[center][h2] [color=9A9999] Reinor Hjeltven[/color][/h2][/center]

They'd come by moonlight, under guise of formal wear, but they were so much more. Reinor led his small scouting party into the Delacour, each in appropriate attire for the environment. Reinor's silver chain still hung about his neck, but it was tucked into the gray suit he donned. He rolled up his sleeve to adjust a silver watch upon his wrist, but he didn't seem to bother checking the time. His raven beard trimmed, hair combed backward and gelled. A patron lightly bumped up against his right arm and he brushed his shoulder before continuing forward. There was no exchange of words with the party. Two fingers into the air with thumb tucked, motioning forward. Their first step was in unison straight before diverting off, each surveying a different section of Club Delacour. 

Reinor made his way to the bar, leaning against it with bended elbow and other hand upon his forearm. One of his legs was bent against the bar wall to provide more support; black, leather shoes creaking so quietly. His pale, stone eyes looked to the bartender and Reinor made his order with a wave of his hand. Reinor sipped the Old Fashioned and sucked the residual liquid off of his bottom lip. His eyes fell to the glass counter. The strobe lights had no way to interfere with his senses; he was aware of every human coupled with every vampire at the moment. There were seven in total, and more likely skulked at the balcony above the dance floor. With another sip, Reinor's pale eyes unmistakably clashed against Serafina's. Unblinking, he would stare for a moment just beyond being polite, just touching an uncomfortable pause. An unspoken message of dominance: The Silver Crowns are in your territory. And we are not afraid. A woman walked in-between the two's field of vision, so Reinor played with casual conversation in the meantime, remaining aware of the position of each of his pack members and the vampires.