He nodded along with him, "Pint, yes... Ah-- Well, I wouldn't know, would I? You're the man for the job so you would have to break this down, but Lawrence isn't exactly one for... technicalities. He only specified by the number of bodies and wanted four, to start. Said it was well enough for a night out with the lads." MacClery recalled coldly, not entirely humored by the Nosferatu's lack of attention to detail.. but what were middle men for, anyway? "I'm sure he'd appreciate prolonged service, the lot of them would. But a little too daunting for a mortal, as you've seen." It didn't matter much if things were to go his way, and he was to sire Lee. This line of work was dangerous for a fledgling with their newfound hysteria, and a Malkavian ghoul would fair no better.<br/><br/>MacClery didn't even waste the force of breath entertaining Lee's light hearted jokes, letting him break for the streets. It was somewhat of a wait then, when the elder reached his destination to see the carriage, the same mute corpse at the reins, though heavily cloaked and covered head to toe. This was one of the few times he deigned to place some coins in the driver's gloved hands, shaky and stiff. The quiet fellow made rounds each night for some decades now for Camarilla patrons, and was paid accordingly. But Moulins seemed well enough sparing a portion of his wealth to any monster that stayed out of his sight. This was the unfortunate best case scenario for the city's less sightly kindred.<br/><br/>The driver didn't speak, but creaked a rotten smile, baring shattered teeth in earnest. It was thanks enough, and MacClery piled into the closed cart for home.<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>A long night of fraternizing with his beloved little workers after more sad news of slow nights from the theater head had Apollo tired, and it was a daze only Sallie's quaint little note could remedy. Apollo stared at it as he lay back in the small, round bed that stuck out from the corner of his humble boudoir, enjoying the simplicity of it. Sallie's 'letters' were without any of Apollo's own flair, no perfume, a simple style of handwriting. Those ghouls were so modest, it was almost endearing... He looked down at his legs, draped over the lap of his recent favorite who was so kind enough as to visit that night, now kneading at Apollo's limbs, from his thighs to his ankles and then some. The stunning young man was already as doe-eyed and delirious as the rest, drunk on Toreador blood and looking at his domitor like he were an immaculate painting.<br/><br/>They were all cute, each and every one of his ghouls were sweethearts with an eye for art and a thirst for passion. But none that was all they were, cute. Few were as compelling as Rainer, who always returned with new stories no matter the century, and failed to run out of charm. But even then, their mockery of blood was cursed, and the inescapable cold of a vampire's touch would never be as satisfying as those of the living. All this time and Apollo still lamented over the fact he'd never get the satisfaction he craved. Undeath was imperfect through all it's ups and downs and turnarounds.<br/><br/>The following dusk he ushered into the boarding house, topped in a thin, flowing blouse and tight trousers, hair in flattering curls. His outfit was just as much a mess of androgyny and mixed signals as his body language, his voice, and Apollo wasted no time leaning over the counter to give both of Sallie's cheeks affectionate pecks. "Mia cara! Hello hello!" He leaned back up and took in a deep breath as if his lungs weren't long dead and atrophied. It was a quaint place, he could hear his voice carry like it would in his theater, and it only made him eager to snoop around this strange ghoul's temporary abode. "Is that man of yours here still? I'd ask you to show me around but I'd hate to interrupt your final hours of work! Perhaps the exotic one would lead little ol' me, si?" Apollo grinned ear to ear. He rarely visited, if ever, since Rainer was so welcome at his boudoir there was little point in traveling this way. Sometimes he worried he was getting spoiled, lounging about at home doing little more than getting backrubs from handsome ghouls. Or perhaps it was a bout of depression due to theater's declining popularity.