Path of the Vampire forum

With a light sprinkling of cheer, Skylar had perked up again like a tulip under a rain shower. Myk smiled at her smile and continued to walk to… wherever it was that they were headed. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure where he was going and didn’t give it much thought either. Skylar had failed to make a mention of their destination and so he let that small, important, matter slip from his thoughts. Myk nodded along again as she spoke, but didn’t let that smile falter. Any thoughts and opinions he had on the matter were quick to spring from his brain to his lips as though the synapses had rearranged themselves.

“Well, since you are not a cat person, I will inform you. You have to be very, very close in order to smell them. Let alone their differences… And boxers are simply gorgeous!” he crooned. “People always have such a stereotype of dogs. Boxers are aggressive… Cut from the same cloth as Pit bulls, Staffs, Rottweilers, Alsatians and Dobermans. But that’s not true at all. It’s always the Human that is to blame. Always. And Blackie is a fine name for a dog whose coat is black. Not very inventive, perhaps, but at least you don’t have a cat called Cat.”

Myk laughed then, pewter eyes drifting to the left as he thought about the black feline with the bright green eyes. She wasn’t really his cat, but, he had inherited her. When that unfortunate event had occurred to his aunt, the house moggy had had no choice but to come with him. Myk wasn’t sure the overly pampered pussy would be able to handle life on the streets and she seemed perfectly content to sit in his apartment space now, drifting from the couch to the bed when it suited her.

“You talk so… normally,” Myk mentioned after a moment. The bewilderment in his tone was sure to catch on. “I just mean… The way you speak of husbands and children and a dog… It all sounds rather… ordinary.” A laugh then and the Telepath was quickly apologising, hand on his heart as his chest vibrated from amusement. “Sorry! It’s just that ordinary is such a rarity now. And… it’s nice. You know? Unless you’re speaking in code, that is, and I’ve got the very wrong end of the stick… But… yeah. It is nice to hear and makes one dream of mortal life…”

It wasn’t long before – once again – Myk’s mouth had gotten him into trouble. His comment on normality had made the blonde wince, maybe even wretch a tiny touch. Myk’s manicured brows rose in defeat and pewter eyes became as dull as scuffed marbles. Really, he wasn’t trying to insult the girl. Myk could be a lot less subtle, more provocative than calling someone boring and normal. Maybe Skylar took it as an insult on account of his attire tonight, however. Clearly Myk wasn’t one to do anything particularly ordinary and so ordinary must have been something garish in her opinion of his opinion. The Telepath decided to shrug it off. He could have apologised, but, Skylar had already changed the topic while he’d been wallowing in the misery of having offended her again. Besides, this new topic was far more interesting and there was enough negativity in the world to focus upon.

Myk couldn’t halt the laugh that bubbled out of him like a witch’s potion – the laugh itself sounding remarkably like a cackle too. She was describing herself as a veritable whore, yet not a whore. Myk never cared to judge people for their sexual appetites and even if Skylar had been out there every night of her life picking up man after man – maybe even the occasional female – Myk wouldn’t have labelled her a whore. The Telepath had a very unique way of looking at the world, most likely brought about by the fact that he had absorbed so many varying cultures and ideas. He sampled a bit here and there and, in the end, formed his own opinion about life and morals and rationality. Myk wasn’t laughing because of the supposed irony in Skylar’s words, he was amused simply because she was being so honest with him.

The laughter settled down as Skylar continued to unveil herself… figuratively. It was still refreshing and yet somehow comical that this stranger could just pour her heart out like she was, but Myk didn’t mind and, in actual fact, rather respected her. She was proud of who she was and was probably one of those rare people who didn’t have a single skeleton in their closet. Her flaws, her victories, her strengths, her talents and her scars were all out on display. Skylar was proud of those small facts as well, it seemed, and Myk couldn’t help being somewhat envious of her carefree nature. Many considered him to be so carefree, so casual and fun-loving, but they really had no idea. It took a lot of effort to pull himself together, pull himself out of his brooding, his anxieties and just… smile. Of course, a lot of things made the Telepath laugh and a lot of things interested and amused him, but these things were often fleeting and caused the Telepath to either sink immediately down again or find some other form of amusement and distraction that could build him back up.

As Skylar bumped shoulders with him, Myk gave a small snort of approval but didn’t retaliate. He still wasn’t sure if he would upset her unintentionally, so he couldn’t help that guarded feeling invading him. Maybe, though, he could take more of a leaf out of this Allurist’s book and join in on the honesty thing. Myk never talked about himself, so it was difficult to know what exactly to say, but maybe he could stay by letting her know that he understood her.

