Recluse [Keara Aithne]

[Peter Parkman]

[OOC: The following RP is backdated to the 12th of February

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


<Peter Parkman> A numbness had taken control of Peter; it was because of that numbness that he had found himself in the Quarantine Zone killing zombies with his bare hands. Afterwards, Keara had gifted him with a sword which he began to use with absolutely no skill. Whatever skill he did have was stolen from ‘The Walking Dead’. It was that very thought—that he was somehow living in a TV reality—and the feel of the heavy sword in his hands, that had him backtracking, and making his way back to the Asylum as fast as he could go. It was all well and good trying to ignore things, but when reality started to set in, his anxiety began to show.

He couldn’t make it to the bathroom fast enough. His clothing—covered in muck and gore—scattered a trail through the communal bathroom. He needed to get them off. The stench of death clung to him and he couldn’t stand it anymore. For half an hour, maybe, he showered. He scrubbed and scoured until his skin went red. He stood beneath the steaming hot jet of water because he liked the way it felt. Like it was thawing him out. He was a frozen turkey. That’s what he felt like, half the time.

He was crisply clean after the shower. He wore an old white shirt that he’d found, maybe left behind by someone else. He’d crept around until he found his own clothes, which he’d had stashed here. Old black jeans, and a comfortable black cardigan. His hair was slicked back as he sat in the corner of the lounge—not on the couch, but in the corner—small piles of books scattered around him. A few trips back and forth to the library and he’d gathered here a treasure trove of information which he strove to memorise, to collect. To help him to understand completely, so he did not feel as if he were going insane. He muttered to himself as he turned a page, one knee drawn up, head resting in the palm of his hand.

[Attire]

<Keara> Peter was a bone of contention between Keara and Enver right now, well him and the fact that she wanted to a ritual to allow herself to sire more childer; something that didn’t thrill Enver and yet he was helping regardless by getting her the ingredients she needed that she didn’t already have. Still, things between her and her husband were strained (though improving) and so she hadn’t really paid her childe the kind of attention he deserved. Sure, she’d shown up at the Quarantine Zone with a sword for him to use once she realised that she had neglected to gift him anything, something she did with all her childer, but it was too little too late as far as she was concerned; she hadn’t even stuck around to show him how to wield it properly.

Enver, had had her full attention since he’d been acting strange these last few days but this night he seemed to be pretty much himself again. With things seemingly back to normal between them she felt much happier and having made good use of the altar in the hall, she had retired to their cell for a bit to centre herself before heading out to hunt for the night. Tonight she was so full of joie de vivre that she was practically skipping through the asylum, even if there was a small voice in the back of her mind telling her that this mood wouldn’t last and that she and her husband would be at loggerheads again soon. As she walked through the hall she caught the scent of death and followed it to the bathroom which was now empty.

Not many used these showers, and so she went to knock on the door of the spare room. The room was empty and yet she knew someone else was home and so she listened for a moment before making her way to the lounge area. There she saw Peter, curled in the corner of the room. “Busy?” she asked as she leaned against the doorframe. She had changed since he saw her last and was now sporting a rather cheeky pink t-shirt that she was wearing for Enver’s sake and a short black ruffled skirt that was typical of her style.

She had pink and black stripped thigh high stocking on, the tops of shich were clearly visible what with the length (or lack thereof) of her skirt and her favourite chunky, knee high boots on which were covered in straps and buckles.


<Peter Parkman> Again, he jumped. Peter's nerves were raw - perhaps why he'd put himself so far back in the corner, so that he knew he only had walls behind him. He'd been easily startled before, but now with the preternatural hearing, everything was just that tiny bit louder. He'd been to preoccupied with the whisper of the pages and his own incoherent mumbling to hear her coming, so the suddenness of her voice was like a gunshot in his ears. A low, nervous laugh sighed from his lips. "Not really," he said, mouth slightly ajar as his eyes narrow to try to read the pink t-shirt. He frowned. It was a little odd.


