: That's My TARDIS : Whit

[Enver Marshall II]

Enver was thinking about what Whit said. About wraiths having things to do. He didn't know what. It wasn't as if they could really do much of anything. Not that he'd seen. "Yeah. Maybe." Enver said, still deep in thought. It wasn't like Deanna not to hassle him for this long length of time. Usually Enver would be thrilled-but maybe something was wrong. Maybe she was stuck in a cage. Or in the shadow realm again. He'd have to ask his wife about her sister. As much of a pain in his *** that she was-Deanna did have her occasional usefulness.

Enver stepped through the door after he gave his two cents about where Deanna could be and looked around the place. He hadn't been here in what seemed like ages. Over a year at the very least. Not much had changed it seemed. Still the same booths with a few tables arranged randomly around the booths, and the same, small bar. It was a wonder how the place survived with such little space to offer any client base.

Enver didn't answer Whit's question about his path. Not in the doorway like that. He didn't mind talking about anything and everything vampire under the sun in a roomful of humans, but smack dab in the doorway? Not going to happen. "Come on." Enver nudged his head over to a booth that was no where near the bar. For obvious safety reasons for him and for Whit. Bar meant constant foot traffic. He took a seat and then gestured to the opposite side of the booth for Whit after sitting. Enver undid a button from the bottom of his suit coat as he got comfortable and then cleared his throat. "Well, for starters-you aren't an Allurist. Not if you can't eat and drink without throwing it up right away." Enver chuckled, then shook his head. "Shadow-likely, but if you've gotten shot or stabbed recently and haven't oozed out shadows and black blood-you're not one of those either. Keara's a shadow. Peter too."

Enver raised a hand to flag down a server, then rubbed at his chin. "So that leaves, Telepath, Necromancer, Killer and Mystic." The woman he flagged down cozied up to their booth, with a 'WhatcanIgetyouboys?' Just like that. Six words as one. "I'll take whatever non-alcoholic house beer you've got." Enver looked at Whit, then added in, "Put his on the same tab." Hoping Whit got the point.

[Whit]

The Lounge, it seemed, may have been built out of a space the size of a literal lounge; which was to say that it wasn’t a very big place. But maybe that was the point – it created an atmosphere of exclusivity that generally appealed to people of any class. He had never been what one might have called a party animal, and his idea of ‘wild’ was usually not at all the same as most people. He’d only ever been to a few bars and clubs in his time. Even those he’d only gone to because of his bucket list. He found them tedious, because he had to be ‘on’ and alert the entire time. He had no clue how it was people his age managed to hang out at them like they were a second home.

He followed along after Enver still, and then claimed a seat at a booth when the man found them a place to sit. His back was rod straight, and fingers clasped together over each other on the top of the table, feet flat on the floor. He probably looked a little rigid, but that was just his nature. In public. He did not have the comfort of being surrounded by other nerds and fandom addicts to ease him, so he felt a great deal like there were eyes on his posture. Maybe it came from his youth in the orphanage, and the way the sisters had always required the children there to be on their very best behavior at all times. He probably looked a little uncomfortable, but he was, in that moment, as good as he was likely to get.

“Is that the trademark attribute of an Allurist? Being able to eat and drink? For that matter, what exactly determines one’s Path? In what way are they different?” The questions were fired off one at a time, calmly, politely. He did not want to overwhelm the man that was so kindly offering to tell him a little bit about himself, but they were burning questions he had yet to ask. He probably could have reached out to Peter to find out, but he hadn’t wanted to seem like he was dull witted. Which. Was purely silly. Their relationship had always been that of teacher and student. He made a note to himself to take the next subject of importance to Mr. Parkman. Until then, Enver seemed knowledgeable.

“I don’t bleed black, no. I don’t think I’m a telepath either, at least I don’t feel telepathic. I don’t read people’s minds, or control their actions, or move objects or any of that really. Which leaves mystic, necromancer, and killer?” He considered a moment, how he had changed. Really the only things that immediately stood out to him were his gaunt, corpselike appearance and the development of a fascination for biology. There were the curses he had to deal with, but here they just that? He was unable to continue his thought because they were greeted by a waitress.

“Evening, miss.” It was always polite to greet someone, regardless of their function or station. “I would like a Highball, please? On ice.” And only once she was gone did his attention turn back to Enver, the carefully placed smile still there, though it was pretty obvious to anyone paying attention that it was no deeper than surface level.

