The can tip-tap-tip'd it's way across the floor, each stroke measuring a pace of David de Sabre as he followed the rest of the group to the table in the back. To those watching it would seem he was paying no attention to the goings on around him, alive in his own little world, no doubt a world of demons and devils, of magic and dark delight, thoughts that no mere mortal mind could understand.<br/><br/>In truth de Sabre was wondering whether the fruit pie would be tasty. Of course, he'd never know. The Lord of Blackest Night couldn't be seen eating pie... it just wasn't the image he wanted to project.<br/><br/>And, oh yes, he was paying attention as well.<br/><br/>He moved to the table, a chair seemingly already perfectly positioned for him, the cloak swirling to the side to drape elegantly. No-one had seen it move, but apparently his bottle of red wine and glasses were already at the table, one gloved hnad reaching out to lift it, the red liquid running over his lips.<br/><br/>God this mask itched sometimes...<br/><br/>There wasn't really too much to say, not right now. He had exchanged some pleasentries earlier, but he had always held himself as a man apart while on the ship, and he was not about to break that routine now. No, once the meat and bones came out he may interject himself, but for now his busied he himself with looking mysterious and slightly sinister.<br/><br/>Now that was the image he wanted to project...