Memories flooded Amber's mind, of only a month past; she had found her pack dead, skillfully killed or butchered (depending on point of view), in their own den save for one other who had not been at the den like her. She had been thoroughly questioned as well as her fellow pack mate. She was found innocent and left to her own devices until the Bishop assigned her to a pack. The loss had been enough for her to feel several moments loss for some of the more civilized of her pack, and it brought her a few days worth of loss for Derek, her sire. While she had loved him in a morbid fashion, he was just another man to be replaced.<br/><br/>Flipping the letter to its back side, Amber sighed a bored sigh and looked up to Damon - her first ghoul. Damon stood silently, rigid, tall, sexy, loyal like a love sick puppy waiting for its masters affection. Amber smirked at the thought of a love sick puppy, remembering years back when she was but a meager Kine; when her parents had gifted her with a Golden Retriever puppy, remembering how it slobbered and peed on everything. Damon wasn't anything like that, at least not the slobbering and peeing.<br/><br/>"Oh my dearest, dearest Damon, ghoul of thine vitae, how manly and pathetic you are all at once." Amber gave him a "tisk" and a wave of her finger. He stared at her intently, waiting for what she might do. She liked to change things up and often kept him guessing. This time she did nothing as she tossed the letter aside, with the flick of her wrist, and beckoned him to follow with the inclination of her finger. In her luxurious room, full of a menagerie of sharp objects, many among the kind that only sadistic murders would find joyful was Nia, a sultry Indian. Former exchange student, Nia had been snatched up by Amber years ago. Her dark milk chocolate skin and pitch black hair was enamoring. Her deeply satisfying body, curvy and full of features that incited the most lascivious thoughts in both men and women. The ghoul sat on the ground where she had been left by Amber, obediently not having moved a muscle.<br/><br/>"Nia, love, time to play. Damon, have fun with Nia while I'm gone. Be nice to each other." Amber licked her lips at the thoughts of the two going at each other, then turned and left. Her thoughts immediately went to the meeting location and what might she find among its indoctrinated and or morbidly terrified Kine puppets. She had been there once before, for the meeting of her area's Bishop after having become a True Sabbat. The Kine were so afraid, cowed, dull, unexciting. The real Kine, the oblivious heart beaters, were the delightful ones.<br/><br/>Arriving in an unassuming Dodge, Amber stepped out dressed quite unlike a Toreador; wearing black jeans and a simple white shirt. Derek had taught her not to be so garish when among other Kindred. They couldn't even begin to fathom nor appreciate the finer side of undeath and thus should not be tempted, unless unavoidable or in an uncaring mood, to loath a Pervert. Regardless of the dressed down appearance, Amber was still the best looking creature in the vicinity. Her body refused to surrender its appeal, its salacious sway as she strode into the brewery and right up to the bar.<br/><br/>Running her slender hand through her silky brown hair, she caught a peak of the cute yet feisty Gangrel and the others who had assembled. She didn't see any other Toreador, a shame, she thought. At least she noted several Losombra; they at least were civilized. Her eyes almost went wide at the sight of the body sculptor, disgusting, was her immediate reaction. Seventeen years as a vampire wasn't even close to long enough to get used to them. Gangrel were dirty, unkempt, but at least still attractive (generally speaking). With a barely visible sneer, Amber was about to order the dull blood, even if it came directly from a live blood doll, when the group was then directed deeper into the structure.<br/><br/>As they entered the Bishop's room, the immediate sight of the ghastly Brujah caught her eyes. Averting her sight from the eighties abominable fashion, Amber took a few fluid steps to a seat and slowly melted into it without much thought into her action, crossing her lef over the other. Giving a few tactful glances to the others she then peered upon the aged Brujah, "waiting to be awed" by the elder.