<Keara> “The best sire of late I have not been,” she began. “Pre-occupied am. Sorry for that I am. Just…When Enver angry with me is, think straight I do not. Know you how that feels? For so in love to be. New these emotions to me are and well…struggle do with them.” She moved into the room and seated herself on the coffee table, her legs crossed at the ankle, her hands either side of her gripping the edge of the black glass upon which she sat. “But…here am…if like you would to talk.”


<Peter Parkman> Peter licked his lips, a slow, calculated action as his brain worked to rearrange the words of Keara's speech so that they would make sense to him. He still held the book in his lap, and at least now he was stilled. He was statuesque, until he canted his head to one side. He didn't quite know how to feel about her admittance. Peter wasn't a hateful man and grudges weren't things that he held, but he really did miss his walks at dawn. "Are you aware... that you have forever changed a man's life, on a whim, as a direct result of this argument between yourself and your husband?" he asked. It sounded as if she were still preoccupied. He wasn't really angry. She had taught him the basics. She had welcomed him. He was here, still.

But he always thought the best policy was to discuss one's problems, rather than to let them fester; his voice was calm and inquiring, rather than argumentative.


<Keara> She nodded, her eyes taking in his countenance and calm tone. “Know this I do. And so rash I rarely am. Stalk usually do my childer, before turn them I do. Or, turn them I do for their life to save. Rash suppose those turning too are but brought them I did not into danger. My fault they are not... Hmm…Shannon’s maybe… Though asked I did not for my shop robbed to be. Prefer I always do for a reason to have for a childe to sire and well…reason for you good enough was not. Admit that I do. Though…better is that able now we are this conversation to have. Kill I do for secret of our kind to protect. Killed you I would have for it to protect. So…in that perhaps lucky you are. Enver something in you saw. Even if wanted you I did, for you from him to take.”

She looked down at her boots and then back up to him, if she was ashamed of what she’d done it wasn’t showing. Keara had been very good at hiding her emotions from the world before she met Enver, since then it seemed her mask was slipping, though that was usually when around people she trusted and the jury was still out on Peter as he was new to the family.

<Peter Parkman> "Okay, well," Peter started, ruminating on her excuse. It didn't make him feel any better - like he was some mistake child that neither parent planned for or wanted. He had a vague feeling of being out of place, maybe even unwelcome. Instead of saying sorry, it felt as if she were saying 'consider yourself lucky that you're even here'. He cleared his throat. "If I'm a burden, I'm sure I can leave. I'll ah... I do have a cabin," he said, quietly looking at the books piled around him, wondering if he'd be able to take them with him.


<Keara> She had a habit of being a little too straightforward at times, and so hadn’t really considered how her words might be perceived. “Misunderstand me not Peter. A burden you are not,” she shook her head softly, her dreads shivering about her. “Welcome you are for a cell here to take…if afford one you can. Ask I do only enough for the renovations for to pay. And if not…Well room in which you stay still available is for a time. No-one there long does stay, as find they do their footing…one way or t’other.” She looked over her shoulder to the door, wondering if Enver would find them there; half hoping he would and half fearing it too, as he would be more of a distraction to her than he could be of help. “Like…” she looked back to him.

“Like I do that here you are…Worried did that never return you would…for fear of Enver and I.”


<Peter Parkman> Peter had already decided that he'd need a bag of some sort in order to carry all the books; he'd gotten ahead of himself. Keara began to clarify, to backtrack, to tell him that he was welcome, and that he was not a burden. He swallowed air. "I thought about it," he said, honestly. He shrugged. "I'm sorry. You did make me feel welcome. So I stayed. I can find answers here," he said, failing to mention that he was half considering never leaving. Going outside gave him the heebie jeebies. "I'm not afraid of you....anymore," he said. And then, with a small smile. "You should stop fighting, though. You might end up with another mistake kid."


