Xaer's God

Tristan gives the guy a pat on the shoulder and sends him home, "Well, if I could eye you like that, maybe you should stay inside too. Don't need a cop checking you out just for the way you look, ya know?" He continues into the warehouse.

The warehouse is as you left it, though you imagine pigs have been strolling through it a lot recently. Shame, you liked this place.
Wait, one thing's different. A cop's left a cigarette butt on the ground. Littering. In your warehouse. That's terrible.

Tristan finds a place to lay down and relax for a little while, wondering if one of the guys will drop by.

You chill on a box, and let the time fly. No one comes by.
You're starting to get sleepy. And hungry. Maybe you can eat a pillow, and get the best of both worlds.

Tristan, depressed that no one showed up, decides to head out and find a place to eat. A tad tired of his older choices, he searches for a not-so-shitty grill to eat from.

6:30, cloudy. You've heard good things about the Backyard Grill. Takes you a few extra minutes to find it, but there it is. Bit north of downtown. Good number of people here, though it's not full.

Tristan heads inside and orders a burger.

The waitress takes your order. Or at least you think she did, you were too busy enjoying the view. Mark of a quality establishment, they've hired fanservice for your enjoyment.

Once the waitress has walked off with his order, Tristan takes the time to look around him and wonder if any of the other patrons are from rival gangs or possibly hunters. He reminds himself what part of the city he is in while looking around.

Nah, this is a bit of a nicer place around here. It's a bit north of downtown, but in such a place where you're more like to find college students and businessmen slow to get back home than anything else. Costs a tad more, but that goes towards getting a much nicer atmosphere.

Tristan waits for his order to come in while watching the other patrons.

The other patrons are a smorgasbord of mediocrity. Bikers, students, hambeasts, you name it. Nothing that looks magical or out to murder you. You like that, it's been a bit of a luxury as of late.
Drink and burger comes back. Greasy meat of doom, hooray!

Tristan digs in to his new meal, thinking fiery thoughts for a moment, then decides he needs to consider new hardware. "day one and laying low is driving me nuts..." After finishing eating he pays for the meal and walks back to his car, lighting up a cigarette with a light thumb, and stands outside his car thinking of if he knows anyplace to get some good guns, and placed to get thick metal sheets. Maybe a place to bullet proof stuff as well.

You don't know about bulletproofing, but there's a few gun stores over on the east side. You don't market in the unreputable ones, though, so you're not sure if they'd be open this late. Something about bothering gun owners at sunset fills your mind with someone stuffing a gun in your face and telling you to go home.
Hmm. Maybe you should shop other places, if thinking of the shopkeeps gives you such images. Not like they'd be able to shoot you if you didn't want them to, but still, that'd probably cause problems doing such things around the muggles.

Tristan breathes deep the nicotine from his cigarette, finishing it and then tossing it into the street. He opens his car door and then sits inside, turning the ignition and feeling the life of fire spark from his car. He puts his foot on the gas, and drives around town for a bit. After a while he drives back to the scorched up hunter den and checks his cell phone for messages.

The den is still scorched, though now there's a yellow police line around it. Your mind has hunches, hunches that this police line thing isn't actually put up by the police. Probably other hunters trying to keep the riffraff out.
No messages. Silly lack of popularity. You've murdered many people in the past few days, what does it take to get someone to talk to you?!

Tristan hangs up the phone, and makes sure he has his chain. He then searches for one of those gold watches and makes sure he has one. After that he stands up and walks past the police line, trying to stay out of sight of man or camera. He walks toward the door to the hunter lair and listens.

No good, the thing is too thick. You'd have to open it(provided it's not locked), and that would most certainly make noise(silly thick metal doors). At the very least, you're pretty sure no one saw you.

Tristan sits there for a moment and breathes carefully grasping the watch with his left hand. He opens the door as little and as quietly as possible to first listen in.