Generation Gap [Tyresian/Cassandra]

[Cassandra]

Cassandra sat at a large wooden table tucked away in one corner of the building. It was hidden by several rows of the Stacks, the enormous metal bookshelves that filled the Honeymead Library. In her opinion, it was the best spot in Harper Rock - next to the Sanctum, of course. It may not have the blessed presence of the ancient religion's new home, but the volumes and volumes of knowledge held a mystery and comfort of all their own. The place smelled of old paper and dust, somehow silent and welcoming at the same time. They were both places of meditation and understanding. Maybe it was just the carpeting.

Arrayed in front of Cass were several books of differing sizes, shapes and purposes. The biggest was, as usual, the Tome of Stygia, which today had decided to take the form of a college-textbook-sized softcover in deep grey. It lay open to a blank page, signalling to Cass that it had nothing new to reveal to her. It hadn't disclosed anything in days, which just made her all the more curious as to what it was hiding.

Next to it was a blank notepad with a pen resting on top of it. She always brought one around for certain special cases, but it didn't see nearly as much use as the electronic tablet lying next to it. The tablet displayed a word-processing program, and every few moments another line of text would appear on the screen. At a glance, one would think that the process was automated, but that person obviously didn't know the girl sitting in front of it. The lines were actually notes and excerpts from the final volume on the table, a thick text on provincial history which Cass was actively studying. One of her particular talents was the ability to mentally manipulate electronic devices, subtly playing the golden strings of binary data that run through anything from the smallest digital wristwatch to massive corporate mainframes. It was most often put to much more impressive use, but it certainly made the mundane task much more easy.

She was about three-quarters of the way through the text when she felt a human presence near her. She used to be able to completely lose herself in a book, but with the heightened senses vampirism had thrust upon her, she seemed to have lost that ability. She looked up to see an older man in somewhat dated clothing standing next to her. She smiled amicably at him, and signed the ASL for a simple greeting.

[Tyresian (DELETED 4607)]

The old man shuffled into the Honeymead Library, his hands clasped together and held over his mouth like a mask as he tried to breathe some warmth into the aging digits. It seemed to Tyresian that as he gained in age and knowledge, he lost his strength and his ability to be warm regardless of the amount of layers he pulled over his snowy head even midday, midsummer, he did not seem to sweat anymore. He was always so chilly and some nights he imagined that it might just be Death getting to know him personally before sapping the remaining heat, however small the amount, in his body and he would be left looking like he was sleeping; only he never would awake again. Tyresian did not fear the inevitable; he accepted it as the final step in his life on this plane of existence and would begin anew on another; or be reincarnated on this one to try for ascension yet again. This man in particular has reason to believe there was more to existing on this planet than what may meet one’s eye. Long ago he had discovered he had an... ability, so to speak. After beginning his initial search for information on how to deal with what was happening to him, he found some old texts that lead him down a road of knowledge that not only had brought him to this library – as it has with so many other stores of information - but had over the years instilled in him how essential it was that he, for the most part, keep his abilities to himself.

He had studied many different religious beliefs to try and find one that made sense with what he was born with and, as the years went on, he found that the only one that encompassed him completely was Druidry. He’d followed that path ever since finding it and he has never regretted that choice. It brought him as close to understanding himself and his abilities than anything else and taught him about all the wonders, and terrors, of nature. What heals a person, what kills a person, and what will counteract what would kill a person, and even some things that would alter a person’s mind so completely that they would be entirely in your control. It was good to know in case he ever encountered such a thing, but he would never do it to another living thing; it went against his beliefs. As his research continued, he found that he was much more comfortable in clothes made from the earth or from animals, not usually dyed, but every now and then he splurged a little: blues, reds, greens. In this day and age, he was laughed off as eccentric or just plain loopy, but he never let the ridicule of others keep him from doing what he felt was right – or keep him from wearing what felt right. He found that his new wardrobe of medieval style was a great deal more comfortable than sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Tyresian shuffled around the library, occasionally bringing his hands to his mouth for another futile puff of warm breath against his poorly circulated skin. Although at first glance he would seem on the verge of being infirm, that was only on a physical level. His eyes were crystal clear and sharp, his mind as active as it has always been in his younger years of schooling and research, term papers, and degrees. Though he may be weak in muscle, he made of for it by absorbing all the knowledge he possibly could and he noticed how old many of the volumes in this library seemed to be, noting that there was a great wealth of knowledge just within reach. It seemed he would need assistance moving some of them, but otherwise he thought he would be able to manage. Tyresian reached out and plucked a hefty-looking, but small enough to carry, book from one of the shelves and looked around for a table at which to read it. Nearby there seemed to be a pile of open tomes and other large texts set open to be read by the woman that looked as though she may be studying for something. Shuffling over towards the table, he gave a smile and indicated one of the chairs across from where the woman was seated. "May I share this space with you?"

