<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/XJroK22.jpg)</div><strong>Barir bin Yasha</strong>- Appearance 3, Black stain of Diablerie in his aura for those with who succeed on Auspex II roll<br/><br/>The stubble always bothered him. Every night he got up and it returned with the same regularity as always. It was there, a constant reminder that he wasn't quite... right. Well, that was a given. He<em>was</em>a vampire, after all. Every night he woke with the same hunger, the kind that made his teeth itch, especially the canines towards the sides of his mouth yet still prominent and visible when he gave the Kiss to one of the kine. His tiny apartment was bare of any sort of decorations, and could almost be thought of as entirely barren of anyone living there--or undead there. The only sign of change from when he had first gotten it, just weeks ago, was the heavy black duct tape that plastered the only window through which only more buildings could be seen.<br/><br/>He knew he was living on borrowed money--and perhaps even borrowed time, by all accounts. Prince Marcus Vitel had been kind enough to provide him a place to sleep, if little else. The apartment building was in one of the worst parts of DC, though that meant that the rent was relatively low. But that was only what he could expect, far as he was from the top of the totem pole. Even worse--he might very well be completely off those hallowed rungs, of no consequence to any of the kindred within the city.<br/><br/>He had accompanied the Sheriff on a few missions, along with the other agents. "Agents" they liked to call themselves, but Barir held nothing but content for them. They treated the work as though it were a game, as though they were invincible simply because they were a little more organized than the rabble they hounded, the Sabbat packs that hunted in the night. Given a few of the Brothers and he could topple this whole city...<br/><br/>No, that wasn't right. He pushed that thought out of his head. There was nothing towards those thoughts but the past, he would rather forget that as quickly as time had flown. He recalled dirty sewers and other hide-outs he had been forced to use when he had flown from the knives and swords that had hunted him in the night. There was yet hope that under the Prince's protection he would somehow find a way to stop running. Maybe.<br/><br/>With a groan he roused himself from the dirty bed, and staggered into the tiny bathroom that held both his shower and toilet. Carefully he shaved the stubble from around his goatee, making sure to be presentable. The Sheriff had said that he was going to serve as part of the security detail for tonight's Elysium. It was the first time that he would be there, see the kindred formally. Trepidation and anticipation mixed in his stomach and he dialed the hot water on to full, waited a few moments for steam to fill the tiny room and stepped beneath the showerhead.<br/><br/>It felt good to be clean. Every night he thanked whoever might be listening for the luxury of hot water, almost scalding even his own toughened skin. It felt good to be clean, to wipe away the night's blood sweat which sometimes accompanied the nightmares he still had of the flight from his former clan. A time passed as he soaped himself and let the water rush down his body before he stepped out and readied himself for the night. Toiletries used and replaced back behind the mirror that served as a small cupboard, he padded softly to the single piece of furniture within the tiny room, a small closet that kept his scant possessions.<br/><br/>The first thing that caught his sight, as it always did, was piled robes in the corner. He felt another pang as he noticed from the umpteenth time how caked and dirty they were. He really should take them with him next time he did laundry... but for some reason he always forgot right before doing so. Anger rose within him at himself but instead of acting out he slowly retrieved the one piece of formal attire within, a suit of linen and cotton. The Sheriff had gotten it for him, a "gift" so he might fit in. Barir knew that such gifts carried a price, and wondered how he would have to pay for it.<br/><br/>A longing glance was given to the tiny semi-automatic within a holster meant to be worn beneath the armpit--another "gift", as well as the long object which might easily be mistaken for a mop end by most people, but was in fact a cleverly-hidden sword, though most who were expecting such things would immediately know what it was. This last had been a present from his past, and was the only thing he carried with him apart from the robes in the closet from those days. The holster went around his body, hidden beneath his jacket, while the buckle hung from his belt. It wasn't as clumsy or random as the gun, a more elegant weapon for a more archaic age, and it had served him well and he far preferred its use.<br/><br/>He quickly left his apartment, confirming that he was on time. It was a long trip to by taxi to the Kennedy Center, but he had given himself ample time to reach it and arrived before the planned time. He made a round, keeping his eyes moving, searching for anything that might be amiss, or anyone who might not fit there--but no, he was alone as of yet.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>It was some time before guests of the Elysium began to arrive, and within it they would find him, one of the men in dark suits who enforced peace and maintained the security cordon to ensure that none were harmed or did violence. Motionless apart from his eyes, he scanned the crowd, sometimes moving to gaze into the night to make sure that no uninvited guests made an appearance in the form of a pipe bomb or incendiary grenade by some Sabbat flunky meant to destroy the governing body of of the Camarilla of Washington DC in one fell swoop.