The pale light of the moon shining in from a nearby window turned the Prince's medium length golden hair silver; it seemed to sap the color from his skin until it was pale as parchment, but his eyes glowed with youthful vigor-- the fire of revolution. Despite his title of Prince, and the wealth that came with it, and his gilded, golden surroundings, he'd yet to fully embrace the change. He had a closet full of expensive suits, but he chose to wear a black leather jacket overtop of a unbuttoned white shirt, and a pair of faded jeans tucked into boots. The barely concealed disapproval of the Primogen Council fueled his desire to keep up his small rebellion as long as possible. He's still a Brujah, after all. Rebellion is in his blood.

A large oak desk sits in the center of the room, documents scattered across it's surface. So full they threated to fall onto the floor. Night after night, new reports were flooding in. It seemed every few moments a Courier was arriving, and then scampering off again into the night after delivering some piece of crucial information to his Ghoul, Romero. Who then dropped it off for Orion with a small quip to try and ease the Prince's mood. It didn't work, but the Prince appreciated it nonetheless.

Kindred were going missing, which at first seemed like nothing-- the Kindred are nothing if not secretive, after all. But it was more than missing-- their domains were being abandoned in droves, and rumors swirl around the city about howling in the night. A feeling of being hunted.

Orion's full lips twist into a frown, as he reads one of the more recent reports. Followed the trail to a warehouse Downtown, didn't find any body. Did find a pool of blood. Bloody paw prints led away from the warehouse. Bigger than any dog's I've seen.