Path of the Vampire forum

The lobby of Hotel West was classy in a way that many would judge to be vulgar. It had all the corporate taste for opulence without the slightest touch of personality; those little out of sync items that made the decor appear more domesticated and accommodating. It was clearly a deliberate choice by the designers to ensure an environment that was clean, simple, and reflected upon the observer like a mirror. The white and black marble floors and walls shone like polished glass, refracting the pure light from LEDs cased in frosted glass that were suspended from the ceiling like rows of ice cubes. They were numerous and bright, bleaching the lobby and the hallways that parted from the main area like tributaries in a large river. Buildings like this sought a neutral, yet polished facade; one that welcomed all colours and creeds provided they had the amenities to afford such luxuries. Claude was familiar with these places and they gave him a certain sense of comfort which he was in desperate need of today.

There was a large vase of flowers sat atop the reception desk; a variety of lilies, carnations, roses, and pittosporum which exploded out of cut crystal. The mix of ivory and green was beautiful; the perfect shades to complement the earthy hues and simple elegance of the hotel’s decor. On closer inspection, the stamens of every lily had been pulled to prevent the pollen disturbing the perfect sheen on the mahogany and glass desk. Claude nevertheless found the perfume to be more overwhelming than pleasant when he approached the concierge; the only member of staff in sight. The man looked to be in his early thirties, he was expertly groomed with his charcoal hair slicked back, and he wore a button-up dark grey suit with a crisp white shirt. A silver name tag was pinned to the lapel of his jacket; as handsome as his sculpted features. Claude’s amber gaze noted the name and gave the man a smile as Oliver proceeded into his obligatory welcome speech. Shortly after the exchange, the concierge guided Claude to the twin doors that led from the lobby and into the ‘West Room’.

The doors were a pristine white with silver, baroque-styled handles, but as Oliver pressed his weight onto them, the door creaked open as if they hadn’t been maintained in a long time. The West Room looked similarly abandoned - even by spiders. The floor was tiled in the same fine marble from the lobby, which made every step echo in the large, curved room. A rainbow of colours danced across the space as the late morning sun blazed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and onto the crystals of the great chandelier. Beneath this majesty were a pair of conference tables made of amber-coloured wood and black granite tops, and a collection of black leather chairs with polished chrome cantilever frames. There was a projector between the two tables and it pointed to a reflective screen that was still rolled up at the ceiling’s edge as Claude had not requested its usage when he had booked the room. He hadn’t been expecting to give a visual presentation of the problem, but to converse with those who had concerns equal to his own regarding the troubles within Harper Rock.

Claude’s attention was momentarily drawn to the exquisite paintings of city skylines from New York, San Francisco, Belgium, Paris, and Toronto which were hung from the blank, white wall of the conference room. The choice of cities was unusual to say the least and the only string of connection that Claude had assumed was that they were popular destinations for the sort of man who visited Hotel West. Perhaps his guests were familiar with this place, and familiar with a traveller’s lifestyle, or perhaps they were strangers to everything he knew. Either way, they could provide a perspective that Claude had yet to discern for himself and that in itself was thought to be fundamental in ascertaining an action plan. What remained something of a mystery, however, was his own ambitions. Claude Lambert had never been one for community projects and charities, but it was impossible to ignore a problem such as this: the kind that reanimated the dead, turned them into monsters, and sent even bigger creatures roaming the streets. He needed to know why this had happened and what could be done about it.

Judging purely by the responses he had received from his digital invite, Claude was to expect only a handful of guests. Their anonymity hadn’t sat well with him as the young Blood Thief had no way of knowing who just exactly he was accommodating this afternoon; what their tastes were, where their allegiances lay, and how much they knew. Claude may not have enjoyed the uncertainty and lack of control he had, but he could appreciate the opportunity this meeting presented nevertheless for at the very least they would have something to talk about and could network. Harper Rock was a large city full of strangers, one he hoped to make smaller today. When the clock struck twelve, the meeting would begin and so many answers and many questions would be voiced.

The irony of a human-only meeting taking place in a hotel owned by a vampire was not lost on the red-head. Of course, the ownership of the business wasn’t likely to be known to most of the ones to gather this day. While vampires had been revealed to the city with the fall of the masquerade, most of the city’s human inhabitants didn’t seem familiar with which businesses were owned by the undead nor with which of their neighbors were part of the exclusive group. Here Amalea had an advantage for she knew several of their number and had the ability to identify one she didn’t if she got close enough. She had an affinity for them - to the point that several had taken to referring to her as a half-vampire partly due to it and partly due to the fact she was a blood thief.

