Maw watched as the others trickled in, and finally rose to his feet to follow. He stood up, and seemed to continue to rise for some time. By the time he was standing erect, the Nosferatu stood closer to seven feet than six, though he was painfully thin. Nothing clung to his bones but corded, lean muscle and pallid skin with a sallow tint, though not much more than his hands and face could be seen.<br/><br/>The two axes came with him, their metal heads gleaming coldly in the dim light.As they walked towards and then into the bar, he let the large and conspicuous weapons be openly seen. Just before stepping in to see the Bishop, he let the two weapons slide from his grasp to lean against the wall near the door. It was unlikely that any of the Kine would have the audacity to touch them, after all.<br/><br/>He closely examined the Doll, but the alien landscape of his features made it difficult to tell exactly what he thought about her, her breasts, or the blood running down her chest. Of course it was a given that, since he was clearly a Lick, he didn't have any real need for her exposed breasts and it was equally given that he did have use for the Vitae staining them. That was the trap set by the Bishop, and he approved with a barely perceptible nod. It was typical of an elder Lick of his stature to set a trap in the form of a greeting.<br/><br/>Layers within layers, wheels within wheels, and plots within plots. Ignoring the woman entirely was a display of rudeness and fear that the Bishop would exploit later. Paying undue attention to her breasts was a display of Humanity and sexual interest that the Bishop would exploit later. Paying undue attention to the Vitae was a display of weakness and hunger that the Bishop would exploit later. Maw gave the Kine just enough attention- he hoped- to place himself somewhere in the middle of the three axii of danger set by the Bishop, and then turned his attention around the room.<br/><br/>He knew Karma, of course. She wasn't ignored, per se, but there was nothing to garner from examining her again. The Lasombra got another once over, a closer examination of her clothing and demeanor. A member of her Clan in street clothing bespoke a young and rebellious Vampire who- while worthy of the Blood- wasn't quite ready to settle in and serve the interests of her Elders.<br/><br/>A too pretty Vampire wearing religious trappings with the Sabbat's icon? A Fleshcrafter, most likely. The prettiness was the first clue, but even the Lasombra weren't typically so proud of their status as members of the Sabbat as to openly parade the iconography like the male in question was. So, one of the eastern European bastards, in the flesh.<br/><br/>The well dressed quiet one was tricky. Really tricky... there was nothing there to work with, but the Nosferatu closely examined him nonetheless. Maybe he was Ventrue? He'd fit the mold well enough: quiet, self contained, and definitely in command of himself and the area around him. Until he saw something to make a more concrete determination on, he'd have to go with Ventrue then.<br/><br/>The woman in jeans and tee shirt was pegged as a Brujah or maybe a relatively unassuming Toreador based on her choice in clothing and vehicles. Like the supposed Ventrue there just wasn't enough to go on. The tag placed lightly in his mind, the Nosferatu allowed his gaze to scan over her for weapons before moving onto the next.<br/><br/>Up until the brash biker spoke and labeled himself a Pander- an admission that garnered a grunt laden with an interesting blend of feelings- Maw'd pegged him as a Brujah. The thin, nearly nonexistent lips that barely covered the mouthful of wicked fangs inside Maw's mouth peeled back in a sardonic grin that was equally admiring and mocking. On the one hand, it took balls to stand up in front of a bunch of True members of the Sabbat and offer to assfuck them. Huge balls indicative of a degree of bravery that was worthy of admiration. On the other hand, it was just as likely that it was bravado and not bravery. A self esteem issue that caused the undead biker to overcompensate. Either way, that one was worthy of watching.<br/><br/>Stepping lightly to a corner of the room, the undead monstrosity burrowed his back into a corner. Unlike the other Licks in the room- as far as he knew- he was the only one present who was legitimately at risk. When a Bishop commanded the physical presence of a Camarilla defector- even one whose defection was a closely guarded secret- there was something big afoot. Actually, now that he thought about it, the Recruit couldn't remember ever personally warranting the attention of a Bishop before. Sure, he'd seen them before- at various major Ritae that all members of the Sabbat attended regularly, but even during those festivals the high and mighty had never actually given him more than a single contempt filled gaze before dismissing him from their minds.<br/><br/>His fingers curled around the axe handles that weren't present, the comforting weight of the hafts missed. Catching the movement, he forced his hands to curl into complete fists in an attempt to hide the nervousness inherent in the motion. His empty, blank expression slowly moved about the room, sweeping from person to person in an attempt to garner more information.