Of all places in HVN, Vasile's office was the only one to retain the protection of privacy once an angel awaiting trial was admitted for deliberation. The cloak over the club which provided all who entered anonymity and freedom from holy and unholy onlookers wasn't surrendered gleefully, but with the negotiation that Vasile's office was off-limits for the heavenly army above to peek in on. Thus, for the majority of the three weeks Malik had spent residing in HVN, Vasile spent most of his time in his office. away from the angels prying eyes and hidden especially away from some of the demonic employees he found fairly obnoxious to deal with, though it didn't keep everyone out.

"And how's the angel's stay going?" Reeva said, standing before Vasile's long wooden desk. It had a classic look to it, thick, heavy, and hand-carved in dark wood. It matched the built-in bookshelves stacked with literature and history books, culture and photography where barely any space given to knickknacks of decoration. A couple of plush chairs sat in front of the desk for guests to use, but Reeva rarely made a habit of getting comfortable when he visited. "Did he like the party?"

Vasile leaned back in his desk chair, arms crossed, eyes focused on a shelf which contained historical books covering the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Underneath were books detailing the end of Constantinople and every large and small skirmish to take place with the benefit of being recorded. Based on Vasile's experiences, many were not. "About what you would expect."

"So he fell just a little bit further then?" Reeva pressed her hands into the desk and leaned across it. Her stare bore into him, even if he wouldn't look at her.

"What you'd expect, not what you'd hope."

"As long as he's in a good mood."

"I didn't realize he was considered some kind of a VIP." Vasile rubbed his brow to soothe the mild throbbing.

"He's not particularly important, but he is a connection to an important ally. You don't want to piss off the angels, Vasile." Reeva crossed the room to a shelf beside the desk; the titles gave the impression they were memoirs.

"And that matters... Why?" Vasile leaned back and his chair reclined slightly.

Reeva turned away from the bookshelf and toward Vasile. Crossing her arms, she pursed her lips and scrutinized Vasile. His bad posture, his heavy brow, he looked very much like the young man he'd died as, the centuries giving only a little bit of age to his otherwise youthful face. "I know you have a thing about angels—"

"If not liking them is considered a thing—"

"Many creatures don't like angels. You're not special in that regard. They tend to be stand-offish, harsh, emotionless twats—"

"And you say you want to remain on good terms with them? You're not an angel. You're not a human, though, that wouldn't help them to care about you. You're the type of creature they sneer about when your back is turned if they acknowledge your type at all." The edge of Vasile's lip curled up into a slight smirk.

Reeva held up her finger as if to silence Vasile. "You don't have to like them. You don't even have to like Malik—"

A couple of knocks echoed off the office door. "Vasile, it's me, Malik," Malik said through the door.

"I know what you sound like, Malik," Vasile said.

Reeva looked down at Vasile with pursed lips that soon curled into a smile. She walked around the back of the desk and trailed her fingers up his arm, his shoulder, and into his hair. "Just don't give him anything to take home and complain about."

"What does that mean, exactly, Reeva?" Vasile tilted his head to watch her, but as the tips of her fingers dwindled through his hair and down his cheek, she disappeared. Her shoes clicked against the floor, but where she had disappeared and how she had left had been too subtle to follow.

"I thought your message said you were in your office..." Malik's voice came through the door. "Maybe I was mistaken..."

Vasile walked across the room and opened the office door. Malik straightened, immediately drawing his eyes from the tablet in his hands. The screen displayed the message link between the two of them.

Malik's eyes jumped down to the screen and back up to Vasile quickly. "Yes, it does say you were in the office."

"And now we're not," Vasile stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him. Once it was closed, he locked it and headed for the elevators. "You made the call?"

"Yes." The words came out less certain than Malik meant. "She said she would send me a message when she arrived."

"Good." From the elevator, they went to Vasile's floor, Vasile's loft, the only home on the floor. Designed for optimal privacy, there was only one entrance in the front hall. Vasile's home had a very similar appearance to his office. There wasn't a lot in Vasile's room, though it wasn't barren. He liked to keep his things organized and classic without falling prey to the disgusting trend of modernism. Dark stained wood, golden accents, everything hand-carved as opposed to the mass machine carving and means of cheap furniture making of the current era that made most home furnishings appear cheap, tacky, and too much like a child's dormitory. Some of the others at HVN might've been completely happy living on cheap, generic furniture, but if Vasile had to look at it, he was going to make it worth looking at.

Vasile walked through the entryway and into the larger part of his apartment. A couch and a couple of plush chairs big enough for two sat around a large television screen. There wasn't a bedroom in Vasile's home, but an open space where the bedroom attached to the kitchen and the living room. The bathroom and closet were separate, closed off with a door that may have hidden anything else he wouldn't wish his guests to see. There were two doors to the closet. One from the bathroom and one from the larger room, near his bed.

Vasile loosened his shirt cuffs as he walked toward his bed. "How have preparations gone for the special dinner?"

"All plans have been verified and performers are rehearsing," Malik said, holding a silver tablet in front of him, his eyes glanced over the screen momentarily then back up.

"Performers?" Vasile turned around when he reached the bed and sat down on the edge. "Is that what you're calling them now?"

"They are performing."