<Keara> It was probably inappropriate to do so but she couldn’t help but smile when he referred to himself as a mistake. “Know that as of yet I do not…That you a mistake are. Prefer I do to think that gifted me you were.” She had given it some thought since she turned him, well, since she and Enver turned him, and that was how she had come to see Peter, as a gift, something she didn’t know she wanted or needed till she got it. “Cold to most I seem. Know this I do. Truly alive perhaps I was not till I My Enver met. But uncaring I am not. Love I do those that of my blood are born. And mean I do not that care I do only for those that turn myself I do.

Care I do for all those that their lineage to me can trace. More precious gift to give there is not that one’s blood. Least that my feeling is. Sired I did not in the old world. No need had I for that to do. New all this to me still is.” She could have gone on to explain more of her past and how she came to be here and why she sired her childer but she wasn’t sure Peter wished to hear it at this point and she wasn’t so absorbed in what she was saying that she had begun to babble yet either.


<Peter Parkman> There were things Peter wanted to know about Keara. He'd got the impression - through both the conversation he'd overheard the night of his siring and small things since - that she was a lot older than the average Joe. Much older than Enver, even, unless Enver had adapted and appeared to be more the modern man than he was. He was still vaguely smiling. He didn't think he'd ever refer to Keara as his mother, but it was fun to joke about it none the less. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just thought I'd let you know that I'm not very happy about the situation at the moment - but I can still be amiable. And I'll probably adapt, as is necessary," he said. Although he was jumpy, his anxiety was only a new development.

Underneath it all, he was calm. Calculated, even. He was philosophically stable; he was capable of thinking things through with reason and precision. He couldn't stand letting his mind get out of his own control. "You'll have to tell me, one day, about your history," he said.


<Keara> She didn’t realise that she was rocking ever so slightly where she sat but she was. Much and little had happened since she’d returned and not all of the things that came to pass were choices she’d re-make given the chance and when she began to think of the things she couldn’t change, she sometimes fell silent; Keara had two main states when her mind was overloaded, quiet or babbling. Today it seemed silence was the order of the day. “Speak of my past I shall when appropriate it is to do so. Now however…” she was pulling her focus back to the situation at hand.

“Now for you is. Spoken we have of what know you should for this life to begin. Time you have had for information to absorb. For things new with your eyes to see. So…guess I do…that perhaps questions now have you might…Or need you do for to ask that show you some things I do. If that the case be…ask of me what you will you may.”


<Peter Parkman> Questions. Peter did have a few of those. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he subconsciously clutched at the book in his hand; most books that he had borrowed had something to do with the history of Harper Rock. Some were books he supposed were created by other vampires, to help new vampires. He was getting quite a few answers from these books. They'd already determined that his 'path' was the same as Keara's. Which was, in itself, a blessing. But now that he actually sat and had someone to ask his questions, his mind went blank. He blinked. Then: "You mentioned that you would have killed me anyway. For... secrecy. Is that a personal belief or is that a... thing? That I should be aware of?" he asked.

[Keara Aithne]

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



<Keara> Of all the questions he could have asked he began with what to her was arguably one of the most important and oddly, one of the ones that she and Enver might never fully agree on. To say that he was opposed to keeping their kind a secret would be to have over simplify his view as he understood the need for it and yet still hoped that one day it wouldn’t be necessary. At least this is what Keara had come to see as his standpoint on the argument and something she put down to his age and lack of experience, for she’d experienced what happened when the frail ones knew on mass what they were and that particular portion of history wasn’t one she wished to repeat.

“That…complicated perhaps is to answer. Some there are that believe not that hide we should. That let it be known who and what we are. Understand that viewpoint I do not self. Code there was by which once most lived. "You shall not utter the name of our kind" That tenet was of code. One of ten. Believe that one I still do. Vampires there are that hunt you will for this to break. This day, as it was then. Care I do for our kind. Seen I have what happens does when frail creatures aware of us become. Pleasant the outcome is not. Wish I do not for through that again to live. Frail creatures stronger are when together they attack. Of that much certain I am. Greater threat to us perhaps they are than we to ourselves become have. But…time perhaps that true will prove. Or disprove.”

