Silver, it had to be silver. The cash got loaded into the bag easily enough; a lot of his own money was in the bank, but he'd have to run the risk of a withdrawal during business hours if it got that bad. In the meantime, he had several hundred dollars in a wallet; wearing a younger man's attire, track pants and a t-shirt, a pair of good hiking shoes and a hoodie, he looked nothing like the older but fit man that headed Horizon; there he wore reading glasses and combed his hair back and down. This was the sort of attire that weres wore when they were expecting trouble, clothing that they didn't mind losing in the throes of the change.

The afro and the young man's attire was the first part of the disguise; he was living in the old Dorset subway station, before the new lines got laid, rough. He'd put that safe house down after that asshole Flint did his inquisition jam in the 1980's at the behest of Count Caradoc.

He'd laid down enough stuff for him to live rough for a bit. With more than one it would give them a couple days to figure out what to do. He had the advantage down there, with his senses, though he would have preferred a place with tall grass or jungle, or at least a decent forest, if he was really going to have to hide. Hell, if he knew that they couldn't leave, he would have taken a trip to Tanzania, slipped into Serengeti National Park and hunt wildebeest and buffalo for a few seasons until this Nemsemet business blew over. He'd been planning that sort of vacation as a retirement gift to himself, but then this happened.

In any case, he used a diaper to grab the silver flasks; it wasn't like mere skin contact burned like the sun on vampiric skin, but it was uncomfortable to hold it. It's why he'd ask the cashiers to keep the change and pay it forward. Why he tipped to round up and avoid change. Luckily, silver wasn't really in a lot besides money and jewelry, so it wasn't so bad...but Nemsemet's troops probably were making sure they were outfitted with silver, expecting trouble from the lycanthropes that didn't fall in behind him; not that there were many. The weres liked the idea of being 'let off the leash' for the most part. 

And a part of him liked it too. But it wasn't the part that remembered a red blur in 1968 and heard the legends later about the Maneater of the Mekong. That part didn't wonder how much of it was true and how much was made up, because it didn't remember a goddamn thing.

So he came up the stairs carrying a diaper bag and feeling a bit like an idiot, because he wasn't particularly paternal -- that same part of him didn't want to pass on the legacy -- but the feeling passed fast. They had shit to do. Then there was a knock, a cop-knock is how they'd describe it, because they tended to pound doors like they didn't care.

He froze.