Well la-dee-da.

Tony knew a messed up night when he saw one. Between weirdos, wackos, screams in the night and Man Friday over there popping out of the shadows to tell him to hurry up and hop it to the river, he knew it was going to be [i]exactly[/i] one of those nights. Tugging the cigarette out of his lips and crushing it with a firm twist under the toe of his boot, he sighed and stepped inside to make his excuses. Only one person could tell people to show up by the river and expect them to do it. Prince says jump, and every lick in the city knew they'd rather go with the flow than wind up as ash on a chainsaw.

Hands in the pockets of his denim coat, Tony Harper made his way down streets no kid in his right mind would head past without batting an eye. He'd been a brave kid in life and at this point he was a brave kid in death--he'd seen his share of shit go down and caused enough of it to know that anyone stupid enough to start shit in an alley with him was going to be the next echoing scream in the middle of the night. That's where his head was, at any rate--he'd seen his share of messed up men in his life, but the guy from the club who'd headed off with those girls just reeked of [i]Not Okay[/i]. In another life he'd have done something about it--or hell, for all he knew he'd have been part of it--but a shit job was a shit job and if he skipped off from the door too often Bruno would start throwing his weight around. Tony knew exactly where that conversation would end up, and nobody needed to watch him kick the hell out of a man who ought to be at least three times his age.

He was one of the first to show up, the rest of the Prince's muppets filing in. Little Miss Lolipop Chainsaw caught his eye, of course, but that was the point of a good sheriff. If she looked crazy enough, slutty enough, messy enough, maybe people would think twice before pulling something. Or hell, with an outfit like that maybe she was hoping they would--she wouldn't be the first sheriff who got off on their job. It was enough to make Tony roll his eyes, though he held his tongue through the overture. Sabbat, Camarilla, Anarch, who gave a shit, it was all the same bull. There was only one reason to throw this many disparate licks together when drained corpses were showing up in the city.

Blood hunt.

In some ways he was glad. Familiar with how this song and dance went, at least, it wasn't anything he hadn't done before. That being said, he wasn't sure why the bimbo with the power tools was letting them do her damn job for her and he wasn't exactly pleased at being 'summoned' like some lackey on call. As his eyes flicked around the group to take them into account, his young face was settled into an expression of practiced boredom. It was all just posturing, just another way of baring fangs. They went around their little circle after the local Prince's Pet--sorry, Nossie--started throwing her scabby weight around and hit it off right out the bat with the pretty boy socialite. If he was lucky they'd squabble long enough to keep out of the way, but that didn't seem likely from how the freak was going on about Coteries and linking assets.

The girl from his clan caught his attention for a moment, but only for a moment. Dreads down to there, cap on just so, all punk rock princess of the night ready to kick ass and take names...if only she could find an ass worth kicking or a name worth taking. There was a moment of pity in her eyes as she looked over him, though, and [i]that[/i] was enough to make his lip twitch a little bit. Try as he might to deny it there was always going to be something to the old cry of 'I'm not a little kid', but he did his best to let it go. If scabby had her way, he'd be making it plenty clear at some point anyway.

And then...it. Unlike the others, Tony wasn't fooled. He'd seen enough Tzimisce to know that he-she-it-whatever was every bit as crazy as that moonbrained Malk and twice as messy. Fiends didn't play nice, and if his fingers flexed slightly as she spoke he ignored the feeling as best he could. Not about to play her game, he reached into his denim pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A habit he'd picked up for shock value back when it mattered, it gave him something to do with his hands and the breath he didn't need, reminding him to take one. Besides, it was good to show that you didn't care too much about fire in the Kindred world. Put things in perspective for people.

"As long as the room is made of wood instead of some art student, I don't give a fuck." He muttered around the fag, lighting it with a small hand cupped against the wind before taking a long drag and letting the smoke trail off past his lips. "I'm Tony. Me and sugar-bell over there are in the same boat--you all just worry about finding the creep. We'll deal with it when you do."