Galen had opened his mouth in front of Ana, then closed it embarrassed. But she reacted positively, so what he said was something he thought he would not: "Thank you." Now he was listening to the others conversing, but his mind was wandering from one subject to another.<br/><br/>Daeroth - with his impeccable appearance with his stylish clothes and his arrogant smile and his perfectly formed muscles - Galen would have considered him a role model, but deep inside he realized he was nowhere near as powerful as the old Fabiani, nor as charming or intelligent. He was the powerhouse from the street. He was proud of his heritage but he knew it wouldn't bring him very far.<br/><br/>Ana - young (by vampire standards), rich, pretty, and ambitious. Oh, she was arrogant, spoiled, and constantly offensive, but Galen knew she would settle down one day. He pictured her as the DelaCourt Elder and nodded to himself - she would fit in there perfectly. Galen doubted he would live long enough to see her in that position, but he was a fighter, and fighters don't live long.<br/><br/>Lucian and Damian - the mischievous twins and the Connors' favorite youngsters with a taste for good food. In a century, these two would be a nicer, less demanding version of Dae, maybe. They were likable and an asset to the Community.<br/><br/>That was it, wasn't it? That's why they were all here. They were assets to the Community. Forget the coven, forget the business. The combined wealth of even the poorest bloodline could secure grounds for a coven anywhere, anytime. Suddenly, he realized why they were here. Politics.<br/><br/>One of the most talented rising stars in the Community, one of the most powerful vampires apart from the Elders themselves, and three low-ranked Connors. This had nothing to do with a coven. Oh, a coven - or Collettiva, like Ana called it - will be established, no doubt. But this was just the facade. Underneath was probably some behind-the-curtains political maneuver from some clan Elders or gods know who. Fabiani and DelaCourt working together? Heh. These two bloodlines were rivals for centuries. So what was going on? And why were three Connors here - not one, not even two but three? The Connors wanted more power. So, three of them at once working with a very powerful Fabiani and a soon-to-be as powerful DelaCourt?<br/><br/>Galen shook his head. He wished he knew more about politics. Something about that picture was... odd. Something deeper was in there. Was it a plan to pull resources together? To establish close and personal contact between the future elite, maybe? And to boost the Connor's place in the Community up in the long run? Or something even deeper than that?<br/><br/>His thoughts were interrupted by the beep of the cell phone. Text message.<br/><br/><em>I thought I was the one playing hard to get! Meet me at the Eight Street tailor. There's a great Italian restaurant right next door.</em><br/><br/>He stared at the screen and smiled to himself. What's the chance to walk down the street and to have an incredibly sweet beautiful and single young lady practically fall in your feet - literally, at that?<br/><br/>Galen couldn't walk in the sun. So he waited it out, busy with little things, staying out of the others' way, in his own world. When the day was nearing its end, he found himself pacing around the living room, looking at his watch every 3 minutes, oblivious to what the others were talking or doing. Little thoughts were circling his mind - thoughts he could not quite put his finger on.<br/><br/>The sun went down, and the cab was called. Traffic was heavy and Galen was thinking about his date. It was in this moment that he realized he never confirmed going. He shrugged. He had never been a chevalier. He was a roughhouse.<br/><br/>The cab pulled over and after tossing one of his famous money clips at the cabby, Galen entered the Volvo dealership, curious to see what they have to offer. Forty minutes later, with his bank account nearly halved, he was driving to Eighth Street in a silver S80.<br/><br/>He spotted Blaire across the street. Something about this girl was drawing his attention like a magnet. He pulled over elegantly, calling forth all of his driving skills, and he got out, suit straightened down, shirt smooth and underlining his muscular chest, hair roughly combed with 3 fingers. He walked to her slowly, confidently. He was nervous about this date - but after sixty years of dating, he know how to not show it.<br/><br/>"Blaire." he said when he stopped in front of her. He looked at the Ragazza. "Shall we go in? I don't feel comfortable out here. Your presence makes people envy me." Then he couldn't say anything anymore. He lost himself in her scent.