Gordon Breslin  was a prince.<br/><br/>The simple statement was true in nearly every sense of the word, he was wealthy, powerful, influential and handsome.  Most men would die for a chance to be where he was.  What most of them did not know was that he<strong>had</strong>died for it.<br/><br/>Gordon Breslin  was the Prince of Vampires in the city.<br/><br/>He does not rule with an iron fist as his predecessor had, rather he prefers to work through a problem with talk, diplomacy, tact, though when needed, he is not at all beyond having a discussion with his enforcement group to make a problem somehow be gone.<br/><br/>The nighttime air was palpable almost, the humidity of the cities climate stifling to most of its mortal residents. The smell of magnolia drifts through the air, mingling with the scent of the salty ocean.  The sounds that carry in this quarter can only be described as riotous, as music can be heard in the atmosphere, muted out in the streets.<br/><br/>An entourage arrives, though from the positions of the group one might not really expect that the group was together at all, except for the fact that the surrounding men were a bit too watchful, a bit too on edge. They circle, but not too close, even as the man at the door does not even flinch when they arrive and he steps aside swinging the heavy metal inward to grant the group entrance without question.<br/><br/>Inside the music was loud, at first maybe even deafening until one grows used to the level of volume a few seconds after entering. Contrasting with the seediness of some night spots, this club was quite upscale. The walls illuminated with soft glowing sconces, the lighting mingling with the shadows to obtain a soft coziness one might be able to say. Inside there were people all around, some dancing casually, others draped over each other in an easy intimacy that does not speak of modesty or shamefulness of close contact.<br/><br/>The scent of living clings to the room, the energizing sensation of life, happiness, sorrow, and pain all mingling to create an intoxicating aroma for some. To one side is a bar that is well stocked, to another side is different divan's couches, and chairs with tables interjected through out for comfort.<br/><br/>Gordon dismisses his group, sending them to secure the tables, preferring to have the chance to meet his people, to talk to them, the intimidation of his presence on it's own makes it difficult for some to talk to him, with his bullies around him, it is near impossible.<br/><br/>He makes his way slowly through the room, a wave to one group, a nod to another, some tables he pauses at to have a word or two with those that he knows well.<br/><br/>By the time he reaches the tables there are glasses ready, a seat at the end of one prepared to receive him, and he settles in, watching around the room to enjoy an evening for a change, the politics of the city, for the most part, out of his mind.