Parry did not take to the group's berating him well. Not at all. In his mind, the lawyer was a flawlessly qualified and safe companion for having bailed Parry out of jail on de Lacy's orders, putting up with his admittedly dramatic whining over the outfit, and to top it all off, not billing him at a Paranormal rate for her services. She'd done it at human rate- practically pro-bono. de Lacy was willing to spring Parry's bail, but the Celestial had to pay for his own mistakes. Fair enough.

And then there was that hunter. Mmmmmmmm-mmmmm! Yummy! But the bunker wasn't a bar, and even Parry could exercise a little self control. So while he pouted over being on the outs with the group, the Celestial let visions of Gray dance in his head while he unpacked his change of clothes. A more formal black clubbing shirt, done by Gucci. The group was supposed to be sneaky about this whole operation and luckily Parry had grabbed one piece of black clothing before the daycare was destroyed.

Even as the group pulled up outside the Rusty Steak Knife club (and really, what kind of a name was that anyway? It didn't communicate flashing lights, dancers and loud music very well- more like a fancy dinner place where everyone had to wear nice clothes and guys in foreign accents made deals in dark corners- oh, wait!) Parry was stuck in the front seat of the van, pouting with his arms crossed over his Prada diaper bag. The vampires were coming and going outside the club, while well dressed humans from the West Side waited in line with their dates, preparing for a fancy steak dinner, overpriced and underfed, serenaded by a vampire with a Siren's voice. Or maybe an actual Siren. The humans would spend-spend-spend, Master vamp Billy Rikkers would rake in the cash from the food and booze. And the small vampire covens he controlled would keep giving him tribute.

Unless somebody upset the system.

Now Parael Magnus had existed for a long time. A long, long time. So he was occasionally capable of thinking like an adult. But there was a reason he was so good with children. That reason: he might think like an adult, but he definitely behaved like a child. He acted on impulse, went for self-gratification over self-preservation. 

So while Parry sulked in the front of the van, left out in the cold from the group, Parry's mind seized on an idea that would redeem him in the eyes of the group.

Foolproof. Ingenius. Laudable.

Undoubtedly poorly thought out.

So Parry fished one hand into his diaper bag, grabbed the empty flask of Celestial blood, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He unlocked and opened the van's front door, murmuring "Potty break. Gimme two seconds." Nobody stopped him since they were all focused on Tony and Flint and one of the vampires on the outside. So Parry casually and non-chalantly walked across the city street, to the front of the establishment where the vampire Maitre'd stood like an elegant bouncer and gatekeeper, gazing at this newcomer in admittedly expensive designer clothes, but clearly not dressed in a suit and tie like most of the clientelle he was letting in.

"I need to speak to 'il Duce', please," Parry said, deliberately using Billy Rikker's nickname among the covens. He might not come off as a vampire to this guy, but the head waiter would know Parry was in the know about who Billy really was. To emphasize his next words, Parry pulled the empty silver flask from his front pocket and unscrewed the cap, letting the scent of the dregs of Celestial blood waft up into the waiter's nose. "I have something he might be willing to, er, purchase."