When things are serious. You dont place a phonecall or an impersonal email. Dont get me wrong, I may have been a late adopter, but my cellphone never leaves my sight these days. When things go wrong, however, nothing beats the sincerity of an in person visit. Tonight I am meeting with a certain board member who is very interested in keeping my feelings about the museum positive.

Honestly the man always bent over for me. I assume its because he wanted me to do the same for him.

What happened and what didnt isnt really your business. Regardless of whats said this man is now blood bound and entirely devoted to me and my museum. He will be my best tool to insure the vicious fucking of whoever thought it would be fun to walk off with that Van Gogh. I suspect the thief is kindred, but I didnt recognize him; and its my business to recognize everyone.

'Thank you for staying late darling.'

I am sugar and honey. My painted lips smile gratefully and I lean on the counter as if this new desk girl has been my friend for years.  

'Im here to see Mister Ross, was he able to linger for me?..'

The girl -- an awfully young and awfully pretty blonde -- blinks a few times.  She's never seen you before, but its obvious from her expression of mixed awe and dumbfounded stupor that she's been made aware of your "top" position as one of the Museum's most generous donors.

"Uh, um, yes.  Ma'am," she manages to stammer out.  The girl doesn't seem to bright on the uptake for one thing.  But judging from nearly transparent blouse, with its top few buttons left strategically undone, she wasn't hired for her clerical proficiency.  She turns to the phone and gingerly presses a French-manicured nail to the intercom.  She cringes as it buzzes, "Um, George...err Mr. Ross, Miss um...Miss..." she seems to struggle with remembering the name for a moment, baby blue eyes glancing nervously to Simone.  "Your evening appointment is here," she finally quickly mumbles out.

The voice on the other end clears its throat before quickly saying "Well then, send her in.  Right away."  Its obvious from his tone that his little blonde secretary has embarrassed him enough already with her all too apparent incompetence.

Stepping into the office you will find George Ross straightening his tie and hastily performing a last-minute hygiene check.  George is a middle-aged man with a balding head, square spectacles, and a mild beer gut from too many egg McMuffins grabbed on his way into the museum, and too many late-night value meals grabbed on his way home.  He's not horribly unattractive or repugnant, in fact he was probably moderately good looking back in his youth, but George has long sacrificed personal appearance for diligent duty to the Museum he has called home for close to 20 years.  He's sacrificed his marriage, and any truly close relationship he might have with his two children.  His ex-wife doesn't mind too much; after all, George is helping to put their daughter through John Carroll University, and their younger son is enrolled in one of the areas most prestigious elementary schools.

It is this workaholic, self-sacrificing, anything-for-the-cause attitude which probably led Simone to first ghouling George Ross many years ago.  For George the museum wasn't just a feather in his cap, a shiny jewel to polish, or a hobby to while away the hours and dump in surplus dollars.  For George, the Museum has always been something to truly and legitimately care about.  He was one of the most vigorous proponents of the new massive (and massively expensive) renovation that has swept the Museum for the past three years.  While not a true curator, George is always scouting for the latest exhibitions to bring to the attention of the other officials.  He has poured his life, his heart, and his soul into this museum.  And he has damned all other consequences.

But of course, a man does get lonely...

"Simone," he says with a wide and rather happy smile.  "I wish I could ask to what I owe the pleasure, but I'm afraid I know the unfortunate reason for your visit."  If the news has been caught up with the theft of the priceless Van Gogh painting at the museum, one can only imagine the fury and furor that has swept through the halls of the establishment itself.  Walking through the Museum's corridors, even this late after hours, Simone could likely feel the palpable tension strung through the air like high tension wire.  

--Last edited by Killer Rabbitt on 2009-07-24 00:22:54 --

'Never fear, George, while unfortunate the tragic loss of the Van Gogh has nothing to do with your hands.'

Tension is second nature for a Harpy. Of course its much easier to ignore when its of your own creation, directed at some hapless neonate or a rival who has finally dropped their guard. My body language would portray that this is a purely social call. I give George a reassuring smile and slip by close enough for him to smell my perfume before I take a seat right at his desk. I cant help but notice he has had the same picture of his children up for the last six years. His daughter must be in her twenties and his son is certainly no toddler; yet here they are; smiling on a swingset. It used to bother me that I probably had a hand in that strained development but lately it seems George would have ended up as he is even without my intervention in his life...

'Whats done is done, I am here to find a solution.'

I sound like such an optomist sometimes. Its not about the painting- I dont particularly care for the one eared psychopaths work. But; I cant help but take this as a personal attack. There are a million scenarios in my head, everything from a rouge kindred to Conrad paying someone off just to snipe me.

'I wish to make an anonymous donation to be posted as a reward for information on our little intruder. I will put up twenty thousand dollars, to get us some extra eyes.'

George's jaw practically drops.  His mouth works silently for a moment before he's finally able to force words out.  

"Twenty...twenty thousand?  The police are already offering a reward for any information.  None has been forthcoming.  The security officers were questioned, and none of them had any other knowledge...they passed their polygraph tests."  The "inside job" theory was the best lead anyone had to the mysterious crime.  But after multiple interrogations and lie detector tests, each of the guards came up clean.  Three officers were sacked anyways -- someone had to take the fall -- and the Museum was now looking for a new security director.

"Personally, if you ask me," George says, leaning in and lowering his voice to a whisper as if some hidden ears might actually be listening in on the conversation in his office, "I think it was a group deal.  Like that 'Italian Job' or 'Ocean's 11'.  I think it was a whole bunch of professionals, working together, who pulled it off.  And we aren't ever going to find them."

My eyes light in either amusement or sympathy. If George has kept his sense of humor through this whole mess than I will retain hope. I still chide him, gently:

'George you watch too many movies.'

I tick one manicured nail off his chin before vacating his chair gracefully and putting a few feets distance beetween us- In a roundabout way George has given me an idea.

'But you have a point. The reward offered publically would be reduntant. You have done the right thing in letting a few of the officers take the fall. When I find the real thief I will let you know, perhaps, over dinner?'

I do not say If, I say when. George will surely pick up on my certainty. I also know with certainty that when I offer to see him outside of the museum, George will be there. I dont need to hear his answer, I am out the door in a flash having taken a complete one-eighty on this whole situation.

George cant help me further, I have a Brujah to see.

George was about to make a comment about being serious on his "group job" theory.  But his jaw was left hanging open, the words hanging unspoken in his mouth as Simone twirls out of the room.  Simone may not have revealed all the truth of her secret nature to George, but the boardman knows enough that there is something quite special about the mysterious woman.  He also knows that there are secret avenues she has access to that he can't even begin to imagine.  When she makes such a serious claim, he has to believe her.  And that belief, coupled with Simone's personal promise, turns that hanging jaw into a growing smile.