[Cassandra]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

((OOC: Words in grey were written by Cassandra's player, words in white were written by Tyresian's.))


Cass examined the old man warily. Ever since her return, she found herself exponentially more nervous around other people, even humans. She couldn't bear to be in large groups at all anymore. The comforting environment of the library and the unassuming demeanor of the old man put her oddly at ease, though. She pushed a few of the books aside, and gestured at the spot, signing a welcome and quick introduction to him with gestures of flashing hand and fingers.

With a grateful nod of his head, Tyresian sat in the chair opposite the girl whose hands made some interesting gestures in the air. Depsite his research making him somewhat of a hermit a lot of the time, Tyresian recognized the action, not for what it meant in words, but that she was signing to him; speaking with her hands, as it were. He smiled some and nodded once.

"I'm not entirely sure what you said, my dear, but I thank you for welcoming to the table," as he spoke, he made sure to look at her, not sure if she could read lips, but hoping so. And as the words, 'thank you' left his mouth, he made the sign for it. It was one of very few he'd picked up over the years.

Cassandra covered her mouth, holding in a laugh that would have brought the conversation to a screeching halt. Picking up the tablet, she swiped the notes into its memory and brought up a simple word-processing program. She dialed up the size and her fingers danced their way across its touchscreen keyboard. She held it up to show the man.

"Sorry, I can't actually speak," they said. "I can hear you just fine, though!" Her gaze fell on the book he had with him. "Studying up on something interesting?"

"Oh," he said simply, looking at the glowing tablet. He'd never owned one, but he'd seen them advertised on billboards and on bus stops and things. It felt curious. He'd never met someone who could hear, but couldn't speak and thus had been forced to use sign language to communicate. It made things interesting, he concluded. His eyes then moved to the book he'd carried to the table, his hands folded atop the cover. "I think so, yes. More for personal research than anything, though," and he raised his eyes to the girl again, smiling even more it seemed. Books brought him a comfort most anything else couldn't.

Cass craned her neck to look at the book's cover, but it wasn't immediately obvious what secrets the pages held. She quirked an eyebrow at him, fingers dancing across the screen again."Personal research is always the best kind. Anything in particular?"

After reading the words on the screen, he nodded. "Oh yes. I am always looking for more information on ancient Druids. Many of the books, texts, and other informative tools tend to be very repeatative with the knowledge they try to share, but every now and then I find a hint of something more that was never recorded completely. I seek to understand what others claim can't be found. That's all." He smile widened, encompassing his whole face at that. He then dropped his eyes to the book and cracked open the cover, admiring the sounds it made as he did so.

Cass couldn't help but grin. There's no way he could've known the things she'd accomplished since entering Nox's embrace. Uncovering the Old Code and digging up some of the most important historical records of the vampire holocaust, however, were among the accomplishments she was most proud of. She leaned her chin on one hand, resting her elbow on the table, and watched him search the pages admiringly. It was a warm gaze, usually one that people reserve for loved ones. A true bibliophile understood that look, and she'd been accused of it on many occasions. A few moments passed as she watched him, and eventually she pulled her own book back over to rest in front of her, flipping a page slowly.

As he searched through the contents of the book before him, he found that there was very little, if absolutely nothing, on Druidism as he knew it within the pages. Although similiar in function, he found that the book he'd chosen hinted toward something secret, but magnificent. His features wrinkled even more as his concentration deepened and he turned the pages with care. A couple hours later, when it appeared he hadn't gotten very far within the book itself, he withdrew from within his woolen robe, a sheaf of homemade papers and a stick of charcoal. His writing went slowly, and was a bit scratchy, but he persisted so that he may review what he wrote later, among the rest of his notes.

Cassandra continued flipping through the book, skimming the pages casually. She knew they contained nothing of interest to her, she'd been able to tell that nearly half an hour ago. Her eyes kept drifting to the old man's book instead. It was particularly interesting as a volume - it had a few passing hints at the Old Code. Nothing of any danger to the Masquerade, or it would have been removed long ago. Simply rumors of old beliefs, hints at the values she'd begun centering her life around. Her curiosity grew nearly as quickly as his seemed to - usually humans took a glimpse at the book, and either passed it off as vague or noted its value as an "original text", destined for a barely-cited footnote in some report. He seemed genuinely interested, though. Curious.

