An elegant woven basket lined with ivory silk cradles rare white peaches, champagne grapes, and sliced starfruit. Gold-leafed figs rest at the center like jeweled offerings. A slender bottle of vintage ice wine leans gently among the fruit, completing the indulgent display. There is a postcard with a picture of Las Vegas, it reads as follows:
To any Malkavian understanding is a currency, and I don't believe I owe any of you an explanation. Perhaps I am feeling charitable.
I have been under attack by fellow members of this Praxis, I had to pivot resources away from helping the Nosferatu and defending the
Praxis. It occurs to me that my influence is of no use to the Praxis if I must constantly watch my back and defend myself from those
who call me an ally to my face.
My greatest sin, and it is an enormous one, my conscience does not accuse me of anything? Perhaps after some reflection I will be able
to see things as you do in this city.
