"And this is Madame Lefurgey, Vidamesse d'Amiens and fellow Toreador," Eve tells Ricky, who instantly holds the Madame's hand gently, and kisses it with wit and charm."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," Ricky says. "How did you come to settle here in Las Vegas?"
"Oh, let me tell you my dear, it was Eve's idea! She was the one who brought me to this paradise on earth!"
"Is that so?" The fledgling looks at his sire with curiosity.
"Madame Lefurgey is being far too kind," Eve replies. "When the Sabbat raided her haven and tailor shops in Budapest - back in 2002, I believe - Mme. Lefurgey became deprived of all good things we, Kindred of the Clan of Roses, are meant to enjoy. Knowing of this tragedy, I invited her to establish herself in Las Vegas and rebuild her business."
"I accepted it without hesitation! Eve's lackeys carried me to her private jet and flew me all the way to here! I was able to open my own boutique at the Forum Shops - convincing the owners to let me open it free of charge was a child's play, thanks to Eve's connections... and, of course, my seductive skills." Mme. Lefurgey winks at the Portuguese vampire, but to no avail. She is good-looking alright, perhaps because of all the make-up and fancy dressing she wears; Ricky, however, is not quite impressed.
Still, he responds courteously. "What a fascinating turn of events, Madame... now, if you will excuse me, my tongue grows dry." With a short bow, Ricky leaves the company of his fellow Toreador and moves towards the "refreshments" table. He takes a fine glass from it and sips its cold, rosewood-hued content - blood, in other words.
"How does it taste like, young one?" Ricky turns around to face a tall woman wearing a white tank top, navy-blue sweat pants and black sneakers. He looks her in the eyes - the eyes of a feline... literally. How come her eye pupils look like a cat's?
"Cold. Dead." Nostalgia transpires through the fledgling's countenance as he continues sipping the musty blood.
"In all my years of unlife, I have never seen a Torrie declare his oath with such humility and seriousness," the woman states. "Are you sure you are one of them?" She looks at Ricky's sire and her French friend, gossiping and giggling without a pause.
"Yes. Their blood runs in mine. We simply have different interests."
The woman tilts her head towards Ricky. "And what are your... 'interests'... young one?"
Despite its charm, the woman's whisper does not affect the fledgling. "That is for me to know and for you to find out... Miss?"
She tilts her head back. "Miss? I don't go as 'Miss', young one. Everyone knows me as 'Sam'. I'm not gonna make an exception out of you."
"So be it. What... 'clan' do you belong to, Sam?"
"The honorable Gangrel. My sire is the Primogen of our clan here in Sin City."
"Indeed? Where is he?"
A voice emerges behind Ricky, filled with gloom and gravity. "Here."