She was rambling now, at least that was how it seemed to her and so she fell silent and began rocking again, her eyes on the floor in front of her. As much as Keara recall memories of the past without going catatonic, she still sometimes had difficulty when it came to talking of them, or anything that linked to them.


<Peter Parkman> Keara was rocking, and Peter wondered why. He tensed a little, as if moving to get up. But stayed where he was. The information swirled around in Peter's brain - he could understand where Keara was coming from, to a certain extent. One of the books he'd read had elucidated the downfall of past vampires. And their return. Conjecture, some of it. But useful, regardless. Talking to Keara now only confirmed that some of it, at least, was true. It was now that Peter did decide to move; he crawled over so that he was sitting beside Keara, still on the floor though, back leaning against the coffee table. He looked up at her. "Thank you. You doing alright?" he asked, visibly concerned.


<Keara> “Fine I am…Or shall be…Difficult is sometimes the words to say…Well…The words perhaps not the difficulty are, but the memories which evoke they do.” She looked down at him, thankful that he hadn’t made a move to touch her, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him; even if that particular impulse was a lot easier to override these days. “For what do you thank me?” she asked, her brown eyes betraying the sadness her memories had brought with them and more than that, the fear; as feared she still that realm, even if it was escapable these days.


<Peter Parkman> She didn't seem okay, but Peter didn't push the subject. "For answering my question," he said. "These days I find people don't thank other people enough. It annoys me," he said. "I make a habit of thanking people, even for the small things," he added, more of a mumble than a statement. His thoughts were wandering, clinging to other questions he could ask. He, too, has memories he'd prefer not to have. He gave a shrug. "And I suppose I might thank you, in some way, for... this," he says, gesturing to the air around them, to himself, to the Asylum. She had called him a gift, and he had begun to wonder whether she hadn't given him a gift, too. "Would you call it that?" he asked, before realising she was not privy to his thoughts.

"A gift, I mean. What you've done to me. Would you call it a gift?"


<Keara> She nodded a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “No more precious gift have I to give than what through my veins does flow. Of course…Not all worthy are. Know that you do not when sire one you do. That learn you only in time. Sired more I have than to whom connected me now are. Lost to the realm of shadows they are, never to return.” This was something that was oddly easier to talk about, for as much as she loved each and every one of the childer she sired (in her own way) she knew that their survival was in their own hands, as there was only so much she could do to keep them In this realm.

“Thankful I am for gift that Ven me did give. Be here now without him I would not. And…” Her smile became far warmer and she bit into her lower lip before adding. “Enver I would not have met. Four hundred years took it did for me him to find.” She looked down at him and seemed light-hearted, excited even. “Though he my first husband is not…My first real love I know him to be. Knew I did not that feelings like this exist do…And well…” she caught herself before she finished her sentence, her brow furrowing a little. “Hmm…said you did not if you such love did know.”


<Peter Parkman> "No," Peter said with a laugh. It did appear as if Keara were going to start gushing again. And though Peter did not mind, he did not think that he was currently in the state of mind to pay her love the proper attention it might deserve. He was lying, though. There was a dagger in his heart as far as love was concerned. But she was gone, and that love didn't exist anymore. Not in the living realm. It was part of the reason he was here, in Harper Rock, to begin with. Even though he now felt like he lived on an entirely different realm, he still kept his secrets, though. He was still far too jittery not to keep them. "Good, alright. I'll uhm, try to adjust, thinking of it as a gift. What are the good things that I should look forward to?" He asked.


