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You kill about half of your bourbon and rise from the booth again, bringing the glass with you. He still isn't in the bar, and so you make your way to the bathroom in the back.
When you enter, it's in its typical state of disrepair, with one stall zip-tied shut, crack tiles, and sharpie graffiti on walls and mirrors. One of those mirrors is being stared into intently by someone you don't recognize. Yet, at the same time, very unfortunately, you do.
On the surface, he's a young man, maybe in his mid twenties, a few inches shorter than yourself, with a pale complexion and some light cyberware - some dermal implants on the face, optic enhancements that give his irises a purple hue. His hair is shaved on the sides and styled into a messy kind of mullet, dyed pink on top. There are tattoos on his neck, and on the hands with which he is white-knuckle gripping the edge of the sink he is leaning over. The kid is wearing an orange and black hoodie with biker pants. He doesn't react immediately to your presence.
But this is just a <span class="mu-g">Mask.</span>
To the mortals outside, it is totally convincing. But to your fae eyes, the illusion is only partial, and you are able to see the pink panther beneath it.
Vincent suffers from several compulsive and delusional behaviors, one of which is a severe case of <span class="mu-s">Multiple Personality Disorder.</span> It began some years ago with just a couple of alters, but eventually another manifested. You were aware that a couple more had surfaced even more recently, and you haven't met them all. Each one has its own separate Mask. Vincent is fully convinced that they are all real, separate people, outside of himself, and what's more, that they are all accomplices in his criminal enterprise.
He has become a one man heist crew running on delusions and hallucination.
Curiously, they do seem to sometimes know things, or possess certain skills, which to your (not insignificant) knowledge, Vincent does not himself.
>Cont'd
