The walls are bending shape
You got a cheshire cat grin
All blurring into one
This place is on a mission
Before the night owl
Before the animal noises
Closed circuit cameras
Before you comatose
Before you run away from me
Before you're lost between the notes
The beat goes round and round
The beat goes round and round
Sinjin's office was a sad, beaten affair. Altough Peccavi by nature was a concrete animal within its construction, dark cherry wood lined the floors and walls of his personal office with a few odd lighting fixtures spreading an unhealthy yellow glow across the space. His desk was some sort of stonework and it was anyone's guess how it was actually brought indoors from the sheer weight of it; the runes carved into it hummed with an old magic, faint and thrumming.
The sinner himself was stationed behind it, a myriad of paperwork spread before him while he considered his options. He was the spider, and he saw each foreign thread curl out before him: Fio Helston, Rebekah, Bath Kol, Fury, and the dead priest. Beyond the desk sat Marcus, calmly observing the same and listening to things past him. "Well?" The Irishman finally asked, surprisingly neutral in tone as he folded his hands below his chin.
"Mm." The Spaniard's eyes fell over the same papers he'd been looking over all week; the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips was, for once, perfectly legitimate. "Do some digging. See what you can find amongst our sources about Fio -- both over and under the table," he decided, hawk brown eyes leveling on the business man. "Whatever you find out, keep it discrete. I don't care how much it costs."
Marcus nodded shortly and without reaction. "And the Setite?"
Sin's expression darkened like a storm cloud, but shifted back to pensive neutrality just as easily. "Hell if I'm getting the Tzimisce involved. Find Kutkh. I don't know if he's in Rhy'din any more, but if he's not, see where he's gotten to and get him back here. I think I'll be needing a shaman if his abilities."
The Irishman frowned. "Kutkh is unpredictable. You're better off with one of the Egy--"
"No." Sin shook his head, frowning. "Can't trust them right now. I'll take Kutkh over them and deal with the consequences." When Marcus had no reply, Sin moved on, shifting restlessly in his seat. "Get a position on Sophie, see if she's found any leads with Bath Kol. I'll try and find Dar, assuming he hasn't simply disappeared.." Which honestly Sin wouldn't put past him. "That's all, Marcus. I'd like you to meet the Helston woman, but that can get put on the backburner for now."
"Very well," Marcus murmured, unfolding himself from the seat. "What of the Church?"
"I'll deal with them myself." Sinjin and the church were never good bedfellows, and despite Fio's inexplicable and frustrating demeanor, the Spaniard was already involved before she even asked him. "Thank you, Marcus."
"Don't," he drawled frankly, and the businessman eased his way out of Sinjin's office, leaving the Spaniard to reflect in solitude. Sin watched him disappear, heard his footsteps echo down the spiral staircase, and closed his eyes. He was the spider, and he saw the strands of thread spread out in front of him, but it was anyone's guess where each thread ended, and if anyone of them ended with his name on a grave.
I never really got there
I just pretended that I had
Words are blunt instruments
Words are sawn off shotguns
You got a cheshire cat grin
All blurring into one
This place is on a mission
Before the night owl
Before the animal noises
Closed circuit cameras
Before you comatose
Before you run away from me
Before you're lost between the notes
The beat goes round and round
The beat goes round and round
Sinjin's office was a sad, beaten affair. Altough Peccavi by nature was a concrete animal within its construction, dark cherry wood lined the floors and walls of his personal office with a few odd lighting fixtures spreading an unhealthy yellow glow across the space. His desk was some sort of stonework and it was anyone's guess how it was actually brought indoors from the sheer weight of it; the runes carved into it hummed with an old magic, faint and thrumming.
The sinner himself was stationed behind it, a myriad of paperwork spread before him while he considered his options. He was the spider, and he saw each foreign thread curl out before him: Fio Helston, Rebekah, Bath Kol, Fury, and the dead priest. Beyond the desk sat Marcus, calmly observing the same and listening to things past him. "Well?" The Irishman finally asked, surprisingly neutral in tone as he folded his hands below his chin.
"Mm." The Spaniard's eyes fell over the same papers he'd been looking over all week; the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips was, for once, perfectly legitimate. "Do some digging. See what you can find amongst our sources about Fio -- both over and under the table," he decided, hawk brown eyes leveling on the business man. "Whatever you find out, keep it discrete. I don't care how much it costs."
Marcus nodded shortly and without reaction. "And the Setite?"
Sin's expression darkened like a storm cloud, but shifted back to pensive neutrality just as easily. "Hell if I'm getting the Tzimisce involved. Find Kutkh. I don't know if he's in Rhy'din any more, but if he's not, see where he's gotten to and get him back here. I think I'll be needing a shaman if his abilities."
The Irishman frowned. "Kutkh is unpredictable. You're better off with one of the Egy--"
"No." Sin shook his head, frowning. "Can't trust them right now. I'll take Kutkh over them and deal with the consequences." When Marcus had no reply, Sin moved on, shifting restlessly in his seat. "Get a position on Sophie, see if she's found any leads with Bath Kol. I'll try and find Dar, assuming he hasn't simply disappeared.." Which honestly Sin wouldn't put past him. "That's all, Marcus. I'd like you to meet the Helston woman, but that can get put on the backburner for now."
"Very well," Marcus murmured, unfolding himself from the seat. "What of the Church?"
"I'll deal with them myself." Sinjin and the church were never good bedfellows, and despite Fio's inexplicable and frustrating demeanor, the Spaniard was already involved before she even asked him. "Thank you, Marcus."
"Don't," he drawled frankly, and the businessman eased his way out of Sinjin's office, leaving the Spaniard to reflect in solitude. Sin watched him disappear, heard his footsteps echo down the spiral staircase, and closed his eyes. He was the spider, and he saw the strands of thread spread out in front of him, but it was anyone's guess where each thread ended, and if anyone of them ended with his name on a grave.
I never really got there
I just pretended that I had
Words are blunt instruments
Words are sawn off shotguns