“You’re right,” Myk said; this genuine smile hanging on his lips looked uncharacteristically male under all that make-up. “When I think about it, I can’t say that I have changed my ways at all. Sure, I know more about the world now and it is easier to get information, but I still do what I used to do… just… better.”

Part of him rather hoped she wouldn’t probe into what it was exactly that he did. Answering her would have been difficult because, to many, his line of work was suspicious and in many ways, disconcerting. Studying people the way he did made them feel like lab rats and people were proud, sceptical, frightened things. What he did beyond studying people and their behaviour was mostly to sate his own urges anyway and well… the rest he couldn’t even remember…

The Telepath didn’t mind the nickname she gave him. In fact, Myk was just like her in that respect. He enjoyed giving his friends a cutsie kind of pet-name. He also rather enjoyed giving his enemies nicknames too. The white-haired male could be very creative and very, very insulting when he chose to be. It was simply a matter of grace that Myk hadn’t made any enemies to mention. Unfortunately, his pool of friends was drying up. Often Myk would meet a new person, add them to his list of allies and within a few weeks, they would disappear. Myk wondered what happened to them, of course he did, but there was no point in pursuing the dead-ends that would only prove to upset him. Maybe that was a little cowardly of him, but he really couldn’t afford to waste the time and the energy or risk the misery of discovering their corpse. Myk could handle the guilt more than the misery and so that’s what he chose to do: feel guilty for a short while because he was too selfish to look for those people he’d considered friends.

Pewter eyes followed her line of sight down the front of his attire and he smirked, assuming she was talking about that in particular. The Telepath’s unusual dress sense caused a lot of reactions, though the only time people ever questioned it was when they were being hostile. Skylar wasn’t being particularly hostile. Canada was actually one of the friendliest places Myk had visited in his time – and that included the Vampire happenings. Some might consider her rude, but Myk didn’t mind. The Telepath understood how weird he was and how unusual things tended to make people react in certain ways. Skylar’s curiosity was welcomed and the Telepath looked back up to her with a smirk playing on his lips.

“Aside from what?” Myk asked, quirking a brow and feigning innocence.

He really did wonder if he should torture her a while and make her come out with exactly what was on her mind. The Telepath wasn’t easily insulted and it would certainly be entertaining, intriguing to see how she would respond. Would she be honest and come out with a frank answer? Would she skirt around the subject to be polite? Maybe she wouldn’t say anything at all…

“You mean my unique sense of fashion?” Myk laughed, waving off the seriousness, while implementing it fully into his tone. “I’m just crazy, my dear. I dress like this because I feel like it. Some people dress to be practical, some fashionable, and some… simply because they want to express who they are. I am crazy, so I dress like… well… this.”

This really wasn’t his most outlandish outfit, but then, it wasn’t exactly tame either in the general scope of things. Myk understood that old adage, that if you can call yourself crazy, you must therefore be sane, but that wasn’t really the truth of the matter. Hollywood had glamourized it and pulled it out of context, as ever, missing the very root of the problem for those with such diseases of the mind. Those who are diagnosed with manic depression and schizophrenia, for example, can zone in and out of their individual psychosis. One minute they can be there, in the real world, and fully aware of their actions and in the next… well, dangerous things could happen as they hallucinate and fabricate and act upon their extreme feelings.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Myk asked, quirking a brow. “I suppose I could go home and change…”

When Skylar suddenly looped her arm in his and began their Pride March, Myk couldn’t help but chuckle all the way along. She seemed to like the fact that he was nuttier than a squirrel’s turd in autumn. Myk liked that she liked that, even if she couldn’t fully comprehend the severity of his condition. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to see all of it, though. The Telepath was doing his best to ignore the voices, pretend like he didn’t see weird ****, and have total black-outs – though in all fairness, it was rather difficult to differentiate between psychosis and supernatural. People could jump so far into the air that they practically could fly, they could walk across water, set fire to things with their hands, summon ghosts and zombies and monsters that don’t even exist in the story books, and yet he was supposed to recognise fact from fantasy! Myk almost wanted to introduce his father to this world so he could watch the man go crazy himself trying to figure everything out, re-evaluate his working knowledge of the Human condition. He wouldn’t, however; the Telepath’s life was complicated enough without a shrink fastened to his side…

One thing remained pure and unadulterated in his mind; Myk was really beginning to like Skylar. She was nutty too, in her ways, and people probably found them both agreeable and disagreeable to certain extents. Maybe they were kindred spirits. She was frank and honest, which was what he could be at times, and they were both pretty brave in their own ways. Skylar probably thought him bold for wearing the kind of outfits he did, while Myk found her candidness rather courageous. They were the same, but very different, so obviously there was potential for pleasantness as well as unpleasantness. For now they seemed to be experiencing the former and Myk was happy to continue with it provided it wouldn’t cost him too much. As it happened, Skylar wanted to better appreciate who he was under all that war paint and Myk became a little nervous at the thought. Surely she just meant physically, but the chill that went through him when she’d asked couldn’t be conducive to that simple notion. Myk felt like the girl wanted to know him, the real him, and that was terrifying. Still, when Skylar requested he come to a stop so she could get a better look at his pewter eyes, the Telepath obliged.