Rereading the initial post about the event during her train ride to the venue, she found it interesting that the bloodsucking inhabitiants of the city didn’t rate a mention. Apparently zombies and Theodosia’s other critters were far more concerning. Well, perhaps not the critters themselves but rather the government’s response to them. It was difficult for the red-head to get a good read of the situation from the brief postings of the respondents; it was one of the reasons she was attending the shindig despite knowing what had precipitated the current events. Curiosity was another. Curiosity over what they knew, how they wanted to handle the issue, and the current vibe of the humans were some of the main ones on her mind.

Gathering the boxes of baked goods off the seat beside her as her destination was announced as the next stop, she made her way to the doors. Thankful the rain was still light, the red-head pulled her hood up before venturing down the street to the hotel. Briefly she debated the wisdom of leaving her look natural but knew it was a bit late to have second thoughts about it now. Some would call her crazy for being paranoid fourteen months later but it had kept her alive this long. It was just a calculated risk that she had to accept. After all, humans should be fairly safe; none had tried to kill her in years.

The blood thief, despite her love of architecture, was not a fan of the Hotel West’s lobby. It was too bright, too polished, and too sterile. She always felt that a hotel’s public space offered a first look into the type of rooms one might find on the floors above. To her, this stark space seemed to evoke the sense of a hospital or clean room - not exactly a vibe one might appreciate in a room meant for relaxing. The whiteness was also a striking contrast to the dark that most vampires preferred; something she found interesting knowing a bit the ownership of the business.

A gentle tug of the hood pulled it back to its resting state as she approached the reception desk and its sole occupant. Obligatory pleasantries exchanged, she was able to query where the meeting was being held. Only a bit surprised that Oliver, as his name tag dictated, would leave his post to guide her to the correct set of doors, she thanked him before entering the room. It was the chandelier that caught her attention first - particularly the way its crystals threw the late morning light about the room like rainbow colored sprinkles. Her eyes roved over the paintings of city skylines though she only recognized the majority from pictures or movies. From where she stood, it was clear they were well-done and deserved further study at some later time. For the moment, there were more immediate matters to which to attend.

Crossing the tiled floor towards the granite-topped tables, she greeted the man she assumed was the host, ”Good morning.” She smiled as she set the boxes down on closest table. ”I think I’m a bit early still. I also brought brownies. I hope you don’t mind.” She gestured slightly towards the boxes before offering her hand to the male. ”I’m Amalea. Thanks for setting this up.”

Harper Rock had always been home, even if she’d spent time in New York City for a spell before returning. Even with the horror movie plot unraveling further, she hadn’t bothered to leave again. How could she, after everything? NADUMA had helped settle her unease, even if she was sure that some of the men above her didn’t know their asses from their elbows, but it did more than the department or government ever did about the zombies. Then again, Victoria supposed, that tended to happen when you have a monetary reward involved. She only wished that they taught the gun toting yuppies how to properly use them before letting them loose on the streets.

She’d found the open invitation interesting enough, even though she’d wondered if ‘Claude Lambert’ had been a local, or a transient as she’d read the implication that it was a new problem. “Maybe he’s simply new to the world of the supernatural?” She thought, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, although the concept of being entirely oblivious to it all had been possible, as well. Victoria had offered to arrive early with refreshments, and she had intended to do just that. As she found a parking space, she was quick to get out of her truck and send a reminder to Easton regarding the meeting.

Her hands went to the container of water bottles that she’d brought along, mentally preparing herself before she pulled them free. After a bit of maneuvering, she stepped into Hotel West a bit unsure of her surroundings. There had never really ever been any reason for her to enter it; she mostly spent her time between her office at home and the streets of Harper Rock. Earlier on in her career, she’d been stuck on patrol often enough that finding the location hadn’t been too taxing. Making her way to the reception and smiling to the man behind the desk, Victoria shifted her weight and said, “I’m meeting with Claude Lambert?”

With every step forward, Victoria made quiet conversation, asking Oliver, as he introduced himself as, about his day before thanking him once they made it to where the meeting was being held. Her dark eyes moved over the decoration inside after the door was opened, thanking Oliver once again with a sheepish smile and making her way in proper. “At least you can’t get lost in this place.” She muttered to herself, taking in her surroundings and moving carefully, wincing at every step that echoed, to set the water bottles near the boxes and set her hands on her hips as she was able to turn and admire the brightness of the conference room. To say that she felt under dressed was an understatement, but there was nothing more that she could do aside from remove the plaid vest that she had left open over a light gray shirt and deal with it.

