The Charfe is Prepared

’Oh the shark babe, has such teeth dear, and he shows them pearly white" begins from the jazz band. Paulsen shakes his head, "Marxist crap " he mutters under his breath, same joke every time he walks into this pit to deal with a blue blood posing as an artist.

He notes two of the lieges of Concord, staring deep into each other eyes, kindred playing at human. Civilians, albeit ones with an interesting pedigree, ‘Just a jack knife has old macheath babe, and he keeps it outta sight’. He passes an old English Shilling coin through his fingers. The speed with which this happens could make it seem to a mortal that he’s wearing multiple rings.

‘That cement is just, its just for the weight yeah’, Paulsen looks across the bar, and notices the professional woman trying to hide her interest. Some nights it is way too easy to find prey, he thinks as he sends her another double scotch. He notes the tell tale ring mark on her finger, another potential mark.

The band takes a break, Paulsen glides through the crowd, the tide of humanity swirling out of his way. “Messer Konrad”, he greets the Ventrue in flawless German, albeit of the type spoken in a Berlin gutter.

Konrad replies, with the hint of the Prussian Junker, “I trust your trip to the old country was successful?” A velvet bag is pushed across the table, Konrad opens it quickly, then binds it again. "Your fee has been sorted, and the objection to your, ahem, gentlman’s club removed. "

“Our Maynard redevelopment?”

“Will proceed once the sitting tenants choose to leave”

“Then our business is complete.” Looking around with distaste, “next time, lets meet at the Mensur.” He turns back to the woman at the bar, and flicks his eye towards the door. She steps up and follows him out from the bar.

The Charfe is Prepared

The Hollow Crown Melanctonsmith