--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--Backdated to December 1st, 2015
<Cedric Costello› The last message that Cedric had received from his bloodline's leader had asked Cedric when a good time would be. It was a message that Cedric had been remiss in answering, busy as he was getting accustomed to this life as a vampire, and learning that he could from his sire. Not only that, he was still getting settled in this foreign city, trying to figure what he should do for money; his sire was a businesswoman, and from her he got the idea that, perhaps, he should do the same. He had a good head on his shoulders. He could surely manage a business or two. Until then, he had to try to save money, somehow - so he worked nights, drifting between piano bars, playing music for cash on hand. When he wasn't doing that, he was in the Quarantine Zone, honing whatever skills he might possess - to make his sire proud. So that she did not regret giving him this second chance at life. Except, there was a piano in Corvidae Flats, too. One that he often found himself behind - and was behind, now. The music drifted, serene and warm over the scene of destruction in the lobby. At least his back was to the corner - no zombies could sneak up on him, from here.
* Ambrose Acheron rises from the crumbling form of a feral vampire, carefully putting the lid on the waterskin after extracting more of the black blood from the dessicating creature. He watches with a cold look on his face as it undergoes the typical rapid decomposition of their kind upon death and then steps over it. He pushes open the doors to the lobby of Corvidae Flats and steps inside. The old ritualist still feels claustrophobic when surrounded by four walls though his eternity seems bound to the constraints of city life. The typical sight of the shambling dead within the apartment building greets his callous gaze as his eyes scan the room finally alighting on the vampire in the corner by the piano. His head tilts to the side as he unthinkingly appraises the man. Vampire... his own blood?
* Cedric Costello played Tchaikovsky. The main theme from Swan Lake - hardly fitting for the way the vampires in the flats took down their more dead enemies. Though, it was kind of fitting. Kind of beautiful, fitting such a theme to such violence. Cedric himself was covered in muck; a line of it smeared across his jaw, and clung to the mild stubble there. Serious, blue eyes scanned the space every few seconds. Scanning for danger. His gaze alighted upon a man by the door; a man who was watching him. But, it wasn't surprising, that some people liked to watch. It was odd, for a man to play piano in the middle of a mini zombie apocalypse.
* Ambrose Acheron listens in silence as the music flows through the air punctuated by the moans of the dead who refused to stay down and the vampires making short work of them. Ambrose rarely hunted the zombies, only when needing bits and pieces for various rites. He was more interested in the feral vampires and the blood within them. Now his attention is diverted from collecting the foul ichor an focused on Cedric. He makes his way toward the piano his eyes never wavering from the man. Stopping a few feet away he looks him up and down thoughtfully. He speaks telepathically into the man's mind. "You are of the Acheron lineage. We are kin."
* Cedric Costello’s playing skidded to a sudden halt as soon as he heard the voice in his head. He knew it wasn't right beside him; there was a specific timbre to it, one not marred by the sounds of the fighting around them, or of Cedric's own playing. His eyes were sharp as he took in the man who had approached - he did not know that such a thing was a possibility, and it awed him, somewhat. He wondered if it were a power reserved only for the powerful. He felt the need to stand, and to offer a strangely clean hand. "My name is Cedric," he said, his accent Dutch, but his English impeccable. "How did you know?"
* Ambrose Acheron takes the hand and using image telepathy simply shows the man how he knows. Flashes of the past flow from Ambrose's mind. Snippets of history from Mexico, New Orleans in the 1700's, New York in the earliest 1800's, humans hunting their kind, his death at their hands. Again his words flow from mind to mind rather than verbally. "I have certain... gifts."
* Cedric Costello had to snatch his hand away. He had no idea what had just happened. He had no idea what the images were, nor where they had come from. Probably from the man across from him, as they certainly were not Cedric's memories. Though he had no idea why the elder felt the need to share. He swallowed, and nodded, though slightly confused. "You... can tell just by looking at me?" he asked.
* Ambrose Acheron nods his head at the question. "Telepathy. Some of our kind can see into the minds of others. We can read those memories that shaped another. We can see your strengths, weaknesses, bloodlines... those you are closest to in the blood" He gives a slight smile. "There are a great many different things that we are capable of given time and the will to learn." He gives a slight bow, one that inclines his head forward and slightly to the side as his arms raise out to the side, hands coming up to about waist level. ""Ambrose Acheron I am known as these nights. I am at your service my dear fledgling. No one told me of your existence or I would have sought you out sooner. I have something for you I believe."
* Cedric Costello nodded. He was almost excited about the prospect of learning new things. He was only a month old and he had already learned that he was capable of playing with the shadows as if they were toys - which made it ten times easier to feed. And he could walk on water, which was one of the most fun things he had endeavored in in a very long time. At the last statement, however, Cedric had to narrow his eyes in confusion. "We have been texting," he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "You were made aware of my existence on the forum, I believe. Cedric Costello - Castalia introduced me," he said. He had given his name, hadn't he? Perhaps it hadn't been heard. "I am sorry that I have not replied to your last message, yet. I have been... busy."
