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SMOKE HANGS LOW, A NEAR SECOND CEILING within in the bar, shorter demons seem not to notice while taller kin offer the occasional hacking cough. He flicks his own cigarette, ashes falling lazily into tray poised just beneath blue claw tipped fingers, eager to catch tumbling debris. Digital lips offer more smoke to the ether and crimson iris floats over the crowd. Another broadcast complete and another soul to add to his collection, this climb was proving herculean but Vincent was no stranger to adverse conditions. You weren't handed an empire : YOU BUILT ONE.