[img=http://i.imgur.com/sGTUbek.png]

[i]"Livin' in the twenty-first century, doin' somethin' mean to it. Doin' it better than anybody y'ever seen do it."[/i]

Rapped lyrics played at a soft volume from Sethan's headphones as he subtly nodded his head and tapped his foot in time with the beat. A breeze off of the Mediterranean Sea gently pushed his beach parasol, sliding the shadow it cast on the man slightly to one side. Trying to stay in the comfortable shade, he fidgeted over in his chair, and then returned his attention to the book he had been leafing through. It was actually just a paperback that he had picked up in a Moscow airport the previous week, and skimming through it was merely a bit of mental exercise, as he had recently decided to teach himself Russian. He wasn't understanding terribly much of it, but it was something relaxing to do as he enjoyed the warm air and calm weather of a Maltese beach.

He had taken this assignment while wrapping up some work for the Palermo branch, mostly as an excuse to avoid writing out reports. Something about marine disturbances; fishing boats disappearing and a cruise ship coming close to capsizing. The [i]Sangue Nostra[/i] didn't appreciate their businesses being upset, and so Bain & Holye Co. became involved. It really was no big deal, though. Sethan had taken care of the problem within four hours of landing in Malta, and decided to take the rest of the weekend trip relaxing. He was getting paid regardless, so the paperwork could wait until he had gotten some sun in.

However, it seemed that fate was disposed to forcing Sethan to do his job, and its hand was made known in the form of an enchanted letter. Setting aside his Cyrillic book, he ,retrieved the letter from the air and positioned his sunglasses atop his head so that he might read it more carefully. Atticus Mac Cléirich, eh? Sethan had spent some time with him while he was being "rehabilitated" in London. Last he had heard, the demon was a principal player in the business that went on the the vampire nobles a few months ago. Sethan was rather in the dark about that entire fiasco, though if it was resolved, he figured that there wasn't much need to go poking his nose into it. Yet. Regardless, it seemed Hoyle was in dire need of assistance in Ireland. Why the old wolf didn't just contact Sethan directly was unknown to him (he was quite proud of his new cellular phone), but if his "master" had need of him, it was Sethan's duty to answer his call. Unplugging his headphones from his mobile, he dialed up the B&H operative that had accompanied him to Malta as backup.

"Giorno? Yes, book me a flight to Cork. No, do it now; I need to be there by tomorrow. Good." Hanging up, Sethan sighed; the obedience of his servants was something he missed most about being king.

Sethan stood up and brushed a few stray grains of sand from his Armani swim trunks before stretching a bit. He downed the rest of his glass of moscato before heading back to his hotel, book in tow. At the shoreline behind him, B&H cleanup operatives worked at a furious pace to cover the tremendous blood smear on the otherwise pristine, white sand, and dispose of the bleached-white Kraken gladius in the sea where it would not be found by human authorities. Sethan could have easily wiped away the traces of his "morning exercise," but to do so would deprive the cleanup crew of their precious livelihood. Let it never be said that Sethan was not a benevolent ruler.

---

A black Cadillac pulled up a short distance from the stone circle, and Sethan emerged from the back seat. The car was a rental from Cork, as was the chauffeur, though the latter had been half-hypnotized into graciously offering his services for free. Operating a motor vehicle wasn't something that Sethan could quite be bothered with. After sharing a few words with the poor, deluded fellow, the car drove off, leaving Sethan to attend the meeting in privacy. He was the most overdressed individual present at the meeting in more ways than one, from his eight-thousand dollar suit, to his copious jewelry. His thick fur coat was rather unnecessary, as he could barely even feel the chilly weather, but it was Margiela and he didn't get enough opportunities to wear it.

The others that had so far reached the meeting were frankly quite disappointing to look at. A rather sad little balding fellow, another poor bastard in a hospital gown looking like he was going mad, a pair of discolored waifs and a man who stank strongly of fish. However, an ebony fellow off to the side, quietly smoking, rather interested Sethan. He would have to take some time later to investigate him. Not to be forgotten, there was Atticus, having not aged a day since they last met. That made two of them.

"Mister Mac Cléirich, I do believe it's been some time." He said, pushing past the small crowd that was forming around the man. "Good to see that debacle with the vampires didn't mar your lovely face. Though you are a fair touch hairier than last we met." He joked, rubbing his own, modest facial hair with a hand practically gilded with rings.