When she arrived home, Merveille immediately dashed to her home office, making for the paper shredder. Was it the most obvious place to dispose of documents? Yes, and she'd have to find a way to dump its contents somewhere obscure in some time, but it'd do wonders for the whole getting a document that looked like it could've been sent by the Dracula himself thing. Besides, focusing on how exactly to get rid of the letter helped take her mind off of other things. Such as what the letter meant for the present vampire situation in Indianapolis.

While she wouldn't have considered herself a savant by any means, keeping abreast of the local politics in the area, for both mortal and vampire alike seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had taken an incredible amount of wheedling to get James to tell her anything, and truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure if she could believe all of it considering his...instability. What she had learned, though, of Princes and Primogens and bloodlines, old money intent on keeping it that way, pointed to one conclusion: This Riccard was saying he was in charge now, and that she had best better attend.

That night, Merveille dreamed of things to come. Blood, as always, but in the middle of that pool, a throne.
___________________________________________________

Pulling up to the building in her sensible 1991 Civic, Merveille took a look at the place and sighed. Charitably, the place could be described as a dumpster. Honestly, it looked like a hellhole. Parts of it reminded her of her childhood, and not in the way childhood was about wonder and warmth. More about having to share a single room with three siblings. The motorcycle lacking wheels and handlebars sitting in one of the parking spots only added to that perception. It also meant someone had arrived earlier than her, which didn't do much to lift Merveille's present frustration. She was planning on arriving here first, and, well, she hadn't arrived first.

There was more important business to attend to, though, so she carefully parked her car, uttered a silent prayer to any higher power (if they did exist) to prevent anything from happening to it, before getting out. As she walked to the doorway, she saw a man with a cigarette in hand, leather jacket and tight jeans and all. If he hadn't been standing in front of the building and hadn't have looked like he'd been there for a while, Merveille would've thought him to be like any other drifter. Instead, he seemed to be one of the others called to the meeting.

"Here for the meeting, I take it?" Merveille curtly asked, before taking up a spot a few feet away from the man. He didn't exactly seem to be in the mood for talking, but it was best to confirm such things.