“I have this ability I developed almost immediately. This…thing where I focus my energy into myself, and when I do that, I no longer have the need to feed. I feel replenished.”

[Enver Marshall II]

Enver thought about the questions that Whit asked him, the sounds of the bar taking up the silence Enver was currently in. "Yes, and no. Supposedly there are others out there that can eat." He offered with a shrug. "It's rare though. And not the same, I don't think. Maybe they train themselves to eat or something. I'm not sure. There are other things an Allurist is known for. Usually, we're the more social of the lot. But, it seems that's not really true anymore." He shrugged his shoulders, not sure what to say. Was Enver a little disappointed? Yes. Was he going to change that? No. He tried to change something a while back and it didn't stick. So he decided to keep his focus on the home front. On his wife and kiddos.

"Someone told me that your path is typically determined based on who and what you did as a human. I was in the entertainment business for a handful of years before I was sired by River. But I'm not really sure. I've not really tried to ask people their private business before they were a vampire. Lorde, she was a stunt double I worked with on a movie a couple years back and she's a killer. Makes sense. Those guys and girls are always fit, strong, flexible and overall athletic." The waitress came back with their drinks, offering Whit his first and then Envers before she stared at Enver for a couple of seconds. As if trying to place him. "Thanks, doll." Enver winked at her before he shifted in the booth and angled his body away from the server.

"Each path is different because each path has a strength and weakness. Allurist, as I told you can eat and drink and appear to be human. But our weakness is our emotions. Sometimes they get the best of us. As you've seen first hand." Enver sheepishly admitted before taking a sip of his non-alcoholic beer. "Killers are insanely good at anything physical, but supposedly aren't all that sharp. But I beg to differ. Lorde isn't an idiot." Enver nodded his head. "And it sounds like you might be a Necromancer. I've studied a little bit on that path and can do the same thing when I want to. I'm honestly no pro at telling you the strengths and weaknesses of each path. That might be better off for a conversation with my wife. She's been around a lot longer than me and knows her stuff." Enver admitted with a small chuckle. "But I can try and get you started out on the right path. Hopefully." He offered before setting the beer down on the table. "What did you think of that place? The-TARDIS, was it?"

[Whit]

Well that was interesting. Whitaker let his hand slip into his jacket so that he could slip from it a little notepad with binding at the top rather than along the side. He flipped the first few pages, which had notes on them pertaining to hacking mostly, like the location of a Sanguivore’s Bane, he’d gotten in a particularly difficult system. The thing was held close to his chest as he pulled a pen along with it, a simple ballpoint with black ink. He began to jot down certain things, because he found information like that fascinating. One of the things he had always loved about comic books was the unique take on various species, alien lifeforms. He was deeply intrigued by what physically, culturally, and mentally made a group or person different to the mainstream norm.

“Not really true anymore? Is that your personal experience or an observation on the behavior of others?” It wasn’t meant to be callous in the asking, but he wanted to understand if Enver stood outside of the norm or if he represented it. Observations were only as accurate as they were thorough, and he could not form a composite sketch of each path if he did not have all of the facts. He realized sinkingly that he would need to question many people of different paths, not only based on their personal experiences, but their views on the other paths as well, to get a good look at the society he had been sucked into. His inner scientist was intrigued by the idea, but it seemed like an awful hassle.

He continued to scribble down notes as Enver spoke. Killers were athletic? Strong perhaps? Why was that? What aspect of their past life determined that they were going to be that way? He made a connection almost immediately. Allurists were the ‘social’, and they could eat. Enver had been a celebrity, so maybe they were the vampires that were most likely to end up under human scrutiny? Maybe they had adapted the ability to eat food, and appear human in nature so that they could more effectively blend in with a population of mortals. It was nothing but a hypothesis, but he made a note to begin looking into the possibility.

When the waitress arrived, Whit smiled to her and she just gave him this chilled look before stepping away, rubbing over her own upper arm. Odd. But he didn’t think much of it. Since having been turned, people seemed to not want to pay much attention to him. It was like this aversion they had to him. Like they tried to walk along the opposite side of the street from him if at all possible. He didn’t really mind. His hand extended so he could pull his drink closer, though he made no move to actually do anything else with it.

