"That's good, that's good, Agad the Imperishable," Ward says. "There's a lot that we can get done together that will benefit us both."
You set your jaw and give him a hard look. "I never said I'd be joining the Anarchs." You've been comfortable near the peak of Ottawa's Camarilla society for too long to seriously entertain joining the Rabble. But if Ward is telling the truth about your mind being tampered with, you're willing to listen to what he has to say.
Ward rubs a thumb over the glass surface of his watch unconsciously. Even an untrained neonate could tell that he's on a timeframe here. "I wouldn't think of my request as 'joining the Anarchs,' per se," he says. "Anarchs aren't an organization. We're an idea. You can help us build on that idea, but it's bigger than any of us. There are no membership cards, no official dogma. Be your own man." The words sound rehearsed, but the look in his eyes says he believes in the product he's selling.
"Enough of this shit," Sevinc says, cutting off Ward's speech. "We don't have time for the big sell." She looks at you. "I honestly don't care whether you work with us long-term or not. Camarilla like you are reliable for one reason: you're selfish, and you'll do anything you can to maintain your comfortable existence. You want to keep your head? Maybe learn what's locked away in there while you're at it." She taps her forehead and clicks her tongue mockingly. "Work with us."