: That's My TARDIS : Whit

[Enver Marshall II]

"I took a look around those places you told me to. Even got a few pics on the outside of the buildings." Crash pulled out his cell phone, tossed it on Enver's desk in his office and sat on one of the chairs in front of the large, dark wood desk. Enver snagged the phone up, opened the camera application and started going through the pictures of the five properties. "I wouldn't bother with number four. Not unless you want your **** stolen all the time. Real seedy neighborhood, man." Enver looked up at Crash and gave him a nod. Crash wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was street savvy and if Crash suggested not touching a certain place, in Enver's mind there was a damn good reason why. So he swiped through those pictures without much of a glance, then wrote down the numbers 2, 3 and 5 on a piece of paper.

"Thanks, mate." Enver passed his thrall the phone back after leaving the camera application, then proceeded to pick up the phone on his desk to make a few calls to set up an appointment to see these places. Before he was interrupted by Crash. "If you're interested in the last one, there's an open house sort of thing tonight. The realtor is really trying to move it. Says it's been on the market for months and they've dropped their prices a few stacks." Crash grabbed the phone off the desk, stood up and pocketed it. "See you later, man. Got a few clubs to hit tonight before it gets too late." Enver eyed the thrall and shook his head.

"It better not end with me having to bail your *** out of jail again. Be pickier about your client base, mate. Or it's going to come back on the both of us at this rate." Enver dismissed Crash with a nod of his head to the door, which was pretty standard. The thrall nodded his head before vanishing out the door, letting Enver know he heard him. But hearing and listening were two completely different things in Crash's world.

The tall male stood from behind the desk, collected the paper work he had started looking over and put it in the first desk drawer. He locked it, headed around the desk and then grabbed his coat, fished for his car keys and headed off to the Coastside district. Not his typical choice, but if the building suited his purposes and they were asking a cheap rate, it wasn't something Enver was going to overlook. It was the business world after all.

The male climbed inside his most recent purchase, which was just an upgrade from his old car of choice; the same silver colored, but newest edition of the Porsche's Spyder. The only difference was that this had a hard top, unlike the multiples he had owned when he lived in California. Canada wasn't as blessed in their weather as California was. On his way there, he sent his wife a mental text message (more or less), letting her know he was off to the Coastside area to check out some real estate and that he'd be a little later than usual. With that out of the way, Enver arrived at the building. He didn't get out right away. Instead, he drove around the nearby blocks to see just what sort of other businesses were around and what the client based would be like. Middle class, to upper middle it seemed, which suited him just fine.

Enver parked his car a few businesses down, locked it and headed towards the business that had a couple florescent flags sticking out of the ground, highlighting the open house sign. He looked around the immediate property, thinking on a few outside upgrades it could do with if he bought the place. Maybe even an expansion. It seemed small. When he stepped inside, he stopped and stared. His jaw slowly opened as he stood in the doorway. It was all he could do. What the hell had he just walked into?

[Whit]

Whitaker had been teaching himself programming. Well no, not quite teaching himself – there were tons of online resources for just about everything, and a trip to a used book store, a library, and some extensive use of the internet had yielded pleasant results. He wasn’t really great at it, but the hobby was something he could do at home. You see, Whit rarely ventured past his front door unless he absolutely had to. In life, he had been a reserved, but fiercely independent young man, and that had not changed after he had died. Shortly after being turned, he had fled from Harper Rock so that he could experience the world.

And he had loved it.

Until he hadn’t.

These days, he wasn’t a fan of the outside world. Cleaning his small apartment had gotten boring after the first few days back. He’d begun to re-read some of his favorite series, but he could only read for so long in one evening before he felt the need to do something more interactive. He had taken up a variety of hobbies from model plane crafting to jigsaw puzzles, to Sudoku. He had burned through most of them in relatively short order, not because he didn’t enjoy them, but because he got fed up with feeling confined to his apartment. It was during the evening before the open house that he got the idea to invest in another property. He didn’t generally have…issues when he was in a car, and if he were to have the location blessed or cleansed.

