<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Norman Black</strong></span>, Nosferatu<br/>Tagged: Ingrid, Altagracia<br/><br/>Norman had retained the company of both of his charming companions, exchanging small talk about the sights of the city, or at least those that could be safely accessed after sundown. One trick he had not yet mastered in vampiric society was what one was supposed to do with one's hands while socializing at these gatherings. The ubiquitous prop of a drink in hand found throughout Washingtonian society was no longer relevant. An empty glass would seem an affectation. One full of blood could cause all sorts of issues, not the least of which was premature coagulation.<br/><br/>When the music silenced and the lights dimmed Norman found a seat with a decent view of the stage. All of the best seats, those against the wall, were of course taken. He stood, sat and applauded where appropriate, inwardly a bit amused at the secular sacraments. This, too, was unchanged from mortal society.<br/><br/>The invitation to approach was given. Norman bent his head toward Ingrid and whispered, "I think that's your cue. Prince Vitel will be immune to your considerable charms, I'm afraid." He then turned to his left, speaking to Altagracia. "Good luck, and perhaps keep the talk of religion to a minimum."<br/><br/>When the women had left his side he felt suddenly exposed, attempting to look around himself without being obvious about it. Perhaps he should have stuck with his kind, in the Nosferatu ghetto in the corner. Reaching above one's station was not a generally admired trait, no matter how one measured the scales of status.<br/><br/><br/>