The car rumbled down the street. The color was a dark green, and the car a Ford F-100 XLT from 1974. It sounded like a piece of shit, because it was a piece of shit. Looked like a piece of shit as well, Gareth thought. A green piece of shit, anyway. Thankfully, it wasn't his. He sat in the passenger seat, idly rolling his thumbs with a faraway smile playing on his lips. When he had stirred awake back at his office earlier that night, it had seemed to play out as any other Boston night - dark, exciting and full of tears and terrors alike. As Gareth was hit by the news that the Prince himself had been offed - and in such an [i]exhilaratingly[/i] brutal way too, if rumors were true - he had quickly realized, however, that this very night would have so much more of these qualities than usual. Gareth was positively brimming with excitement, though the driver beside him thought he looked as calm and content as always.

The driver, by the way, was Miss Farragut. It wasn't her real name, but it was what Gareth had chosen for her. As Kine, she wasn't a real person anyway. She was, though, an old acquaintance, who loved more than anything to do everything Gareth told her to. Usually he simply sucked her dry, but sometimes, like tonight, she served as his personal little chauffeur. Her disgusting excuse for a vehicle aside, he liked this arrangement very much. He thought she was a lovely woman, and almost regretted having chopped off one of her hands a couple of years back. The fact she drove so well with one hand didn't make her any less lovely.

He couldn't blame her too much for the vehicle she possessed, though. After all, she had been a homeless alcoholic when they met. Gareth had stolen the Ford from some tosser - Gareth liked that word a lot - and given it to her, along with one of the rooms back at his office building, which housed quite a little family of Kine Gareth had picked up along the way, and even Kindred! But that was another story. Right now Gareth turned his head to the toothless Miss Farragut and gazed in her wet, bleak-blue eyes. The popped blood vessels in them made Gareth hungry. Miss Farragut was probably in her fifties, Gareth thought, and her colored bright-red hair suited her perfectly. He had turned towards her because she had said something.
"I'm sorry, love. What was that?" he asked.
"We're here!"
"Of course we are!" Gareth answered, rather abrupt. "Oh, at the theatre. Thank you, darling." He stepped out of the vehicle. "Have a pleasant evening!", he shouted as he shut the door and started strolling.

Gareth didn't know if he liked that the Prince was dead or not. On the flip side, it surely meant Gareth would get a lot more work now - and [i]interesting[/i] work to boot. On the other hand, it also surely meant that the Sabbath along with the other cretins would become more bold. Furthermore, Gareth had liked the Prince. He was Malkavian and had entrusted Gareth with a lot of good work throughout the years. Hopefully whoever stepped up wouldn't be any less fun. For know, that person would be Nishimura. The little chink was an interesting character, if only for the fact that Gareth didn't know half as much about her as he wanted to. 

And now, Gareth had been ordered to attend a theatre in downtown Boston, as he assumed all Camarilla vampires of remote importance or value were. He was dressed in a shirt, vest and trench coat, looking very much like a corny noir character. He lacked the silly hat, though. Also, he was slightly late. As Gareth crossed the street and headed towards the theatre, he couldn't help but notice the Seneschal herself stepping out of a limousine. She headed inside, and Gareth followed.