zg_shadows | Those Terrible Women (Reply)

Tristan sat quietly, his lands layed out upon the desk before him, slightly crumpling the notes strewn across the area. Each note a question, a potential answer...a clue to the plague. Looking up at the wall nearest him he examined the flow chart for the thousandth time, noting the additions Dieter had made in just the last few days. His own updates were written in red, almost hard enough to score through the paper and into the board beneath.

This plague consumed him, its twists and turns, the recent mutation and quite worrying escalation as a result...past time for another update to the concerned parties elsewhere.

As Tristan gathered papers to him and began collating a report in some semblance of order, it dawned on him that from this point on he would be signing his missives not only as Tristan Felgate, Apprentice of the Seventh Circle, but as Tristan Felgate, Prince of London. This stopped his hands asif frozen in time as his mind filtered through the likely outcomes of Ms Devon and Ms Allen's machinations. Not Good. Smiling grimly his hands resumed their motion, carefully and meticulously he arranged the papers and stood, squaring his shoulders inside his expensive suit he looked through the window and saw Dieter working in the Lab. If nothing else, it was an opportunity, a chance for change and to bring the stability of Clan Tremere to the troubled city.

It was also something of a slap in the face of the Ventrue, but that could not be helped. A strange smile crept across his face.

"Lily is going to be ....annoyed"