"Well, isn't this posh?" snorted Anahandros sarcastically, trailing fingertips down a concrete wall. "You'd think Princey-boy could do better. Whoever the fuck he is."

"One of these days, someone's going to decide that you being insane isn't excuse for your mouth, Anahandros, and just caps your ass."

"They've tried. Don't you remember? Or should we add 'senile' to 'stupid' in our little list of adjectives?"

"You keep little lists now? 'Hey, other personality, don't forget to buy us shoes?'"

Anahandros glared up at the Nosferatu. "Fuck you."

"Score one for Nossy-boy!" crowed one of their guides. Recker had to grab Anahandros and restrain him from jumping the loud-mouth Brujah.

"Let go! I'm going to rip his fucking heart out!" Recker pinned the Malkavian's arms down, holding him tight despite the smaller vampire's squirming attempts to escape.

Hoisting Anahandros of his feet, Recker glared at Marks. "Well? Are we going?"

"That… door, there…" Marks couldn't take his eyes of the struggling, cursing vampire. "So… he's like psychotic, too?"

Recker grunted as Anahandros landed a kick to his stomach. "What? No… he's just pissy. Stop that!" Sulking, the Malkavian finally subsided, half-tucked under Recker's arm.

"You can put me down now."

"Probably."

"… asshole."

Unnerved, Will spoke up again in an attempt to placate the volatile Malkavian. "You'll like the Prince. He's a Malkavian, too."

Picking himself up off the floor where Recker had dropped him in front of the door, Anahandros spared another glare. "He's a Malkavian," he mocked. "What, you think that us all being insane makes us all friends? That, since we've all got our little 'issues' as you said earlier, that we all 'like' each other?"

"Anahandros, you don't like anyone. You're a bastard like that." Recker pulled open the door. "Just try to remember this is Elysium."

"Oh, go suck sewage. I'll do whatever the Hell I want," Anahandros grumbled, following Recker into a surprisingly well-appointed room, a stark contrast to the bare concrete hallway they'd left.

The floor was expensive plush rugs arranged over hardwood, the music the muffled pounding of bass from the club upstairs. Small clumps of vampires and ghouls stood or sat. In the corner farthest from both the door and the staircase, a larger group clustered around a lean figure lounging in a chair. One of them, utterly forgetful in cookie-cutter suits and of indeterminate clan, was arguing with the seated figure. Or trying to.

The seated vampire was ignoring the others, watching the newcomers with hooded eyes. Lean, with dark, slicked-back hair, and the lazy grace of a born predator, he had a particular gleam in his eyes. That odd intensity, that makes the subject of his regard want to run gibbering.

Andan, Recker thought.

"But we can't just gamble everything on a…" the socialite cut off as Recker approached, Anahandros trailing after. Recker bowed deeply, shooting Anahandros a glare that the Malkavian ignored, busy pretending fascination with a tabletop. Stupid bastard's going to get himself killed…and me, too.

"So, stranger, what do you think? If a delusion becomes real, is it still a delusion?" The prince's voice was deep and smooth, tinged with a dark amusement.

Damn Malkavians… How the Hell am I supposed to know? "If it's real, it, by definition, isn't a delusion," he ventured. Behind him, he could hear Anahandros fumbling for another cigarette. Goddamn fucking Malkavians…He went back over everything he'd been able to learn about Andan. Not much… Damn 'Zian throwing that little fit, insisting we come right now. Like the world was going to end if we waited a few nights for me to get a feel for the place. Hears voices… throws tantrums that tend to get people killed. What else? Goddamn stupid fucking Malkavians.

"This is all well and good, but a… delusion… isn't a reason to waste our resources, or make decrees." Mr. Socialite doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut… Recker noted, seeing Prince Andan's eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Mr. Socialite and a few of his buddies twitched when Anahandros stuck a match, carefully lighting his cigarette. "Just because it's a fucking delusion doesn't mean it's not real. Fuck, is stupidity contagious, or do you just have a high concentration of it here?"

Recker damn near swallowed his fangs. Note to self: If we survive this, teach Anahandros what NOT to say to the Prince.

Andan, at least, seemed amused. "Indeed."

Recker bowed again. "My companion is Anahandros, of Clan Malkavian. I'm known as Recker, recently arrived from New York."

"My, looky Pasil, a Nosferatu who doesn't see the need to name his clan." Andan twisted partly around to give the Nosferatu behind him a sardonic look. Turning back to Recker, he smirked. "Amazing. Someone who knows my clan and doesn't immediately assume I'm an idiot."

Giving his own Malkavian companion a glare, Recker replied, "I've learned that Malkavians are rarely stupid, no matter how much they pretend otherwise, or how ever deranged, psychotic, and infuriating they act."

Anahandros snorted a laugh. "I'm not psychotic. You said so yourself not two minutes ago, Nossy-boy."

"My mistake. No matter how deranged, sociopathic, antisocial, schizophrenic, delusional, and pissing-ass infuriating."

"There you go."

0-0-0-0-0-0

A/N so it's short. 'Zian'll be turning up again here soon… ditto with the Ventrue…

My spell check keeps trying to change "nosferatu" to "nonfat"