[sub][b]P E T E R    L A P I N    +    E S T H E R    P U N I C E U S[/b][/sub][hr][sup][b]                        T a y l o r ' s    S t e a k h o u s e[/b][/sup]

	They were seated at the table, again in the backroom of the same restaurant. There was something more appreciative about a more secretive spot for meeting, but a steakhouse had become a strange delight. It had become a lucrative and repetitive spot for meetings, and the proposition for turning one of the evening wait staff into a ghoul seemed more appealing with every passing night. However, no one bothered to sign on the dotted line. There were more important details of discussion. 

	Others watched the pain of the Ventrue puppeteering a Malkavian into an expensive venue and have him propped like a good, young man. Did the crazy Kindred’s eccentric style demand his audience to turn the other cheek or was it merely the Ventrue's dominance? The Malkavian’s usual silence offered the best answer, as he cooed mostly childish rhymes when trying to address serious issues. Getting the Malkavian to speak coherently was a difficult task that demanded more than a linguist's lifetime of immortal experience. 

	It was safer to keep him quiet.

	“They have not any idea what is happening.”

	“But the Dream. It’s an idea and will not go away. Remember Michael.”

	“And Mustafa?”

	“Remember Sascha…”

	There was a silence amongst the Kindred as eyes cast towards the nave. Suddenly, a decorative pain silked its deadly trap through the Malkavian’s mind. The feeling came as a brilliant light, a Road to Damascus. It blinded him momentarily and spun around his humanity like a fly caught in a white web of unmerciful rage. A gaping smile pressed on his face as the hollow words slowly fell from his mouth, “Bye-bye... bye-bye… Quickly die… On the morning will be frost... and you’ll go to the grave-yard…” 

	Esther turned towards him and reached out a hand to stroke his dark hair, “Grandfather will come?” 

	The Malkavian nodded in a sad childish way, “And bring the coffin.”

	After his words, the rest of the Kindred in the room felt what he was mumbling about. The fire in the City of Angels spread its wings and made flight. The news of the disaster was now a glowing text message as the Kindred also made the acknowledgement between themselves. 

	“Remember Sascha…”