<Keara> She didn’t yet know Peter well enough to catch him in a lie and so she gave him what for her passed as a sympathetic look. “Well…young you are. Time enough there is for love to find.” She nodded her head decisively. “Good things? Hmm…good things…” she said aloud as she began considering the question; it wasn’t that she couldn’t immediately list some positive points about being a vampire, she just wanted to make sure that she gave the question the consideration it deserved. “Well…for me…Like I do to hunt. Creatures. Not vampires. Never vampires. Not again…Powers too fun are. Favourite powers have I do…Like able I am to the internet to connect with my mind; that a telepath power is. Hmm…perhaps shadow power choose I should, as learn that sooner you might. Able I am for a home to enter without invitation…though use that so often I do not…Stealthy also I can be when feeding. Shadows good at that are…in general…hiding, if hide they must…though powers never long do last. Hide you cannot for days in the shadows. Hours though you can…if practise you do. Oh! And other power is that possess I do. Perhaps not favourite but useful it is. Able I am for those that trust me do to summon to me. So…example…Enver. Enver trusts me does. Even if arguing we are. If he across the city was and needed I do for him to see, bring him to me I could, instantly. Perhaps one day…when learn you do for me to trust, able this to do to you I shall be.”


<Peter Parkman> Peter's brows furrowed. Trust had come into question. Keara had immediately assumed that he did not trust her, which begged the question. Did he? He was here in her home, and here with her now. He had to trust her to some extent, and his immediately response was to tell her so. "I don't think I'd like to hunt animals," Peter said, immediately assuming that was what she meant. "And I do like to hide," he added, with a smile. It had become a constant state of being, trying to become smaller than what he was so that he could hide from the view of others. "And I do trust you. You can trust people without liking certain things they might have... done," he said, staring at the wall across from them rather than looking Keara directly in the eye.


<Keara> A modest smile came across her lip when he said he trusted her, a smile that helped to negate the slight look of confusion she’d had when he mentioned killing animals. “Glad I am to hear that trust me you do. That important is. Expected I did not for to hear you say that. Thought perhaps I did that manner of your turning negated any such trust a childe in me usually might have.” She looked down at her feet, as she was still a little ashamed of the manner in which Peter was turned and suspected that she might be paying penance for that (in her own way) for the foreseeable future. “And hunt animals as such I do not. Creatures I hunt. Things that dead are. But not vampires. Supernatural creatures. Or…humans. Sometimes humans too killed must be. Learn that perhaps you shall. But try I do never for an innocent to harm.”


<Peter Parkman> An uncontrollable shudder ran the length of Peter's spine. The thought of hunting humans--whether good or bad--did not sit well with him at all. Not this soon, anyway. Peter swallowed, hard, and might have visibly paled were it not for his already pale skin, and the lack of coursing blood beneath it. "It's not the act but what you did afterwards," Peter mumbled. He didn't want to give the impression that he trusted without thought. "If you'd left me on the dock to chase after your husband then no, I'd probably not trust you. But you brought me back here and you explained things. That earns some trust," he added. "Maybe I'll stick to the supernatural creatures. Though it's all a bit... overwhelming," he said, obviously preferring to hole up and read about them rather than go out and see them for himself.


<Keara> Nodding she decided to explain why she stayed with him. “Leave you alone I could not. Though admit that in past done that I have. Every turning different is. Deserved you did not for alone to be left. Chose this path you did not. Chose for you Enver and I did. Do that normally I do not. Many of my childer offered the gift were…or saved were before died they did. While circumstances of your turning not ideal were, thinking I am that destiny a part did play…” She looked to him, her hands at rest in her lap, her ankles crossed as she fought the urge to sit cross legged on the table and display a little too much of herself to her childe.

“Know I do not if you in such things believe but believe I do. And…hmm…that perhaps a good idea is. For to the supernatural creatures to help cull. Helps that does for our kind from humans to protect, as if control we can creatures of the city, keep numbers down…less likely aware of us most humans will be. If zombies the streets begin to roam, more questions frail creatures perhaps will have than healthy is. If that sense does make?”


