Aerial openings (Open)

Like ice creeping over a window, the Nosferatu may sense dark eyes upon her. In the depths of those shadows, she would sense a growling Beast, fangs bared like a purebred mastiff chained in steel. The old man himself is dashingly attired in an exquisitely tailored suit, and the cut of grey herringbone covers a sturdy-limbed body. His aloof, debonair charm - with its deadly undercurrent - has drawn mortals unconsciously to his corner of the bar, and he chats casually with a few well-heeled businesswomen.

But again and again, his eyes return to the scarred girl, as though making sure nothing untoward happens to her - or that she causes no trouble, herself. She was clearly a Nosferatu. She was as beautiful as a Daeva, but hers was a ruined beauty; any self-respecting Daeva would have burned themselves in the morning sun than be seen in public in such skin.

An eyebrow rises and lips thin at the gesture. The thin-blooded girl had a laudable commitment to the Masquerade. He was himself one to nurse his drinks, and had developed the unspoken reputation of a recovering alcoholic who thrived on temptation. His deathly pallor and corpselike stiffness, it was assumed, was simply English. He had not indulged the 'blush of health', but he had called upon the force of his will to focus his reflection. The Orchid was a place of smoke and mirrors.

Some time later, he politely excuses himself from his conversations and leisurely takes a turn about the room, moving with the leisure of a lion - admiring the view from the window, pausing to greet a familiar face, glancing over the array of top shelf Scotches at the bar. Arriving at her booth, he nods to her. "Madam," he greets her simply with a nod, hands neatly clasped on the silver rose that caps his cane.

Mutilated and deformed. She must be American. And yet, such good manners. The old man inclines his head in appreciation or even approval of a woman who knows her place.

"I should not wish to interrupt you," he says politely, "but if you would indulge an old man a moment, may I beg the honor of your acquaintance? I am Sir Malcolm Bennett-Grey," he offers with a genteel glint in his cold, blue eyes.

There is a bustle of commotion at a large table nearby the patrons welcoming someone into their midst. The gentlemen rise from their seats and the ladies give air-kisses all around as Esther makes her way around the table, checking on the large family's dinner, even going so far as to lift and cuddle an elegantly-dressed toddler for a moment before returning the childling to its mother. After a few more moments of conversation and well wishes, Esther departs the table.

Spying Malcolm on the restaurant floor, near the booths that line the area between the dining room proper and the bar area, she makes her way over, though in no apparent rush. "Good evening, Sir," she greets him, "I dearly hope that all is well for you this evening."

Then she feels it. That crawling along her skin, that...creep that alerts her to the presence of the most despised of clans. Her beast bays at it, fangs flashing hatefully, but she swallows it down in true Daeva fashion.

"And who is your companion? Good evening, my name is Esther Montesori, welcome to the Orchid," she introduces herself to the scarred young woman.

"Madam Montessori, it is a pleasure to meet you." Quinn says with a warm smile, her beast pacing around the confines of her ribcage, content the other Deava is on par with it. However its still weary of the older one.

She raises her glass "Your establishment is very welcoming." She compliments.

"You are too kind Madam Montesori." she says smiling "Won't you join us? We were just exchanging pleasantries." she invites, but knows the Daeva maybe too busy. She knew all too well how busy propriators and business owners can be.

The gifts of a Daeva have no strings attached, but rather ribbons of exquisite silk with which to tie and tangle. The gentleman glances at the bright-eyed young man, so eager to please. Would it be rude to place a bet on his life expectancy?

"Ah, the Orchid's bloom is as full as ever, thriving as though it never slept," the man muses appreciatively. He offers Esther her graceful out, "Perhaps later, Madame?"