“Thank you,” Myk said with a quiet, confident smile. The intention was to keep those metallic orbs of his steady, but he was fidgety when nervous. “And those eyes are mine. I am not wearing contacts today.”

Thankfully, Skylar didn’t seem to focus on the Telepath’s eyes for much longer and was quick to search their surroundings for something. Myk followed the woman’s lead, grateful for the distraction. If she hadn’t delivered one, then he probably would have prepared a compliment or two for her as well – just to take the lime light away. In their travels, it had seemed as though the paid had wandered aimlessly, but apparently their masochistic livers had delivered them to exactly where they wanted to be: booze central. There were rows of bars and clubs on either side of the street; the air was tinged with the coppery sweetness of ale and ruptured by music too loud to speak over. Myk wasn’t opposed to a good old fashioned pub crawl if that was what was on offer, but obviously Skylar had somewhere specific in mind.

“Looking for something?” Myk asked, pointing out the obvious and leaning on a strong London accent suddenly. “For the best place to drown these intelligent eyes in liquor? A pub is a pub, surely. Let’s go anywhere! I don’t care.”

The Telepath was enthusiastic rather than pouty when he’d said that he didn’t care. Myk would stand out wherever they chose to go, so it didn’t make a difference to him. The Telepath was accustomed to the stares, to hostility, and he certainly didn’t mind answering the occasional curious question. More often than not it was Myk’s gender that was called into question, but that was generally before he opened his mouth. Much like the anomalous, yet chameleon nature of his accent, Myk’s vocal range was perfectly elastic. His natural speaking voice was that of a Baritone and he spoke in soft, hushed tones with a prevailing underlay of sound, which sounded like he was purring a lot of the time. As capable as he was at shifting his voice and switching his accent, it was rarely something he controlled and it was just easier to rely on the husky, melodious tune that unfurled from his lips. Even when those lips were painted red, it was pretty obvious what he was when he spoke…

Mingling within the crash of scents that rushed at them when they entered the bar was a barrage of voices; whispers, laughs, shouts, derisive mutters, groans, complaints, and screams. They layered over one another, mixing and separating like oil and water shaken inside a glass bottle. Myk had his own reason for faltering when they’d entered, distracting him from Skylar’s momentarily relapse, but the Telepath recovered well enough. It was all in his head, after all – the voices. Myk heard them all the time, and only sometimes were they loud enough to affect him. Walking into public spaces like this, ones flooded with Humans, was like walking into static. The intense, electrical burn went straight through his skin to his nerves, firing off warning bells and deafening alarms, attacking his brain with sound and pain. Even if it was like being shot in the face with a harpoon, the Telepath pressed two fingers to his temples, massaged out the pain, and pushed the voices into the back of his skull like it was nothing. He was almost accustomed to this, and he had to pretend at least that he wasn’t quite as crazy as he was. Maybe one day he could convince him entirely. Pewter eyes blinked repeatedly to wash away the haze over his vision; just in time to look at the blonde with a grin as she called him “pretty boy” and dragged him to the bar counter.

“Depends,” he purred, moistening his lips. “Are we looking for a slow-acting poison or one that strikes right away?”

Normal individuals might have just responded with their chosen beverage, but Myk was not normal. The bar staff noted that on sight, one even turned away to whisper to her colleague to check out the freak before the giggles ensued. Myk didn’t hear, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. You didn’t go out dressed like a clown to feel offended whenever people stared and made comments, after all. A few might have assumed the white-haired man was crazy, that maybe he’d lost a bet, or that maybe there was a fancy-dress party somewhere. A few of the more intoxicated patrons just stared at their bottles before putting them down. As a matter of fact, Myk was so accustomed to the mixed reactions of the public – even when he wasn’t dressed up – that he often forgot when he was. Having no reflection in a bar bedazzled with chrome was no help, and was likely a hindrance. With the amount of attention Myk drew, it might only be a matter of time before someone noticed.