Vasile slipped his finger in his tie's knot and loosened it, gently tugging the silk down. "That's not the only thing they're doing."

Malik partially turned away but didn't say anything.

Pursing his lips for a moment, Vasile slipped his shoes off then his socks and dropped the socks into his shoes. He glanced toward the closet, then to Malik then the shoes again. "Malik." Vasile picked up his shoes and held them out. "Put these away." He wiggled the black shoes causing the heels and toes to tap without coordination.

Without hesitation, Malik set the tablet down on a chest at the foot of Vasile's bed and took the shoes. He entered Vasile's closet, put the shoes in the appropriate cubby, and dropped the socks in the appropriate laundry bin with the other dark clothing. When he came out of the closet, Malik returned to the chest and picked up his tablet and stood in a closer distance to Vasile.

"And plans for the masquerade?" Vasile said.

"Everything has been ordered. It should all arrive within the week and we will be building after dinner."

"And tomorrow, there's a meeting with a potential client."

"Yes," Malik said. He tapped through the screen until the calendar appeared which connected to Vasile's personal calendar, minus a couple of things Vasile didn't particularly care to share with the angel. Overall, both their calendars showed client meetings, dinners, various events held at HVN, some visits being made by special guests, and when packages would arrive. Every so often an event would appear on a random day titled, "Vasile's birthday." Vasile wasn't interested in telling Malik the date of his birth, granted, time was kept slightly different in the current era and place than in Rome, but it had been a long time since Vasile had been human and the Birthday was an overly sappy relic of something he never practiced. When the birthday event would appear, Vasile deleted it and would inform Malik that date had no significance. After the first time, it seems Malik turned it into a sort of guessing game, slipping a new birthday on the calendar every week. Vasile wasn't entirely sure if Malik actually cared, had become bored, or was attempting to mess with him in whatever holy way angels could.

Vasile's fingers slide down his vest, plucking at the buttons one by one. When the silk vest falls open, he moves onto the buttons underneath.

"Are you changing?" Malik said.

Vasile's shirt hung open, exposing his bare chest, a form matured with time, but not with age. Vasile slid the vest down his arms then his shirt off with it. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"You have a woman coming."

Vasile stared at Malik with eyebrows raised. "You mean the feeder?" Cocking his head to the side, he smiled at Malik. His formal shirt dropped down his arms. Vasile caught the clothing as it fell and walked to Malik, extending it toward him.

Again, Malik laid the tablet down on the chest and took the shirt and vest from Vasile. "She's a guest. We're entertaining a guest. You already look nice, why would you change if you're expecting someone?"

"She's getting paid." Vasile went to his dresser and withdrew a loose, gray, long-sleeved shirt and slipped it on. "We aren't entertaining. She's here for work and I'm going to be comfortable while I feed."

"I suppose I imagined it differently. Since I've only seen you drink from the bags up until now, I thought maybe you had forgotten someone was coming and they would see you—"

"What do I care what they think?" Vasile unbuckled his belt and his pants fell to the floor. He grabbed a pair of cotton pants from the dresser and pulled them on. Picking up his slacks, he handed them to Malik. 

As Malik took them, his eyes locked with Vasile's. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I thought it might be different from drinking from a bag though. It's a person who can talk to you and see you and whose vitals someone has to monitor so they aren't put in danger — I would think." Malik went to the closet. With the light turned on, he set the clothing down, examining each piece for a need to wash them. The pants went into the hamper, the shirt went into the hamper, but the vest went on the hanger and placed with the others.

Vasile sat on the edge of his bed again and leaned back and his eyes wandered down his own body, looking at his clothes. "You think I look like a slob?"

Malik came out of the closet, flicking the light off as he left. He stopped immediately and stared at Vasile from the doorway. Arms apart and behind him, pressed into the bed. His legs comfortably wide open. "You don't look like a slob." Malik turned away with the tablet in front of him. "You look comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Vasile grinned. "Is that good enough for a feeder?"

"If you think so."

"They're getting paid. You don't need to entertain them. I don't need to dress up." Vasile falls back on the bed, letting his legs hang over the edge.

Malik stood in the closet door for a short while, watching Vasile, the way he laid out on the bed, the way he relaxed into the bed, and closed his eyes. Malik walked past the bed in quick strides. He picked up his tablet and turned toward the door, though he didn't move for escape immediately. He looked down at the tablet screen, at the name on the calling card for the feeder, and the classification that she was a feeder. There were a handful of them in the contact list. Malik had never contacted any of them before. Instead, it seemed like they sometimes received invitations to the monthly soiree. As the nights wound down, Vasile disappeared into his room with someone and at first, Malik thought it had been for sexual intimacy, but the morning after his first soiree clean up and Malik had a brief conversation with the woman he lead out.

Malik's finger slid against the screen, running over each person who fell into Vasile's 'Feeder' category. They each had a mark on them for the last time they were used to be fed upon and the date on one of them aligned with the night of the last party. "Have you ever overeaten?" Malik turned toward the bed.

"Hm?"

"Have you ever..." Malik glanced toward the screen. A face, a name, and contact information displayed. Underneath it was more: blood type, emergency contacts, last visitation. "Overeaten?"

Vasile pushed up into a sit, leaning back on his elbows. "Intentionally or unintentionally?"