<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Norman Black</strong></span>, Nosferatu<br/>Tagged: None<br/><br/>It seemed that there would be no fireworks this evening, which was to be expected. Norman had spent time once with a Nosferatu who claimed to be six hundred years old. According to the man's account presentations like the one Norman was now witnessing were much livelier in the past, with the constant threat of erupting bloodshed. Norman wasn't so certain about that; there was every chance the older vampire was merely putting a neonate through the ringer.<br/><br/>Vampire society now seemed much more about the insult than the blade. Etiquette instead of armor. Information instead of brute strength. It was a world that suited Norman better. He would not have survived long in those bloodier waters.<br/><br/>Norman took special note as the very large Ventrue stepped forward to make his introductions. He was not an expert on the intricacies of Kindred social rankings, but the man's Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon spiel certainly sounded impressive. Not a bad one to get to know, Norman decided.<br/><br/>And then the Society page was complete, on to News, Sports and Weather. Sabbat in Columbia. That was only a few miles from his old life. From Anne-Marie. The Sabbat were not so careful as the Camarilla to not hurt humans. He would have heard if something happened to her; his electronic agents scoured the net constantly for her name, one of the few, painful, ties that he maintained to his previous life. Norman made a note to speak to bin Yasha, or even the Sheriff if she became available, and learn more about what exactly had happened up that way.<br/><br/>For a Prince who hoped to convey his ability to maintain safety in the city, Norman thought, there certainly seemed to be a lot of places considered dangerously off-limits. He would have to pull records for the last twenty years or so to check his gut. Were things really growing worse, or was he just being pessimistic?