Again, there was that click of her heel that Dekker consciously tried to control before ultimately giving up. If it happened again, she’d wear sneakers, but as it was, she’d tried to look somewhat presentable. Tucking away her St. Michael’s medallion, she approached the two and offered a friendly smile as she greeted, “Hello.”

Harper Rock.

On the outside, it seemed normal enough. A decent city with a decent population. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary to tell her anything out of the ordinary existed. Of course, she’d known the truth before she’d even stepped foot off the plane. The city might look normal - but it was a place of nightmares, where the dead and grotesque roamed free. Like many cities, it held its own secrets, but much darker and twisted than most. It was a place that the living and pure should run from, and it was the very place she called home.

No one ever said she was pure - and she couldn’t quite call what she was living.
Not after what they had done to her.

Releasing a quiet sigh, she pressed her hand through her wind tousled hair and studied the entrance to the hotel, her thoughts shifting to the matter at hand. Her attentive gaze clocked every person that came and went, from the smallest child, to the man whose face was so weathered, that each wrinkle and scar told a tale. So far, no one had triggered that feeling, that unease that filled her soul like a thick, black oil. Still, she kept herself alert, gaze traveling from the glass doors to the street as she freed her phone from her jeans.

Six missed calls.

She knew without looking whose name would be in red, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes as she thumbed through her saved files, searching for the invitation. It wasn’t unlike Dekker to ensure that she was where she was supposed to be, but the woman hovered far worse than anyone in her life ever had. Of course, she didn’t mind - not truly - but she would never admit that outloud. Instead, she pocketed her phone after finding the name she needed, and with a resigned groan, pushed herself from the wall.

It didn’t take long for her to make her way across the street and into the lobby, her hand dipping into a few bags here and there as she made her way to front desk. Ignoring the way the receptionists gaze lingered on the rune adorning her wrist, she managed to wrangle the directions from him, and left with a quickly muttered ‘thank you’. It didn’t take long to find the meeting - or Dekker. Not bothering to remove her jacket, she stepped up beside her and sized up the two that she didn’t know, even as her features softened with a hint of a smirk.

"Am I late?"

There are many theories, that lend themselves to guides, for what it takes to facilitate a better meeting. Many a man had made himself rich selling these concepts as actual business models; luring the naïve to spread the pages of overpriced, glossy covers with the expectation of turning their lives around. Just as many men – perhaps the very same men – had made their fortunes performing business roadshows, partaking in conferences, and hosting their own events too. It was, in its own right, both a new and traditional kind of business model that reminded Claude of the old adage: “he who can, does; he who cannot, teaches”. The contradictory nature of this observation wasn’t lost on him, however. In fact, Claude rather appreciated the out-of-the-box thinking that was required to come up with such a scheme. After all, many of these business philosophers made it their business to philosophise about business philosophy – they didn’t have an actual, physical product to pedal, but making money out of intangible produce was something to be admired and admonished in equal measures.

During the 1980s and 1990s, when Claude Lambert was still but a youth, Pyramid and Ponzi schemes were becoming popular. Of course, such operations had been present as far back as the 1800s, but the fraudulent companies – ones that pay out returns to investors from money paid in by subsequent investors, rather than from any actual profit earned from the operation of a business – were remarkably prevalent at this time. In fact, Albania’s rudimentary financial system became dominated by Pyramid schemes in the mid-1990s, and government officials tacitly endorsed a series of Pyramid investment funds. Many Albanians, approximately two-thirds of the population, invested in them and in 1997, Albanians, who had lost $1.2 billion, took their protest to the streets where uncontainable rioting and attacks on government infrastructure led to the toppling of the government and the temporary existence of a stateless society. Although technically a Ponzi Scheme, the Albanian scams were commonly referred to as Pyramid schemes both popularly and by the International Monetary Fund.

The young Blood Thief didn’t expect that his own pursuits for business could lend themselves to such schemes, but he was nevertheless concerned about the potential fallout to Harper Rock City’s society. During the Albanian chaos, some 2,000 people had been killed in the violence that followed the Pyramid schemes’ collapse and large parts of the country were no longer within government’s control until March 1998. Conversely, the lips of Harper Rock’s officials had been sealed regarding the loss of life that stemmed from the outbreak of the undead in 2018. In fact, the government of the North American state had always been silent on such matters and Claude had been surprised that no fault had been sequestered to the doors of their nocturnal brethren like a smouldering bag of excrement. Vampires would make easy scapegoats and Claude was sceptical that 2018’s culture of open-mindedness, tolerance, and acceptance was a barrier from the blame. Naturally, he might come under the very same scrutiny for not highlight their kind as the potential source of all this chaos that they would be discussing today; but Claude was prepared for that eventuality.