When he finished writing what he'd wanted, he placed the charcoal down to the side so as not to smudge anything or accidentally cross out something, then he leaned back, took a big breath and then let it out slowly. Though his mind may be able to be worked endlessly, his body was not. He needed to stand up and walk around a bit to loosen up his muscles. He missed the days when he could research for an entire day without having to stretch, but that was many, many years ago.

"Excuse me, my dear, I need to warm up these old bones some." So he stood, taking up the notes he'd written - much lighter than toting around the book - moved behind the chair and began to pace as he analyzed what he'd written.


She couldn't help herself. She could see the questions in his mind, the knowledge he sought - he didn't know what it was yet, but he was curious. She'd spent so long around so many people so closed off to the truth she'd found. It was almost physically painful to see someone genuinely seeking it, and be unable to share it. Still, he was a human, and Survival was paramount. She schooled her features into a semblence of friendly curiosity, and tapped away at the tablet.

"Something have you frustrated? Anything I can do? I've seen most of these books at least once, maybe I can help."

It took Tyresian a moment to shift his attention to the fact that the screen was pointed his way. He hoped that he hadn't had her holding up for long. He considered the offer and nodded, welcoming whatever help she could provide.

"It's strange," he said, looking at his notes again, almost getting lost in the words before continuing, but managing to catch himself before that happened. "The text has something it wants to share underneath the surface information. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it seems to be very similiar to Druidism, if only in the amount of secrecy it's veiled in. There could be more, but I can't tell. At least not with this book alone."

Cassandra took a moment to turn the tablet over and over in her hands. There were two very tempting alternatives: the first being the simple urge to spill everything to him, babbling like a teenager about the newest album to hit the market.

Anyone who knew Cassandra knew that option wasn't anywhere near the board.

The other urge was to be the smug observer, dangling bits of knowledge in front of someone starved for it. That was the path of someone who valued the fact their knowledge was THEIRS, more than knowing it exists.

Anyone who knew Cassandra was probably outright laughing at that idea.

There was a middle road, and that's the one she took. For the next several hours, Cass sat and "talked" with the man, encouraging him in directions he might not thought to have taken, and directing him to tiny morsels of information in other books, little hints at the things that Cassandra wanted to tell him outright but couldn't. By the time she was out of places to point him, she had an insoluble grin on her face, and a few references scribbled down for him. He looked tired, though, and at last she stopped feeding his curiosity, encouraging him to rest.

[Tyresian (DELETED 4607)]

It was many hours before he finally relented in his search to rest. His mind driving his feet towards some secret hidden just beneath the surface of every book he looked in. Something hinting towards a revelation that he believed would be mystifying and marvelous, but also dark. There was always that undercurrent of ... dark. He couldn't think of another way to describe. Dark wasn't always bad - not always good either, but still, not always bad. He kept on in the hopes that it was the 'not always bad' sort of dark that he persisted towards. When he eventually agreed to sit and rest his exhausted body, he did so not only because he needed to, but also because his mind needed to process everything it'd just absorbed. All the information he'd come across with the invaluable help of the girl he's happened upon just needed time to sink in. So he sank into a chair, his notes in one hand while his other hid itself away in a pocket. As soon as his body stopped moving, the chill of the building, and of old age, set into his bones once more and cooled him from the inside out. His mind otherwise occupied by his notes, his mannerisms were mostly unconscious actions and movements developed over time.

He stared at the pieces of paper, his scribblings only something he could decipher the way they were all jumbled around each other, creating a maze of information almost more complex than the one he'd waded through to get it, but he had gotten it. The trouble was finding out what -it- was, exactly. It was right in front of him, he just knew it, but he couldn't say it was anything very specific just yet. Instead, he took his hand from his pocket, grasped his charcoal and began taking notes on his notes as he untangled his own writings. These fresher notes he was creating appeared more organized, and more concise. He was bulleting only the information that struck him as a key clue to whatever it was he was looking for. He had gained a great deal of knowledge elsewise about a number of things and even some specifics about his original quest of knowledge concerning his abilities. Although he didn't get very far in that, he did find something else to focus on and it was this nugget of knowledge that would break open the dam of understanding and find him in awe of the Truth.

As he sat there, he took many breaks from writing these new notes. Despite his mind being as sharp as ever, his body could only take so much and it was only an hour more that he sat there before he lifted his head and offered the helpful girl an endearing smile. He was almost there, but he needed rest, some sleep, dinner. Not necessarily in that order. Maybe breakfast by now? Regardless, he needed sustenance. "My apologies, dear, but I think I should take my notes over dinner and sleep. Get a fresh start on them in the morning." He thought about it a moment, "Later in the morning," he said with a bemused grin. "Will you, too, be here? I must admit you've been quite the gracious help to such an old man."