<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=53854.msg2491377#msg2491377">Quote from: The Great Triangle on 28-11-2009, 02:53:03</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Remus Saithe pulled out a small packet from the huge mess of papers on her desk.  "This is our dossier on Valvufanir Skelpon, a vampire we staked two weeks ago in Atur.  You'll be impersonating him as the leader of the group.  Committ only the level of blasphemy you're comfortable with, but he was a priest.  Given that the followers of the Blood of Vol use personally signifigant holy symbols, you might even get away with carrying a black Octogram."  Saithe explained pushing foward another box of clothing.  "Here are his personal effects."  Saithe said disdainfully.  "He's also in there, so everthing's going to be a bit dusty."<br/></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>"V-vampire?"  I'd only even tried impersonating the unliving once.  It was cold.  And creepy.  And I didn't feel like me.  A strange thought, considering what I am, yet no matter what shape I take, deep down, there's usually that fundamental sense of self.  A vampire priest?  For the whole mission?  I don't like this one bit.  And I had been hoping for a new girl form for once.  The last three times I've been called on to use my abilities in the line of duty, it's always been men.  It gets old after a while.  I set the box aside, not wanting to look at it until absolutely necessary.  "Yes, sir."  In the end, that is the only possible answer, no matter my misgivings.  "However... I cannot carry his holy symbol.  I just... can't."  After all, it is only by the grace of the host that I shall be able to endure this ordeal.<br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=53854.msg2491977#msg2491977">Quote from: PhantomPistoleer on 28-11-2009, 06:07:08</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> "Lady, ya give me great insoolt!" I cried, slamming my fist against something rather dramatically.  I missed, so I tried it one more time, this time with calculation.   "What sorta' business y'think I'm in?  De' putting people t'sleep business?  Nah'.  I'm in de' selling papers business!  An' a pack o' jacks who're cold as ice ain' going t'move me papers off de' shelves.  So it seems y'and I hayve sumthin' of an accord."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>I listen to the major's exchange with the strange, rude man for some time.  Thankfully, misgivings replace each other rather than piling up.  A public relations officer on a secret mission?  How is that a good idea?  Well, maybe he's competent?  If not, maybe the Host's blessing could make him competent long enough to be useful.  Yet... I can't trust him so swiftly.  Then again, those I<em>can</em>trust are few and far between.<br/><br/>In time, I finally address him.  "Mister Garrett.  You<em>were</em>in the business of selling papers.  However, when we are on a mission, that is a secondary consideration.  Starting the moment we leave this room, you are in the 'accomplish the mission and get out alive' business, and if you have a spare moment afterward, perhaps you can indulge your writing."