"It is no wonder that the blood of Kindred has grown thin through the millennia. Caine's curse may cause each successive generation to weaken, but even the most of fledglings will hear tell of Diablerie and crave the elder blood. But it is this very circumstance that has caused so many of our most powerful to hide out and bide their time.

Until then, they act through proxies. They hide in their caves and watch events play out from afar...at least, that is the story. In my opinion, the elders of our kind do not hide in dark corners and puppeteer from the sidelines. They walk in plain sight, and in the guise of the petty and subordinate. That is, after all, how we of the modern nights endure. Who could perfect such methods, if not the creatures who made them?"

From the notes of Juan el Leon, Archaeologist of Kindred History, and 8th generation of the Banu Haqim.

*********

Isaac's office was surprisingly comfortable. Once more, Jessie expected to be underwhelmed by the gaudy opulence of so many Camarilla elite. Instead, there was an elegant if simple layout. A cream collared carpet with hardwood furnishings, all of which seemed handmade. But they were not complex pieces and looked more like the kind you would see in an old European townhouse. The only exception was the wheeled office chair behind Isaac's desk, which was drawer and desk in one.

"Wow, what a fucking letdown." Ian was not impressed. The looks he was giving to the furniture were a mix of disgust and childish confusion. It was almost like he was scared the furniture might grow out and eat them

"Shut up." Jessie wasn't just annoyed with Ian; she was used to that. "We're not talking with just anyone now." Despite Isaac's displayed magnanimity, he was a direct agent of the Camarilla. Not the petty prince of a single city, but a weapon of the inner circle. No Kindred could achieve that role without being some kind of bastard.

"Mr. Ian Kasier? There is a call for you." A secretary stood by the open office door. She was dressed in the stereotypical "hot secretary" uniform and was almost certainly sent to distract Ian. "It's from Amaya, the prince."

"Shit, alright." Ian didn't seem to mind though, being the asshole that he was. He stood and walked over to his "escort" with a disgusting smile on his face and an undeserved swagger to his step. "So, how long you been in the city?"

"Not long, I'm afraid I don't know my way around." The secretary smiled, playing coy and innocent. "I have been looking for a night out though. I don't suppose you could show me around?"

Ian should have known that this was the most obvious setup imaginable, but he just kept up his shit-eating grin, and placed a grubby hand around the woman's waist.

"First, let me handle the prince." He made what he considered his sexiest and most enticing smolder...it did not work. "I'll show you around after."

She beckoned him to follow and he obliged. Jessie was unsure of what to do about this. On the one hand, she needed Ian alive so he could help with the damn mission. But she also didn't want him around to say something stupid to Isaac's face.

"Where the hell is he?" Isaac had gone into the next room to clean up and change. Apparently, he kept an apartment at the factory so he could work as needed, and it was of course it was just one doorway removed from his office.

"Credit for efficiency I guess." Jessie was happy enough to meet an older kindred who wasn't a complete egomaniac. But Ian's distraction now made her wonder if a similar trap awaited her.

"He doesn't really think he can seduce me, does he?"

In answer to her question, the door to Isaac's apartment opened, and the man himself walked through.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, it just didn't seem polite to talk official business while dripping sweat everywhere." Everything that Ian was not, Isaac was. He was lean and fit, with the unblemished face of a renaissance prince. His short blonde hair was almost silky in texture, and his deep ocean blue eyes were just icing on the cake.

To top it all off, he had a sense of style. His purple button-down shirt, black slacks, and silver dress jacket made him look like a catalog model.

"God damn it..." Jessie felt a little conflicted now. She was put off by the thought of some man thinking they could so easily influence her, especially with her life at stake. But this particular man was also very pretty.

But to her surprise, Isaac did not make any move on her.

"I confess, I've met many horrible men. But few as slimy as your Sire." The older man walked over to his wheelchair and brought it along to sit next to her. "You have my condolences."

He sat across from the chair Jessie'd parked herself in since entering. There was no lust or creepiness in his eyes, and he seemed ready to discuss business. Albeit in a casual way.

"So, the Prince sent us to aid in your task." Jessie wasn't particularly good at sounding official or fancy, but she felt the need to try. "If you require any assistance, then I shall provide it."

"You know, formal speech doesn't suit you." Isaac wasn't berating her or trying to correct her. He just sat there contemplatively, as if he were observing a performance. "Many people will assume you're a punk kid already, you may as well take advantage of it."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled the smile that only wise old people could.

"I speak from experience." He cracked his neck and leaned back in his chair. All the while still keeping that friendly, though still contemplative look. "You should meet some of the crowd from the 1700s. You'd think the undead would have greater concerns than prudishness, but you'd be mistaken."

"Huh, ok." Again, Jessie couldn't help but feel a bit disarmed. She had prepared herself for mental assaults, to defend her mind against manipulation via the use of Presence or even the direct control of Domination. But here she was, having a candid conversation instead.

"So I don't mean to be rude, but I was sent here for a job." She didn't know what else to say besides that. She didn't have any questions, as she didn't know if it would be too crass to simply ask: what are you doing in phoenix. So, she figured keeping to her assigned role was the safest bet. "I'm sorry. You're being very gracious, but the prince can be...insistent."

"I know, she's very touchy about how her spies perform." His delivery was without and condescension or malice. It was so casual in fact that Jessie was unsure if she heard right.

"Pardon me, sir?" The feelings of calm that were present just moments ago were now quickly giving way to fear. Would she have to run, would this man use her as a tool of his own?

"I know how the game is played, madame. Amaya is insulted by my presence, and has sent you to undermine me." Despite looking no older than twenty-five, Isaac had perfected the pitying grandfather look. "It's not your fault that so many of us are vicious bastards. I too have been forced through many trials by entitled turds."

"Ok." She didn't know where this was going, but she did believe Isaac's assurances. She'd been pretty good at spotting lies so far, and this man wasn't giving off any red flags. "So, where do we go from here."

"I'll do my job, and you'll do yours." He leaned forward in his chair as if to cement his words. "There are people in the city who I need to talk to, and you can accompany me as Amaya's representative. You'll have much to report to her, I'm sure."

He extended his hand.

"Do we have an accord?" His expression remained friendly, and he stood from his seat as he offered his hand.

"The perfect gentleman, of course." Jessie stood to meet him and shook his hand.

"Excellent. Feel free to make use of the guest space here. You would be surprised how many of our peers need rush lodging."

Isaac gave her directions to the rooms she could make use of beyond his own, before excusing himself. He had to deal with Ian after all. And Jessie was certainly tired from the night. It may have just been talking, but it had been a lot of talking. And it had been a while since she'd slept on a bed that wasn't shit.

As she was about to open the door to the living quarter though, she spied something on Isaac's desk. There were photos, old black and white pictures of a family. A husband with his wife eating a picnic lunch, and then another photo of the same couple sitting together with two little children. The father and husband was Isaac, of course. He looked exactly as he did in the present time, but also more innocent and perhaps even joyful.

"A family? He looks so young though." Kindred could not have children as mortals did. The only time Isaac could have had children was before he was embraced. Yet he barely looked in his twenties. Perhaps people got started earlier in those days, whenever they were. But it was curious all the same.

Regardless, Jessie knew it was too early in the relationship to ask any personal questions. So, she put the matter in the back of her mind and went off to get some much-needed rest.