<span style="font-size: 15px">Letting the whispers shake him up while he was on his way to his meeting was certainly not ideal, he fixed his collar and suit jacket with a free hand, the other clasping around the leather case he carried with him each night. An important meeting it was, though seemingly mundane, an exchange of words with the living. The next few hours had the potential to be some of the most important in the history of his undeath.<br/>
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The muffled clacking of his soles against the cobbled road drowned out his troubles, that unique illness that flowed through his dry veins. The repetitive sound allowed him to contemplate an approach, he'd heard things, a wide variety of names, none of which he knew to be real or not, and a penchant for the night life. Not much was secret to the persisting Camarilla, but this 'William Wilde' individual was no stranger to muddling his identities. No matter who he was, the details remained consistent; A vital man estranged from his family and home who reveled in the trade of bodily nuances as well as his more.. questionable tastes. Well, it was a chance for MacClery to brush up on his own charismatic facade, despite not having the highest confidence. He had passed away at an older age, whether that was to his benefit or not depended on the mortal, judging by his experience with his darling ghouls.<br/>
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MacClery slipped into an alley, the tall, boxed in walls giving in a slight surge of anxiety, which he swallowed down as he entered the cracked door of discreet club. He'd walked far, going off of the directions he had pondered over for nights now. Words could not describe how thankful he was that he didn't have to breathe in the smoke that flooded the dimly lit establishment, crowded by other gentlemen like himself, seemingly of similar stature and with little variety of wealth. Men that had the time to drink late at night, and make small talk throughout the night of the hustle and bustle of their lives by day. Mortals loved small talk, didn't they? MacClery passed on fetching himself a drink, the most he could avoid any sort of substance like such the better. He didn't want to end up having to find a dark place in the hours ahead to vomit up booze, if he could even stomach it for that long...<br/>
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Not wanting to appear lost he moved aside the wave of conversing patrons, eyes subtlely scanning for the individual in question, fair complexion, dark hair, and importantly, alone. It wasn't till he reached the balcony, thankful for not having to squint through a fog of tobacco smoke, that he spotted the back of a similar man all by his lonesome, a standard drink set out in front of him. The stagnant blood that pooled in his static body churned, he had to be lively, breathe a little, or at least look like it. The spot was private, but intimate nonetheless, he didn't want this William fellow to see him with a fanged maw or sickly skin, making an effort to look the part.<br/>
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He bent at the waist slightly to greet the man, "Excuse me, Mr. Wilde...?" Soon sitting with a friendly smile on his face and a nod of his head, his case set beside his chair, all with an introduction. "My name is Andrew MacClery, the doctor recommended you? It was with good confidence, I've heard good things about the work you do." He wanted to appear intelligent, not much trouble, but above all he wanted to be charming. Being such a cold, calculated prude would get him nowhere outside of their work together. And besides, this was not at all the place for such stale business transactions. More than keen on keeping his voice low, upholding that polite discretion, MacClery chimed "I'm so thankful for your line of work, if all goes over well, I can't fathom the words to tell you how beneficial this will be where the clients are concerned." He had no qualms using his real name, it was lost to time, with nary a single record attached to it. Most of his properties were handed over to the Camarilla in all but residence, which helped him much when it came to doing business on their behalf.<br/>
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"Should I start, then? You must want to know about the work we're doing." He'd prepared a few papers, ordered for them to be printed, as well as some article clippings, all filed neatly. MacClery set it before Mr. Wilde and fastened the clasp on his bag. Mostly it consisted of the evidence and research that went into a particular medical feat that grew in scope over the past decade. "Blood transfusions, did the doctor mention it? The practice is still new, there's a lot of risk involved, the dangers make it.. unpalatable to a lot of men in the medical field. You can understand that donors are hard to come by, Mr. Wilde?" He motioned for the other to read if he deigned to.<br/>
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Underneath it all, the kind demeanor, how his eyes lit up with a smidgen of excitement and a heavy dose of respect for his mystery man, he was in deep thought. MacClery felt hungry for information, for progress, what may have looked like long looks of admiration hid darker connotations. It was as if the resurrectionist was laid before him like a slab of meat ready to be judged in the quality of it's stock. "Such factors as.. coagulation, immunological reactions, we won't be able to iron out, if you would permit my terminology, these obstacles in medical science without activity." He offered the barest of laughs, quiet but not dry. "Of course I am simply a middle man, the exact technicalities I'm not equipped to disclose, but I hope my explanation is substantial enough."<br/>
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Icy eyes focused themselves on Wilde, he cast a look full of hope, sure to add his own flavor of worry. "I would love for us to come to an agreement and be able to work together for the duration of your stay here, Mr. Wilde."</span>