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[i][b]L[/b][/i]os Angeles – The city of fuckin’ angels. How quaint of a name for a city that is filled with more sin than a Nevada whore house.  None the less it’s intoxicating allure of unrestricted sexual and mental desires had called to his ancient heart, six weeks to the day Syn had arrived into the warm embrace of Los Angeles and Hollywood in general. It smelt of cocaine, sex, abuse and alcohol all things exploitable to attract the human populace. Beyond the allures of all things sinful the city that had become home to internet sensations, vloggers and Hollywood stars alike bought of serene sense of classism that would benefit his vanity. 

[i][b]S[/b][/i]yn had heard of the shifting elders attempting vying for the apex seat – for control of this fine state – and all that reside within. The filthy Sabbat that ruled San Francisco with an over indulgent fist in the name of religious fanaticism and then there was his own populace – The Camarilla. While considered an elder in rank Syn acted on the contrary often residing to his own desires and needs above that of his allegiances. He remembers it, the defect from the Sabbat and the war that followed. How they were all branded treasonous bastards and yet here the night was young and the Lasombra were still strong. Finally, he had heard of the Anarch Free State declaration that was imposed and held firm by a steadfast queen with a silver tongue. Queen’s be damned, the thought of such a happening in which none of the three major clans owned this city was simply… euphoric. 

[i][b]H[/b][/i]aving traversed many centuries across the tainted, corrupted planet considered home and its cultures, Syn had indulged in most of earth’s finest offers. An inherent addiction to the euphoric sensations of tasting simply the best. An addiction that had bought him to this free city where under the helpful guise of Hollywood and their constant fascination in turning Vampires from destructive forces of chaos to glittery humanoid seducer of the frightfully ugly via begrudgingly disgusting love stories to the point in which vampires in their truest form simply Do. Not. Exist. Now, under the guise of a nightlight rivalling Ibiza and Germany his kind, the kindred could boldly explore the city without reprimand. 

[i][b]W[/b][/i]ith a wealth of knowledge gathered through the centuries lived by this youthful acquisition that simply appeared beneath a streetlight one night off Melrose, Syn had acquired an old factory estate in prime location for his vision. Over time the building took its form. A tasting gallery to which he called Gallery 66. The Gallery focused on only the rarest and most expensive brown spirits from across the globe with only a small selection of various wines for those so inclined. Barrels sourced from his childhood estate and across the country of France were imported to which Syn distilled his own small batch ranges of scotch. 

[i][b]I[/b][/i]t took time and patience to craft such a calibre of flavour each of his batches contained, time is an infinite resource to those who carefully prepare themselves. As such, he had begun his distilling prior to settling within the city – twenty-five to thirty years prior. Carefully the barrels were stored and left to age as his unique blends and refined tastes began to envelop the liquid. Syn had become a master of his craft (As he should be, having been a vintner for most of his indulgent life) and as such clientele ranging from presidents, Saudi Arabian princes and the wealthy waited years to receive their carefully chosen and inspected bottles – labelled only as De Rais of embellished copper on black. 

[b][i]G[/i][/b]allery 66 was Syn’s pride manifested into the physical realm. Carefully chosen materials bought a contemporary feel while rustic French and industrialist motifs remained with the use of bare brick and brass. The building was divided upon two floors with the main space belonging to the bar and a small seating space while upstairs had been converted into a seating space of beautiful handcrafted leather and alcantara couches with black steel framed and mahogany tables between. Fixated to the walls were various artworks he had procured including artworks from Monet, Picasso and Warhol. Beyond that relics from various cultures and time periods rest upon custom made stands.

[i][b]A[/b][/i]s much as Gallery 66 was beautiful and fitting for at least thirty comfortably beyond the three staff it was rare to see a maximum of ten people at a time inside for their private tastings. Perhaps it is of his own volition or perhaps it is because of his potent vitae driven dominance and perfected vanity that drove people to the edges of fear, not of death but of their loss of will to defy the man.
  
[i][b]D[/b][/i]ressed to impress, immaculate care of all his garments and fashions saw him in tailored suits of various cool colour gradients. From the standard black three piece to the more casual navy blue two piece it would always accentuate his breathtaking features. Five o’clock shadow covered his razor-sharp jawline while heavy eyebrows and matching luscious black hair are immaculately shaped and teased into position. Neither a hair nor fibre are out of place and all garments are accented accordingly. Today saw the elder dressed in a patterned monochromatic button down with a tie of soft blues to match the shirt pattern. Tied in an elegant eldridge knot it bought a break of colour with a copper tie-clip. Over top he wore a vest of soft grey accented with ebony hem and matching slacks with high-shine oxfords upon his feet. 

[i][b]T[/b][/i]he reasoning for his attire beyond his vanity is that his sources and careful study of the kindred that surround him. Three bottles of a six-bottle batch of single malt with accents of honey had been carefully packaged in mahogany boxes with two glasses fitted within black silk and his business card of dark grey with elegant brass lettering saying Gallery 66 placed carefully within before being sealed and sent away. Their chosen recipients would be to a man called Nicolaus and the final two were sent to the Baron – a greeting from one elder to another that has not formally met and the other a gift for them to present to someone.
 
[i][b]P[/b][/i]erhaps he and Gallery 66 would have visitors tonight while the night is still young.