<Peter Parkman> Peter began to laugh even as he nodded. His laughter was smooth and low, like a nicely aged whiskey. It all made sense, in an odd kind of way. He wasn't laughing at the prospect of zombies freely roaming the streets, however. "I don't even know what I believe anymore!" he admitted. "You know, you think you have everything all figured out and then BAM!" he claps his hands, a cracking sound in the confines of the room, "You get turned into a vampire. Kinda turns one's belief system on its head, if you know what I mean," he said. He turned to Keara, brow arched. "What destiny do you think I played part in?"


<Keara> “Your own of course,” she answered without hesitation. “All of us our paths must walk. Our purpose find. Tell people I do that purpose something is that provide I cannot. Each their own must find. For me. Thought I did…long ago, that my path was for our kind to punish, for order to bring. But that in first life was. Now know I do where go our kind does when die they do. Send I never wish to another there. And so now…now I new purpose have. Returned I did. Some two centuries after died I did. Well…not quite two hundred years, but close enough it is. So perhaps my purpose was for our kind back to this world to bring. Only dozen or so like me there are. To whom this century new is. Every vampire that in the city dwells to one of seven vampires traced can be. Our clan, our family, small is. Though mind that I do not. Like I do for those of my blood to know. If too many there were, less time for each have I would. Though…say I should that not all who turned to this born are…Hmm…perhaps rephrase that I should?” She was rambling; something she did when spiralling into madness, on a roll or passionate about something, something Peter would likely come to recognise.

“Not all who turned are survive. Some made for this life are not. And while hope I do for each to whom I my blood do gift, little more than that can I do. Up to the childe it is, if wish they do this life to embrace.”


<Peter Parkman> Peter felt his head spin. The prospect of having been dead for two centuries only to be alive again now was daunting. For a few moments he saw his future bloom in his mind’s eye; he saw himself live out this century and the next. Although it should have occurred to him already, he had not yet dwelled upon the fact that he was, indeed, immortal. That when he died, he could come back. It gave him a sense of invincibility, but at the same time lent him a sense of helplessness. Like he didn’t have a choice. Like maybe there was such a thing as destiny and he was just subconsciously walking a path that had already been determined for him.

“I see,” was all he could really manage, even those words a little strangled as he uttered them. He took a breath that he did not need, forcing himself to be calm. It was easier to be calm with Keara beside him; at least he knew he wasn’t quite alone. Although he wouldn’t physically cling to her like some lost puppy, there was definitely no way he was going to go anywhere on his own. And no way he was going to give up, either.


<Keara> “Time tell shall if made you were this life,” she said giving him a soft smile, her fangs hidden behind her lips; even if she did smile more fully these days, a closed mouthed smile came far more naturally to her. “Gave you sword earlier I did…but well…stopped I did not for to ask if knew you did how that to wield. Teach you I can…If need to learn you do?” It was perhaps an odd change of subject to someone not privy to her thoughts, but it was a perfectly natural to her, as his survival could very well depend on him being able to defend himself.


<Peter Parkman> Peter scoffed. He'd left the sword in the spare room, the one that he'd been sleeping in. He'd used it, but not very well. "I thought about it, when in school. Taking fencing as an extracurricular activity," he said, thinking back to when things were normal, to when his future was bright and there was no inkling of witnessed murders and vampires. “Never did though. I haven’t got a clue how to use it,” Peter said. He tried to transport himself back into the state of mind of his younger self, when fencing seemed like it could be fun. He tried to see this as something to keep himself occupied, rather than as learning how to lop off the heads of zombies. “Better late than never, right?” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

He’d follow Keara out into the hall; he’d go and collect his weapon, and would return to her, ready to try to absorb everything that she would attempt to teach him. Peter was an academic; he walked, for exercise, and that was about it. Although it didn’t really matter anymore that he was physically fit, it did matter that he was as clumsy as a fish out of water. Keara was good—exceedingly so—and put Peter to shame. But in the end he found himself having fun, laughing even as he was being beaten, losing himself to the ebb and flow of the lesson, happy for the physical distraction, exuberant as he felt he was finally doing something useful.