The mark of a very good businessman is being able to assess risks and prepare for them. For this meeting, he had arranged with Hotel West to prepare refreshments in the form of water, hot beverages, and a selection of Danish pastries and sandwiches which had been positioned at the front of the room, opposite the doors. It was an afternoon meeting, and so those who were attending might be expecting some kind of lunch. He had also had the staff arrange a pad of paper and a pen for every space on the table, which came in their standard meeting package at any rate. Claude had made no mention of such provisions, so he shouldn’t have worn a look of surprise when his first guest had arrived carrying a tray of baked goods. It was only a moment’s worth of shock that had trained his features away from their regular piety – for which being charming was something of a religious devotion to him – and so Claude quickly adopted a natural, easy-going smile that shone from his golden eyes as well as his lips.

“Good…” he paused to check his watch; it was 11:30am and his guest was early and correct. “Morning,” he added with a flourish in immediate response to her salutation.

The young Blood Thief took to assessing people just as effortlessly as he had learned to breathe; an automated process of physical actions that created an unconscious judgement through a variety of synaptic responses. Of course, it was only natural to take what he had learned from a moment’s glance into a method of profile building. He was not quite on the level of Sherlock Holmes – who had the uncanny, and almost God-like, ability to populate a detailed persona from a series of seemingly innocuous events, traits, and physical attributes – but he was good enough to paint a fairly accurate picture of others for his own purposes. Amalea, as the redhead had designated herself, seemed like the quiet sort on the surface and had much in common with the elegant Mute Swan, which itself had become a prestigious symbol of elegance and royalty. Indeed, her pale and perfect complexion reminded him of the bird’s plumage and where those physical attributes mirrored, he remembered that even beautiful creatures could be dangerous.

“Claude,” he offered and shook the hand she’d dealt him with the adequate weight for such a personable exchange. “Thank you for coming. I’m happy for the assistance. And while I did have the hotel staff prepare for a majority of the amenities this afternoon, I don’t think they quite recognised the importance of brownies. Please feel free to set them down wherever you please.”

If Claude’s voice had been an octave flatter, he would have effortlessly portrayed the role of pompous dictator. He was certainly dressed for the part, which became more and more apparent as the other guests arrived. Typically, it is the minority that is considered misplaced, and despite being the host of this afternoon’s meeting, Claude was outnumbered by three casually attired guests. He also couldn’t help but notice that he was the only male present so far; a simple observation that bared no more significance than the fact that he was of German decent, and yet he chose to keep both truths veiled regardless. It was easy enough to mask his staccato dialect as he had learned to speak English from a British native who spoke in a strictly RP (Received Pronunciation) accent. Likewise, it was effortless to insist he had no issue with an all-female company, because he didn’t.

The second and third parties to attend the meeting room were met with equal measures of charm and politeness. Claude offered his hand along with similar introductions as he had shared with Amalea. After all, it was always better to offer and be declined than to perform beneath expectations when it came to making new business friends. Perhaps it was a cynical take to have, but it was how he functioned best. Rarely, if ever, did Claude bring his personal feelings into any kind of debate. He just wasn’t the type to hold steadfast to any merit based on gut feeling alone; he needed evidence to weigh his faith against. While this adaptable, rational nature meant that Claude could change his position on a subject with enough convincing, it also meant that he didn’t hold on to anything deeply either. Thankfully, passion could be faked.

“Good morning ladies. I am Claude. We have plenty of time before the meeting starts,” he said. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Thank you for joining us.”

”Nice to meet you,” Amalea replied as she adjusted her grip to match his. ”Happy to have come. It’s refreshing to see something like this pulled together. I can only hope some others show.” The red-head laughed softly at Claude’s comment about the importance of brownies. ”I would have offered to bring the food had I known you were planning for a spread. I own a small catering company. There’s always next time, right?”

Picking up the box, the blood-thief crossed the room to the table she had missed seeing as she entered despite its location. It spoke of the decor being more important to the woman. In truth, she also hadn’t expected there to be a spread of refreshments set up for the meeting; nothing had been said about such in the planning stages. Nor had she thought there would have been given she thought this was to be a casual gathering to discuss current affairs. The town hall meeting she had attended was similar enough to this, save the attendants, that the assumption, in her mind, was sound.

