Sunday, May 9th 1999 1:46am - The thirteenth Hole - Dana
Dana smirked watching as the Toreador leader gave them her back, the clan was known for it's dramatics. She'd have her words with Helen she felt it tingling in the air, maybe not tonight and maybe not the next, but sometime, they all the time in the world. "Naw, it's just a tampon, must be a bitch living out eternity on the rag."
Her attention turned back to the festivities, had she any resources at her disposal to take on any of the prisoners she would have. The ugly one with the chip on his shoulder had quite the spirit to him. Though Dana would too if she woke up with her face rearranged as he had. He'd make a sick gaurd dog though. You've got Rotwielers? Well I've got a zombie so mleh. However the poor guy probably wouldn't appreciate that. He'd fit in with the Nos if the Prince didn't allow the Ventrue to take all three. But she gazed at his creased brow and the permanent snarl on his mangled face and her blue eyes showed the closest thing to empathy they could, a glazed over shimmer that made them glitter in the light of the stars. The rest of her face remained stony, her jaw set like she wanted a fight like it always was. He wasn't meant for the suits. Her memory flew back to rows of cherrywood desks and blue kilts, of having to raise your hand, sit still, be quiet. They told you when to talk, when to move hell they told you when to take a leak. All the while a restless pain fills your chest like you're going to die if you have to sit there one more second. She rolled her jaw contemplatively as she watched the Prince. Hmmm...