"SER ICHABOD BUNDY CRANE, the Maester of Coin. Minister of COLONY, third in command to the Governor." Eotigan read from a loose pamphlet that detailed the upper echelons of the island's bourgeoisie. He supposed scrolls like this came with renting out the penthouse of a posh hotel. You got privy information about the who's who of the land. Eotigan tossed the script, remarking on the stoic mug of Ichabod on it, "what a fuckin' sod!"
Inaia and Thyra were still glued to each other, laughing their voices out. It wasn't the way their sire, Eotigan had utterly disgraced the Maester short moments ago that made them quake, but the hilarious look on the man's idiot face when he'd discovered he was cradling his bat fangs in his hand, his oiled beard dripping blood.
Ichabod Crane had dashed out of there with vampire speed. He couldn't feel half his face.
