"So...what's exactly yer place in this city?"

*Gaelic* “Apprentice of the 5th circle of mysteries of the Warlocks. I was never one to collect political power. There are people who are good at what they do and I just let them do it. I think what I’m mainly known for is when stuff gets sticky. You can call me for a hand and I help take care of the situation. I’m not your typical warlock because I was dragged into the clan for my Druidic knowledge and my mastery of botany."

"I think also by my general presence that I’m kind of the unofficial ear of the clan. Honestly, most of my clan are socially retarded, at least that’s what I’ve noticed over the last hundred years. They either have a threatening presence or just seem to have a rod up their ass. That’s never been my way, I’d rather just talk and be friendly to everyone, not judging on how the interaction is going to make me look."

"I guess with my personality it gives anyone in the city an option to deal with us or just avoid us because of past stereotypes that supposedly define the warlocks. Is this what happens to a Tremere when they are embraced? Are we doomed to fight with all the clan indefinitely? When all are equal and damn clan names were just getting in the away of actually getting shit done.  I don’t really care about my place in this city but I do care about trying to make this place more open.”

"It's all politics, and as I said I d'nae get meself into politics.  I really don't care about the clans -- what they mean, what they're supposed to signify.  It don't matter, really.  Like as not there are more people who break the stereotype than fit into it."

“I understand and respect your views. You asked, so I answered without obfuscating my words. I have learned over the years that it’s better for me to go with politics because it equals survival. My ideals are only valid to myself and I’m sorry if I tried to force my opinion down your throat. You deserve better than that, but it is worth pointing out that there is always some underling truth to stereotypes.”

I look at my watch and call the bar man over to pay my tab. I give him an extra 50 for his quick pour and his clean taps. “I do not mean any disrespect but I’ve got to go. If you want my card, the offer still stands. If you decline, it will not hurt my feelings, so no pressure. I know if I need to talk to you I can hunt you down here but if you don’t want to see this big political fool just be honest.”

I chuckle little bit. “I have no problem disappearing so that you can continue to have peaceful evenings here at Thorns in future. You got any last word before I bail? I have plants that need to be fed at night and I can’t let them go hungry. I know it’s stupid reason but that’s just life”  

She shrugs.  "Sure what the hell, won't hurt havin' a piece of cardboard in me pocket."  She takes the card out of his hand and puts it in her pocket.

As the big man leaves, Deirdre returns to the stage.  She plays another set of three or four songs.  Mostly covers, and a few old songs she's been singing for years.  The crowd seems to pretty well enjoy it, and by the time Deirdre is finished for the night, the blood is figuratively pumping through her.  But the tall Kindred's words earlier in the evening leave a pall over her.  The groupies flock around her at the bar, throwing out compliments and praises about how they just looooved her tonight, really shouldn't she put this place behind her and head out to LA or New York?  But she's pre-occupied as she pretends to nurse a Guinness.  She brushes off the various clubbers' attempts to get in her pants and draw her back to their beds.  No, really she's too tired, maybe some other time.  Eventually, about an hour passes, and only the last few die-hards who are too drunk to leave remain.  Morris, the tender, calls cabs for them, and then begins the task of closing up the bar for the night.