<span style="color: #BF0000"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">--- The Camarilla Office ---</span></div></span><br/><br/>Sitting at an old, yet well polished mahogany desk, an older graying man stared longingly out a large window. The window spanned the length of the wall and looked out on the city of London. Lowering a hand rolled cigar from his lips, Alistair Swann sighed while letting out a steady stream of smoke. A knock at the heavy bullet proof door caught his attention. "Yes...?"<br/><br/>"Ah Sir, Mr... Knight is here to see you." The young blond secretary studied the man his eyes for a cue that she was correct abut his last name.<br/><br/>As a smile sprawled across the man's face. He sat up in his chair, and plucked a pen from a drawer. "Yes Alice dear, please let him in."<br/><br/>Nodding, the young woman opened the door and stepped to the side allowing Darren to enter. Before leaving she spoke up. "Would you like anything Mr Knight?" Once he answered, she nodded to the two and walked back out, shutting the door quietly behind her.<br/><br/>"So good to see you, it's been far too long. I'm sorry I haven't had any work for you as of late. I haven't seen as much excitement as I used to, I am tired and I wish for a simpler life, you see..." The older man smirks shaking his head at his own words before glancing back at his old friend. "Let me not keep you. As for my request. My niece is in a bit of trouble you see. She wouldn't like to admit to such, but in our family, stubbornness runs deep in our veins you see. I simply ask if you would watch over her, help her in this little matter. I'm sure you will learn of it soon enough. It isn't my place to tell you. Of course I will be paying you." Taking his pen, the gent quickly scribbled down several digits and flipped the pad around so that Darren could see. "A nice sum as usual, and of course with my gratitude."<br/><br/>Door softly clicking open, the same secretary from earlier walked in with a deadly silence, a small tray in hand. Wordlessly she set a fine crystal whisky glass down a top a small white napkin. Inside a deep amber liquid shimmered under the fluorescent lights. Then as quickly and quietly as she had arrived, the woman exited.<br/><br/>Alistair ignored the interruption and continued after Darren got his drink. Tilting his head the older man asked his question. "Will you honor this old man's request? A favor between friends?" Hearing Darren's answer he reached out to shake his hand with a smile. "Thank you, I do warn you, my little niece can be quite difficult at times, but she has a good heart. If you have any questions please give me a call. You have my number of course... Ah and if a young man in a suit comes up and says, "Nice weather", be sure you reply with, "if you like rain." I'll give her a call and let my Beatrix know you are coming." With a warm smile he nodded. "Thanks again Darren."<br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">--- The Flower Boutique ---</span></div></span><br/><br/>The flower boutique “Paint My Roses Red “, seemed to be quite busy today. Except the clientele entering and exiting didn't exactly seem to be the most pleasant of folks. Actually, they were be the type that could kill you as soon as look at you. People in suits and sunglasses stood motionless around a black F-Type Jaguar. It was obvious that there was a very rich and powerful client inside, but the questions was how exactly were these riches accumulated?<br/><br/>What most did not know was that the fine upstanding flower boutique was owned by a British Firm, or also known as a British syndicate. The Crimson Heart Organization was well known to be the third most powerful firm in the UK. They dealt with money laundering and weapons trafficking, but what the firm was mostly known for were their contract killings. Yes, the Crimson Heart took on assassinations, and issued out hits to free lance mercenaries as long as they got a cut of the profit. Who is the head of this monstrous group? None other than the Bloody Queen herself, Miss Beatrix Heart. At the age of twenty eight, Beatrix is one of the youngest owners of a firm. Miss Heart is not to be trifled with either. She has been known to put two bullets between the eyes of anyone who angers her without even batting an eye. Nothing else besides her cold nature and exceptional business skills are known.<br/><br/>“Damn it, she is in a bloody rubbish mood today...” Muttered a man wearing a black suit and red tie. He was grumbling to the store clerk who also doubled as their accountant. Setting down a crate of red roses, the man in the suit let out a heavy sigh before smirking. “Wonder what Mr Swann said to piss  Ms Trixie off?”<br/><br/>The shop clerk cleared his throat as he watched the older rich crime lord, outside, sitting back into his leather car sea. “Watch your self there. Remember what Miss Heart did to the last one who called her that. I don't want to take the time to get to know another assistant. Nor clean up another one...”<br/><br/>Chuckling, the man in the suit reached down and picked up one of the red roses. Sniffing it he gave the other man a devilish grin. “If I give her one of these, she'll sing a different tune.”<br/><br/>“Hah! The tune to your funeral dirge.” Shaking his head, the shop owner grabbed the rose from the man's hand and dropped it back in the crate. “If you knew any better, you'd watch your words, yah twat.”<br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">---In Beatrix's Office---</span></div></span><br/><br/>Sitting at her desk, Beatrix watched the monitor that looked out onto the shop front. She watched as Mr Mason Swann returned to his vehicle and drove off. How she despised these meetings with him, but it was necessary if she hoped to grow her firm. It was either try to be civil with the Swann firm and come to a mutual agreement, or take them down by force. At the moment, the first choice was the best. He knew her way more than she had liked, and Beatrix could not be caught up in an all out war with the man. The main problem was, at today's meeting Mr Swann made it clear he had no qualms with declaring a firm war against her. How dare that b*stard hold this over her head. Fine! If he wanted a fight, he would get one, as soon as she got the information she needed... Pressing a button on her desk, Beatrix paged her enforcer. “Hastings, as soon our new guest arrives, please show him to my office. He has an appointment. Uncle Alistair is sending him over.”<br/><br/>Soon a beep sounded, and so did a voice over the intercom. “Yes, Miss Heart. I will go meet him personally.” As soon as Hastings ended their conversation he stood and headed through the facility and into the shop front. Most knew as much about Hastings as they did Beatrix, only that he only answered to the boss, and had a love for knives. With his shoulder length black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his perfectly tailored suits, the enforcer was slender, and was know to be quite the pretty boy. Now standing in front of the building, Hastings pulled out a cigarette and waited for their guest.<br/><br/>When the man walked up Hastings gave a curt nod. Taking off his sunglasses, Hastings tugged at the tops of his black leather gloves, adjusting them. "Nice weather we're having..." Hastings kept his pale blue eyes averted, cigarette bouncing slightly in his lips while he spoke.