Discussions After Dark (A general RP thread in Elysium)

*Night has once more fallen on Manchester and the relative warmth of evening has brought many of the kine out into the streets. In addition to the Quick, the Dead also have also left their homes and, in illustrate the point, we find Mr. Andrew MacGregor seated calmly in the Elysium instead of his "lair". With his black derby on the table before him and his trademark long coat folded neatly over a chair next to him, in front of him we see three items:

A deck of cards. Bicycle brand. Blue back.

A small notebook. Composition style. Old blue elastic band holding a bic pen to it.

A small pocketwatch. Chaise silver. Attached chain. Some sort of engraving on the back.

His chair, we should add, is on the right corner of the table the Prince and his Court normally occupy. Not on the side where they sit mind you, but politely on the edge closest to the wall. He simply sits passively almost as if he were a statue and not someone waiting for social interaction*

*As time passes, the Mekhet takes the pocket watch in hand. He breathes against the silver backing, willing his blood to the area around his lungs so that the air is warm, steam coating the metal in a thin layer of moisture. Carefully, he rubs it against the soft edge of his black vest before setting it down in front of him gently, angling it to rest against the notebook. Seemingly satisfied that it won't waver or fall, he takes the deck of cards in hand and begins to idly rifle the deck with the edge of his thumb, eyes still locked and facing forward. Occasionally, his lips seem to move somewhat, though the only thing that can be heard is the rhythmic sound of cards flipping forward after being bent back*

::Entering, Kyle takes note of the Scotsman. A thought ran through the Gangrel's head- It was odd, how the values of the two matched up from time to time, despite being born decades and thousands of miles apart. He walks over and tips his NASCAR hat.::

"Evenin. How goes your adjustin to the times?"

*For a moment, there's just that noise. Cards being flipped by the thumb of his left hand though his unblinking eyes are set on Booth. A smile almost seems to take hold for a moment as he stops, the deck bent slightly*

Ten of Diamonds...

*Before confusion can truly take hold MacGregor gently taps the pocket watch that is standing to the right of the deck. In the mirrored surface the edge of the ten of diamonds can barely be seen reflected in its' surface. His eyes never seem to see it. They just watch the southerner, the blue iris' flickering occasionally*

Workin' on mae peripheral vision, Mr. Booth. Old trick mae Captain used tae teach. You stop on a card an' try tae see what it is on a surface. We had this fella, I swear he could have his eyes closed and still tell ye how many fingers ye were holdin' up behind his back.

*For a moment, he seems almost lost, the ghost of memories and mortal feeling passing over his features. It passes quickly, to be replaced by that almost unnerving serenity he seems to display in Court*

In answer to yer question, it's...slow gowin'. There's just so much that I cannae fathom about these nights. The kine...even the other Damned...seem to be utterly oblivious to the miracles that surround them. Talkin' to others a world apart. Moving pictures that talk just like real people. An' everythin' is so...*he seems to ponder for a moment before choosing his next word. It carries a trace of wonder*...clean, Mr. Booth. Everyone, everythin'. It's all so clean. There's no filth an' grime. Not as I understand 'em anyway. Used to be ye'd walk down the streets of the Five Points an' have tae worry about someone unloadin' a chamber pot on yer head. Now...even the poorest of men lacks boils or festerin' gums. No homeless folk dead in a gutter.

*He begins to gather the watch to him and gently, reverently, coils the chain around it before slipping it into the interior lining of his coat. The deck and notebook he leaves there*

I'd think God had taken all into his bosom if not for the Sin. That's the truly terrifyin' part to mae, I think. All this wealth. All this comfort. All this fortune an' still the kine and kindred seek to cheat and steal and fuck and kill each other for the basest of reasons. Spoiled is the word for it...He gave them all the life he couldn't give his own Son and still it isn't enough for 'em. An' the damndest part of it all is, He still loves them. Even though most don't really believe in 'im. Some even hate him. But though they squander away all the splendor of the world He made with the lives He gave them, He still welcomes them Home should they prove worthy of it. He still Forgives them if they but ask, even if they aren't.

*For a second he's quiet. Still. When he speaks again the tone is distant*

It's enough to try the Faith and Fortitude of any Man, livin' or dead, Mr. Booth.

*He switches tone, back to the normally empty one of his casual conversation*

Who was your sire, Mr. Booth? Tell mae about 'im, if it isn't too private a matter to discuss.

:Kyle's mouth twitches in a smile.::

"It ain't all clean an purty, y'know. Down south, there's some places that ain't nothin but shacks with outhouses. But I get whacha mean. My guess is that we're still kinda like normal people. We just get super powers. We still got the same tendency to hate 'n kill each other. We just live longer."

::He sits, leaning back in the chair.::

"My sire's name is Jacob Eames. Old feller. He might pre-date you by a hunnerd years or so. He was kinda an odd guy too. He said that god made the world and left it, an' we gotta find our own way. Now, I don't necessarily hold to all that crap about God just walkin away an such, but the makin our own way... yeah, that kinda resonates a bit with me. The more you can do for yerself, the better."

::He looks over.::

"You?"