He glanced up from his page when Enver continued once more, and he caught sight of that sheepish smile, which was returned with something of a blank expression, as if he didn’t recall the little scene from a short time before. He did that occasionally, got stuck on something new so that the rest of the world just melted away into nothing. “Killers are aptly named then. They are physically built to, I can imagine, withstand and deal a great deal of damage in a fight. Allurists, I suppose are accurately named as well, though who gave them those names? What do you know of the other paths? I don’t mean to pile more on you, but I would love a rough idea of what to expect in the future.” He commented, before adding a note to his page, at the very top, saying that he should probably speak with Keara soon. He would likely do so in the near future, though he didn’t say as much aloud.

“She has been around a lot longer than you? Can I ask about that? I mean I’m not really sure about much of our lineage history.” The term ‘lineage’ was said awkwardly. He was still feeling out that, the terminology that went with being a vampire. “Or our history in general.” Referring to the entire species.

And then a moment later. “Oh, it was a nice replica. I’ll have to take another look at it later when there are fewer people around to see how good the condition is and whether or not there’s more than just the center console to the replication, but my first assessment was a positive one.”

[Enver Marshall II]

Whit talked very technical, or so Enver thought after hearing the guy out. He wondered what he did before this life. Before becoming a vampire. Not one to shy away from asking questions, so long as they weren't completely personal, Enver went ahead and asked as he eyed the room up, thinking about the other questions. "What'd you do before all this?" He asked because Enver did want to know the guy that Peter sired and why he had sired him. Or how it came to be. Enver never imagined Peter to sire someone-he had a hard enough time with this life as it was, so bringing someone else to this side had his interest. Didn't the guy shy away from blood and gore? Not that Enver blamed him any, he wasn't a big fan of all that stuff either.

Peter rated high in Enver's books; maybe too high. Was he supposed to have favorites with Keara's family? If he could; Peter was one or his favorites. Charlotte too when she wasn't being flighty, picking pockets and interrupting his private time with his wife. The rest he didn't know and he wasn't going to try to get to know. He had tried, they weren't interested and so that was that. He knew the family still had a hard time around him and his radical point of views sometimes. "And it's a bit of both. Maybe the city is to blame for that or just people's own agendas." Enver shrugged his shoulders. "There were others-still are. Alexandrea, Cristiana, Temperance, Asher-I think he's dead though and some woman everyone called Quartermaine. You don't really hear from her much. Ever, come to think about it. I've seen Alex and Temperance around, but the Crownet used to be filled with events and activities and such that they did. Not so much anymore."

Enver took another swig of his nonalcoholic beer thinking about the other paths. "I don't know a lot about mystics. Met a few of them. Too few of them and too short of meetings. Can't help you there. Telepath's are supposed to be the smartest of our kind, but I've seen them do some pretty stupid stuff. But there are some that you shouldn't underestimate either." Madison came to his mind, because of all the telepath's he knew of, she seemed to have a lot of brains. If she had the manpower, he reckoned she could do something big. Something they should all be careful about. Enver shrugged his shoulders after he said that and offered a somewhat apologetic smile again. "Shadows, well, I think I've said enough about them. Don't underestimate that lot." He chuckled at that before clearing his throat and letting his eyes fall on Whit once again.

"She's been like us a lot longer. Couple years. Hundreds." Enver added that last bit quietly. "Your line stems from her since she came back. Before her was some dick named Ven, but he's not come back and it's probably better for everyone that way. Keara's progressed a lot in the last year or so. Ven coming back would be-difficult for him, her and the family. I don't think anyone would see him as the 'leader.'" Enver put his hands in the air to make quotation marks. He sure wouldn't. He would probably even try to kill the guy because of who he was and Enver's unhealthy aggression towards anything regarding Ven.

"And I'm not really sure who made the names of all our types. Keara probably doesn't even know to be real honest. She's old, but not as old as some of the others, supposedly." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out to put behind his ear to rest there for later. "Sorry, kiddo. I don't believe everything I've been told. I'm sort of a seeing is believing sort of guy and until I see it, I don't put much stock in it. Unless Keara tells me it personally. She doesn't lie. She can't. I don't know how or why, but she can't even hide things from me. Or anyone. If she knows it, she'll tell you it."