Now, though, she had to wonder if she had misread the missive. If the attire of the host was any indication, it was to be a far more formal affair than she had thought. Course, now that she thought back, there was a comment that should have set off some sort of warning bells. The sound of clicking heels turned her attention towards the entry. Her lips tugged into a smile as she crossed the floor towards the new arrival; here was another that had thought it a casual affair and brought drinks. The arrival of another female tipped the scales leaving the red-head to wonder if any other males were planning to attend.

She was content to allow their host to introduce himself first; it was only proper etiquette after all. Extending her hand towards the first new arrival, the blood thief smiled, ”Hello, I’m Amalea. It’s nice to meet you.” After having properly greeted the woman, she offered the same introduction to the other. She couldn’t help but wonder if any other humans would find their way to the hotel to join them before the appointed hour drew near. There was the nagging voice in her head, however, that said that those in the room were likely to be the only attendees. Content to stand and stretch her legs for the time being, she took the chance to observe.

Her mind was ticking with ideas - what did the others in Harper Rock view to be the main concern? She thought of her sister, taken away from them in the night. Witnesses had said it looked like a man, but there had been never more than that given to her, to her family. The brief thought was diminished as she scratched idly at the latin phrase etched into her flesh like a switch turning away memories. To say that she was eager to learn more would be putting it above what she truly felt in regards to it all. She sought understanding, if anything, but she understood enough about the supernatural due to what Easton had been taught, and what she had found in her family books.

It was only when the scent of raspberry and vanilla bean reached her senses did she feel relieved, the presence at her side had made it after all. “Not quite yet.” She replied to her partner in crime quietly. The man introduced himself first, her dark eyes moving over him first. Young, clean, professional. From experience, she had known a handful of lawyers that shared the same air about them. A courteous nod was given to his direction, first, before she took the extended hand and gave it a firm shake, repeating the action to the redheaded woman that introduced herself as Amalea. “Victoria Dekker. This is Easton,” She said, referring to the dark haired woman at her side, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, both. Thank you for setting this up, Mr. Lambert.”

As she spoke, Dekker looked over the redhead as she had the man. Like the other two women, she was dressed comfortably it seemed. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd if it weren’t for her hair, but Dekker couldn’t tell if it was unintentional or intentional. The name was familiar, nonetheless.

“Of course, Amalea. The very next time I plan on over-preparing for an event, I will call on you for the catering,” Claude offered in a warm, intimate voice as if it were a joke shared between just the two of them.

Truthfully, the joke was on him. For companies to be successful, they required a team of dedicated accountants and project managers to ensure that little get-togethers such as these didn’t inflame the budget or set it on fire. On the other hand, of course, this event was not necessarily to do with business. If it was, he could have employed a number of folk to perform focus groups or community surveys and complete a temperament analysis on the general populace of Harper Rock. Failing that, he could open a newspaper or turn on the Television to see how the economy was performing, or pull open the curtains in his apartment to see how his neighbours were fairing. The NADUMA had an effect on all of these things, which naturally had an effect on his businesses, but Claude could not manage this situation as any other CEO might do. They were not the competition, a partisan change-over, or cultural phenomenon that would ebb and flow with time. NADUMA were a force beyond the natural order, designed to deal with the preternatural, and they were as much a sword as they were a shield. The problem was that Claude didn’t quite know whether that sword would one day turn on him and others like him.

Claude graced Victoria Dekker and Easton – surname omitted – with a handshake in greeting as the former individual introduced them both. Since he had already invited everyone to take a seat, he wasn’t eager to repeat the invite at the risk of it coming off as a command, so he decided to find a place in the middle of the second table that was opposite the door. He hoped that by making the first move, his guests might feel more inclined to follow suit; it wasn’t as if he was the type to booby trap the chairs in any manner, yet all the same he understood their hesitation. They were but four strangers in a room together, albeit with Victoria and Easton being familiar enough that the first woman could introduce the latter. Perhaps he hadn’t made the best first impression by over-dressing himself and the venue, but the alternatives lacked the level of finesse and amenities that Claude was comfortable with. Honestly, he wouldn’t be seen dead in a community sports hall sitting on fold-out metal chairs arranged in a ring as though it were a meeting of desperates. Incidentally, this was the middle ground as far as the illustrious Mr. Lambert was concerned.

“We’re still a few minutes from officially starting,” he said with a small smile, following a swift check of his watch. “These things tend to start with ice breakers, don’t they? I’d be happy to share a little about myself, and learn more about you all, if it passes the time. We could go around the table and share a few words, if you’re all happy to do so?”

Claude waited for their approval before he would share anything and in the meantime, he thought about just what he would share. The young Blood Thief was the sort that placed a lot of value on information and as it happened, didn’t enjoy volunteering information regarding his own existence.