just a little too tight, and on anyone else, it might have looked fantastic. Here at the Ballo Della Notte, however, he looked like a poor schlub getting his first real taste of culture. However out of place he might look, Harry still had a ferocious confidence about him, a predatory aura that comes with being the Lord's own righteous beast. He could only hope that the other Damned souls in attendance might notice, and make use of his particular skills.

Approaching the doors, he looks around, mainly to see where the ticket collector is (is it inside? Probably. Seems too classy to be the kind of place where they take your tickets outside), but also to see if any other Kindred are around.

{Wits+Comp, PM me the roll please}

Hm. Harry didn't notice anyone of particular interest (those who might rile up the Beast in him), so he continues on to his seat. He might as well enjoy the show if he's already here, and who knows? Maybe he just got here early. If any fellow bloodsuckers show up, he would be ready for them.

As far as Harry can tell, it's a few minutes to showtime, but the (few) other theaters that he had been to in his life had been notorious for starting late. He hoped this might be true of all theaters, because he needed to stretch his legs. Getting up, he walks back toward the lobby. The place looks nice and all, he thinks, but damn, it's pretty dull. Luckily for Harry, the night looks to be getting more exciting, as the sight of one entering individual causes the Beast to flutter in his chest, giving a rush of predatory thrill.

Someone else showed up after all, he thinks with a grin.

"Evenin' sir," Harry says, a little less cautious and a little more confident than his counterpart. He extends his hand in greeting. "I'm Walsh, Harry Walsh, good to meet you. And you are?"

A small smirk is plastered on his lips as he speaks. In his dealings with those outside the church, Harry was never lacking for confidence -- odd how that worked, he supposed. Like he had his own special secret that only he knew. Hopefully that confidence would reflect well, instead of making him look like an asshole. The latter option was probably closer to the truth.

Harry stares blankly for a second, though the asinine smirk never falters, before realizing what Martin is asking. "Oh, Lord no. I'm afraid I'm just here for pleasure. I had heard that this was a safe place, so I thought I would drop by, have a look around. Y'know, mingle with the up and comers and all that. No, my usual haunt," and here he laughs wheezily at his own awful pun, "is All Hallows Church. Don't get out much, you see."

"How about yourself? Seeing what there is to see?"

"The Seneschal, eh? I hadn't known this was her joint," Harry says. If that was true, and she did show up, then maybe he could grease the wheels, get his name out there, make a reputation for himself, and more importantly, for the Lancea Sanctum. "Who knows? We can always hope she shows up before too long. Anyway, the show's about to start. Why don't we head in? Perhaps if we're lucky, she'll poke her head out after the show."

Harry knew it was a long shot, but hey, company never hurt, especially if he could maybe find out news about the city's happenings from it.

As the two take their seats, Harry decides to continue their conversation, albeit at a lower volume (to do otherwise would be disrespectful for those around them!).

"So tell me, Mr. Carpenter, has much been happening in the city these days? I'm afraid I get so caught up in my duties with the church that I sometimes forget all else. It's a little embarrassing, really."

"The Carthian prefect, you say? Interesting. I haven't had much to do with them, but --" Harry bites his tongue. He was about to say that the young upstarts probably deserved it, but he had no idea where his companion's loyalties lay. A bit of quick thinking though, and he was making a decent save. "But I would not have thought their prefect would do such a thing."

"You said you didn't have much to share, but even that much was more than I knew. I have been so... absorbed, shall we say, in my duties, that I am practically new myself." Harry came to make some contacts, and it looks like now he was seizing his opportunity. "Being new as you are, though, it never hurts to have an ally. You seem like a nice enough fellow, Mr. Carpenter. If you ever find yourself in need of a little help, feel free to give me call." He hands the younger-looking vampire a small card with his cell number on it, a wolfish grin on his face.

Harry takes Martin's card, glancing at it momentarily, though the dim theater prevents this from doing much good. He tucks it into a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and says, "Much obliged."

"It was certainly nice to meet you as well, Mr. Carpenter. Have a good night now."

Harry stands, stretching his dead muscles and reflecting momentarily on the show. It was okay, he guessed, but he had never been the kind of person who understood this sort of thing. Too fancy for him.

He walks slowly from the theater, much to the chagrin of those behind him, but they didn't matter. As he makes his way into the street, he idly considers grabbing a bite to eat, so to speak. He deserved it, after all that he had just accomplished -- it was no small step for him, and he was feeling good.