<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>Norman Black</strong></span>, Nosferatu<br/>Tagged: Sebastian Richter<br/><br/>Vampires are bitchy, Norman thought to himself. Not that this was news, it was a thought he'd had many times over the years. He imagined that it was like prison, or at least like the vision of prison that a white upper-middle class suburbanite without a touch of a criminal record might imagine. When out-and-out violence was removed from the equation by an overwhelming superior force, people channeled their energies into power games, one-ups-manship and scrabbling for status. Not that his glass house would survive any tossed stones, but he preferred to play his games privately and through proxies. Less<em>I warn you not to pry into our affairs</em>, more<em>your favorite ghoul got picked for jury duty... again.</em><br/><br/>He raised his clawed hands placatingly.<em>I'm no threat to anyone. Certainly not a powerful and esteemed vampire such as yourself.</em>The gesture, the expression, the tone of voice were second nature now. Live as a rat, survive as a rat. "Of course, of course. It was merely an observation. It would take a greater fool than I to entertain the thought of spying on Clan Tremere." Norman could name about six such greater fools without even thinking hard.<br/><br/>Finally conversation turned to business. "I am at your service, sir. When our kind is so beset by enemies on all sides, it behooves all of us to render aid when we can." Not that every single favor wouldn't be tracked in his mental ledger; no less than he would expect from any of the Kindred. Ten years into his undeath money was still a concern, but from where he was standing he could see a place where the currency of debts of honor would be much more highly treasured.<br/><br/>