Rumors and Speculation (Open)

[Vivian Astor (DELETED 6402)]

True to her word.. if the anonymous person that sent her the photograph was a ‘her’ One could never tell with the internet. And Vivian was a skeptic if ever there was one. The photo that was sent to her ‘throw away’ phone, was of a dark haired female of maybe thirty years of age. Vivian turned the phone toward Giles, “What do you think Giles? Does she look like the criminal sort?”

“No, not at all Miss Vivian.” Giles eyed the photo seriously, then changed his mind. “She looks rather serious though. Perhaps there is more there, than at first glance.”

Vivian turned the phone back around and studied it. “It could be just the pose that makes her look.. so serious.”

Giles makes no comment. He had been with Vivian Astor long enough to know when she expected a response and when she did not. This occasion she did not.

“In all your wanderings across this city.. have you come across some place named Lancaster’s?”

“Indeed. It is located in a part of the downtown that has seen better days. Not that is a slum, but it appears to be on downward spiral.”

“Hmmm. I see.” Vivian mulled things over for a few minutes, then finally said. “I see no other recourse. You will have to come with me. And .. I am Vivian.. not.. Miss Vivian.” She looked at him critically. “And you will have to dress down, in something, not so bultery. Do you own any dungarees?”

“Blue jeans I believe they are called M...Vivian.”

“Yes quite right. Do you have any of those?”

“Indeed.”

“Then you should wear those and I shall wear.. my Dior.” She looked rather pleased with her choice until she noticed Giles shaking his head negatively. “No?”

“No. Something off the rack.”

Vivian looked appalled. “Off the rack?! I thought you said it wasn’t a slum?”

“Touche’. But to quote someone well known to me, ‘we are in the Americas now’.” He left the rest silently implied.

“Fine.” She sullenly acquiesced. “Oh.” She brightened suddenly. “I will wear that horrid cat sweater that Lorraine gave me, with my Dolce Gabbana pink slacks. She missed seeing Giles actually show emotion as he cringed.

A few hours later, just as the sun was going down, Giles opened the door to Lancaster’s and held it open for Vivian. She entered quickly, somewhat eager to get out of the street. as Giles entered behind her, she hissed under her breath, ‘I swear I could smell urine in the street.’

Giles steered her to a booth, but at her sucked in breath of refusal, he steered her toward a table. She reluctantly took a seat, as her eyes strayed to the table next to them. She leaned forward stiffly, staring at Giles, then moving just her eyes to look at the table next to them. Giles looked but he couldn’t tell what she had seen. Vivian widened her eyes and slid them noticeably toward something on the table.

[Mona McGee]

Mona did not usually hang out at Lancaster's but what she had been telling others to do online put the seed in her mind that she should probably go there and check things out again for herself . She donned her side holster and slid her leather jacket over it. The T shirt she had on hung loose on her slim frame . Her cut off jean shorts didn't quite go with the knee high boots she had laced up but she really didn't give a **** . She picked up a pair of shades and headed out the door climbing onto her bike .

She was glad it was spring she rode her bike in all weather but having the sting of the cold wind was a plus.
The bike rolled to a stop in front of Lancaster's Mona pushed the kick stand down throwing on leg over she sat there propped up on it for awhile watching people coming and going out of the establishment. She hadn't seen Pi yet but a few that she knew to be vampires were milling about . She tossed her cigarette down and put it out with her boot heading into the establishment. This might be a interesting night .

[Vivian Astor (DELETED 6402)]

Vivian looked at Giles and then the table next to them, pointedly. He didn't seem to get it.

Giles leaned forward and whispered in a barely audible voice, “What are you looking at?”

Vivian drew in a slow determined breath. “Cardboard coasters. My god man. You said this was not the ghettos!” She hissed in an affronted tone.

Giles clasped his hands together, drew in a breath and slowly.. ever so slowly let it out. “Vivian.” His knuckles were white from the pressure he placed on them in order for his voice to stay calm and unemotional, “The ghettos do not use coasters.”

That was all he said. He could not very well berate his employer. She depended him on him for this sort of information. He had been lax in his duty to her.

Vivian paused pointedly. She sat back. She pondered his words, weighting them against what she would presume the ‘great unwashed’ would be like. Of course he was right. The ghettos would have no idea what a coaster was for much less use a horrible substitute. The fact that this place of business did in fact, use a ‘compressed paper coaster, should speak to the tact that they were at least trying to raise the level of clientele.

“My apologies Giles. I tend forget we are not in England anymore.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Please forgive me. I imagine this is just as tasking for you as it is for me.”

Giles inclined his head briefly, and when he raised it, it wore the same usual blank expression he usually exuded.

Upon seeing Giles regular blank expression, Vivian smiled. She knew she had not gone too far in her castigation of him; and that he had accepted her apology. “Thank you Giles, you are far too forgiving, but I appreciate it.”

“Of course Ma’am.. “ a very quick pause, “I mean.. Vivian.”

[Lancaster]

Lancaster’s never did pretend to be something grand or upscale. It catered to the clientele of the area, though it also lured the students from the nearby suburbs. The customers ranged from the old and drunk to the young and carefree. Lancaster himself had also instigated a business card competition—put your business card in a jar on the bar and once a month one of them would be drawn for a chance to win a tab for a company function. In this way, the gangsters and the delinquents were filtered with those of a more respectable caste.

Like any other Irish pub that one would find in any other part of the world, the establishment smelled mostly of beer; the music was classic rock and alternative, disturbed only by the raucous laughter of the customers, the general hum of conversation, and the occasional clack of billiard balls on the pool tables.

Lancaster was not on stage tonight. He was helping out behind the counter; they had a few new employees that needed training. Although most people were hired under specific roles, Lancaster expected that they would be trained in all aspects of the business; one never knew when one might suddenly need a spare hand at the bar. The dark locks of his hair were brushed behind his ears, though the haphazard nature of the silken black-irish hair meant that it wouldn’t do as it was told, and often fell forward to obscure his vision. He wore dark denim jeans that might look too tight for him, but with his height it was hard to find anything less snug. As per usual, he wore one of his plaid button-up tees, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Lancaster was helping to clear the tables; there was one that had just recently been abandoned, and Lancaster collected the mostly-empty pint glasses and wiped the wood down with a clean cloth. The coasters were a marketing tactic, really—there were of course condensation rings seared into the majority of the tables, regardless. Still, some people tried. He collected the soggy cardboard, and moved on to the next table, offering welcome smiles to the customers that he passed by.