[Whit]

A brief pause in the movement of dark ink across the pale page, line abruptly coming to a halt even as Whitaker glanced up so that he could peer towards Enver with a silent query of his own. “I was a student.” Half-true. He had worked his way through school, though he had never had a particular love for learning until after his turning. At least not for anything to which he did not have a natural affinity (read as: literature). He had always been a voracious consumer of books of nearly any variety, but anything with a classical bent and strongly written themes generally won out to him over either the leisure of dime-a-dozen fiction or any number of non-fiction titles. In fact, that was how he had learned best in the past, through a well-crafted story. While observation had never been a particularly weak skill in him; it had never truly been paramount until death had taken him.

Perhaps he wasn’t at all who he had once been.

The tale continued though as it always did, and the brief consideration he had offered became once more dissolved in the repetitive, insistent scratching of his utensil across the page. Names were jotted down so that Whitaker might, in the future, look into meeting with them to see how the experience of vampirism had affected their being. He only assumed that the undead were rare enough that most did not wander around with similar or the same first names. Ah CrowNet. For a man who spent so much time online himself, Whitaker did not really understand the appeal. Possibly because the unique quality of being a vampire was somewhat negatively impinged upon by the casual if pragmatic nature of having a site devoted to their kind. The conversations that went on, on it did not help matters because they ranged from the blatantly inane to the ludicrously hostile.

Not that he was above throwing in his two cents occasionally. He’d done so with the Aithne CrowNet in particular.

It was a pleasant surprise to know that the site had, at one point, been used for community building exercises.

He glanced up once more, and that was when he took note of someone pointing towards him. Whitaker had this way about him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but people seemed generally uneasy in his presence. His mere presence tended to suck the joy out of a room. He wasn’t aware of it really, but he caused feelings of despair in those he was in close physical proximity to. The effects gradually grew worse with time, but vampires tended to have a natural defense against it. Yet another reason for the impractically of his public self. He gave off the aura of one who craved death. Not the dealing of violence, but the seeking of a solution to the riddle of life. Perhaps that had drawn their attention or his sickly pallor. He ignored it for the moment though his pen and pad back.

“I take that to mean that the environment for our kind is a hostile one?” He hadn’t noticed, likely because he was a shut in. There seemed to be an extensive history between the members of their relatively small community; it was a lot like coming into a small town. Everyone knew everyone else, and each other’s business. At least. That was what he had gathered from a tiny bit of digging on the previously mentioned website. He disliked it. Not because the people were harsh on each other, but because those types of situations tended to shine a light on the actions of individual persons in said society. He barely had the patience to account for his methods to one person, much less everyone else. Secrecy, in that way, was his friend, he supposed.

“An unfortunate reminder, I guess, to keep my relationship with most of our kind somewhat…distanced. I personally have very little interest in getting involved in. Whatever.” He of course, was not referencing the Aithne in his blanket assessment and solution, though he didn’t feel the need to clarify that.

“Intelligence, in my experience, is rarely an indicator of more than a person’s ability to string together pretentiously deceptive phrases.” Whit did not actually trust ‘smart’ people, though many might have argued that he was highly intelligent himself. He likely would have used that as proof of his own point though, deleterious as that might have been to his own self-image. It was true though. Most ‘smart’ people seemed to fall into categories. The book smart were usually lacking in the social skills necessary to hold a conversation with a normal person (he may very well have evolved into one of those). People with common sense were generally mocked for their practical lack of idealism. Those gifted with an understanding of how to build social capital became little more than shameless and tirelessly boring manipulators. It was the last of those that offended him the most, but none of them were really appealing.

“I am much the same. I do not tend to believe anything I have not or can not observe.” Though not being able to lie really didn’t amount to much for Whit. Any person could believe something to be true that wasn’t, and then pass it off as fact when it was fictitious. Not that he would have wagered Keara was the type to be easily fooled. On the contrary, something about her told him that she was her own type of ‘smart’. Clever? Maybe not the right term. He didn’t really know much about her, which only served to underline how much he really needed to learn about the bloodline he had come into. “Thank you for your time, Enver, but I have to be going. Normally I would lengthen our conversation some, but I believe I may have inadvertently drawn more attention than I should have. I will be excusing myself to a more private setting. Perhaps we can speak again in the near future when I have had some time to mull over a few things?” Vampirism, for one. But the other male had also piqued the Necromancer’s interest in another topic. The ownership of business. Whit had never really contemplated it before, but it made sense for him to turn his interests into revenue.

He moved to stand then, noticing that the ones who had taken stock of his presence before still had their eyes on him. He licked over his lips, which were a little more unearthly purple than they should have been. More corpse-like than any man had a right to. He smiled to Enver then, brief as it was, and left.