The meeting, of course, was in full swing. Guests from all over the world had arrived, gathered here in order to maintain their spiteful hatreds towards one another, forced to coexist only by the precarious balance of power. Vultures and fools, with all the power in the world and yet no clue how to use it. Arrogant beings for whom the gift of immortality was a given, those who would look down at 'lesser' beings from atop their pile of corpses and lies. Not a council, for a council would imply some form of cooperation. A war meeting, an overdrawn stalemate that had lasted for hundreds of years.

Gabriel had a headache. What HAD been in that wine?

Staggering slightly, he marched into the room. An inhumanly tall figure clad in black and gold, the red glow of a pair of eyes emanating unsteadily from beneath the brim of a top hat. A row of shark-like teeth twisted into a grimace. All eyes turned to Gabriel, the unexpected guest who had not attended a meeting such as this in 2.000 years. The first and last time Gabriel had joined at a table like this had been before the time of many of the Oldbloods now seated at this table. Potentially the oldest vampire alive, or perhaps the world's greatest charlatan, often known as the First.

Gabriel had arrived.

"Yer all schtoopid!" Slurring his words, Gabriel leaned against a wall, an empty bottle with a label decayed by age held in his off hand as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He glared around the room, as he used the bottle to point at each vampire in turn.

"Yer a whore"

"Yer mother's a whore"

"Yer a manwhore"

"Yer an attenschun whore!"

It was a rather odd break, in which the vast majority of the attending oldbloods simply sat back and stared, the only sound in the impossibly silent room the repeated insults. Slowly, anger and disgust replaced astonishment, and yet even as one of the gathered Oldbloods stood to interrupt he promptly and unceremoniously crashed face-first into the floor, breaking his nose. Had he been a human, it would have seemed like an act of extreme clumsiness. However, the figure who now was now picking themselves up off the ground was Ach Tikkeh, a 2.400 year old Mayan God.

When he next got up, he knew better than to press the issue. There were too many present who would be glad to utilize the excuse to kill him and take his lands, as well as his 'flock'.

Lastly, Gabriel turned to Lady Mo. "Yer sitting on mah chair. Dun worry though, ye can sit on ma lap.