Light glimmered over numerous cut panes of glass, mellowed through to golds and coppers, filling the room just right. Charlotte could lay on the dark leather couch, staring over the reflections upon the ceiling, french molding making such a fine border, like a frame…a painting…of light. Dorn surrounded herself with art, antiques, refined interests. Yet the most beautiful of things, she never noticed. Not like Charlotte.
Turning her head slightly, she spied the suit dressed Ventrue behind her desk. One hand cradling a snifter of brandy bloodwine, the other tugging at a length of hair behind an ear. Electric blue lights blinked at that ear, the ever present blue tooth device whispering messages, foot soldiers to the general.
Why do you follow Dorn? A series of notes made their way to her library, tucked into favorite books, asking questions like this. Why Dorn, what brought her to Austin, did she enjoy being a trophy whore, all sorts of simple to atrocious questions. The Malkavian did not care so much, but she needed to bring them up with her childer. At some point. But they kept slipping her mind.
“I left the package with my contact. It should be left— Yes. Of course. You should receive a signal once it’s within the amplifiers. Until then, it might be difficult to track.” Dorn stared through the glass, watching the red amber liquid change the pale color of Charlotte’s face. “I have ways of checking it’s arrival. Ah Briggs, have I ever failed?” She gave a laugh that never touched her eyes. Cold, methodical, not just Ventrue but part of herself.
Reaching into a pocket, Charlotte brought out a small book of verses written by Keats. Flipping open, a card met her eyes. Dorn has betrayed you.