The Council chamber's muted lighting bathes the room and its occupants in a warm off-white fog as the crowd bristles with anticipation. They gather in small knots of threes and fours, weaving rumor and insinuation twisted into the webs of boastful storytelling. Many of these Kindred haven't seen each other in years, and in the age of the Second Inquisition such a gathering is rare indeed, and such rarities are not to be squandered.
Corliss clearly didn't want to hold anything back. If there had been any doubt that she planned to proclaim her right to ascendancy this evening, it vanished the moment you saw the "blood bouquets." Clusters of mesmerized mortals have been arranged at regular intervals throughout the room, suspended from the ceiling and tied together with black velvet rope in groups of three. Glistening taps sprout from their arteries providing access to slow drips of blood from the carotid in the neck down to the femoral artery on the thighs.
Beneath each dangling cluster stands a wooden table studded with crystal shot glasses for sampling small quantities of the vintage at hand while minimizing the risk of death by exsanguination. Each mortal has been clothed in lavish finery, the blood taps protruding through carefully designed holes sewn in the cloth specially for the event. The clothing provides hints as to their particular backgrounds and auras for those Kindred of more refined appetites. You've never seen anything so extravagant in your un-life and you doubt you ever will again.