Well. It might just serve as an excuse for him to get out of his home every evening. He’d done a quick check of local properties of interest, and one had stood out to him because of its original purpose. He had been making a little bit of money on the side by downloading files illegally and selling them. Something told him Peter wouldn’t have been terribly pleased if he’d known. Which…was why Whit hadn’t really brought it up to him. Anyway, he had some excess funds (on top of a generous amount of money his sire had loaned him), that he felt would be best suited being tossed in as a down payment on something nice.

When it came time for the open house, he showed up just a little bit early, a crystal worn around his neck and tucked under his shirt. It didn’t really ‘help’, but he liked to pretend that it did. He was greeted, once he stepped inside by the central console of the TARDIS. Well, one of its models. Whitaker couldn’t have said exactly which; it was one of those earlier than the 2005 revival (Which was when he had picked up the series religiously). You see, the building had been the store house for a public collection owned by one of the show’s biggest fans in Canada. His prized pieces had been so numerous that some of them had required extensive storage.

After his death, most of it had been claimed by his family, but bits and pieces of the set had been all but built into the building Whit and several others were looking at. Removal would have been likely to damage them.

“Enver?” He said abruptly. That had been the man’s name hadn’t it? Peter had given them something of a brief introduction back during the Aithne gathering. As he understood it, the man was Keara’s…husband? Whit wasn’t sure if there was a vampiric equivalent or if that terminology was used. Whatever the case, it was nice to see a familiar face. Especially when there was something of a crowd. People bought spirits with them, carried them on their backs in a way. He had ducked out of the gathering before he could get properly acquainted with the other man. Mainly because Ivan had been getting a bit too touchy feely for the Necromancer’s comfort.

[Enver Marshall II]

He had just barely made it inside the place when he heard his name. In fact, the male had just met the relator who apparently had seen one or two of his movies and while it wasn't completely professional, as he admitted, he was still hoping Enver could sign something for his wife who made him endure both movies. Enver agreed; all too happy to make and keep a fan happy, so the guy was off to get something for Enver to sign. But in the process had been interrupted from an interested party who was asking questions about the place. The relator held up a finger; one of pleading and all Enver could do was nod. He wasn't completely against the idea of buying this place, but he would need to look at it more to see what its capabilities could be for him and any future business he wanted to started.

But when Enver's name was heard, his attention shifted right away to the individual who spoke it. He gave the guy a once over, nodded and then let his mind race to think about where he'd seen him before. Enver knew he'd seen the guy, rather recently too, but the name escaped him. His relationship though hadn't. He was close to Peter. One of Peter's. Ivan? Whit? So much was going on that night when Enver managed to pull away from work and get to the function. "Iv-Whit." It was Whit. Yes, Enver was sure of it. Ivan had an accent; very foreign and thick.

A hand was extended to Whit after Enver knew he got the name right. "How's it going?" Enver had always viewed Peter as one of his, and so by default, Whit was one of his as was Ivan. Their well being was a top priority on his agenda when he got to run into the guys.

"You interested in buying, or just happened to be in the neighborhood?" Enver asked the male, eyes still on him. "Have to be real honest, I'm not exactly sure what the hell I stepped into."

[Whit]

There was an endless sea of them all around, at least that was how it felt to Whitaker. In his mind, human features dimmed, and in their place grew scales. Rotted fish heads seated on top of otherwise man-like frames, some with long hair and garish make up painted on. Some of them were completely unadorned, and all of them talking, with flapping toothless mouths that looked like little more than a cross between beak and ugly hole. The school of people or water borne corpses looked to be covered in a thin layer of viscous fluid, slimy to the touch. They probably would have smelled if Whit bothered to inhale through his nose. He had always suffered from intense allergies in life, so when he needed to talk, he always drew breath in through his mouth.

He didn’t need help in avoiding touching them. They all seemed to subconsciously avoid getting close to him. Like one of those situations out in public where two people were being just a little bit too affectionate, and everyone else made a point of looking the other direction for fear of being made to feel uncomfortable. He had that effect, like a subjectively living stigma. Part of the problem was that he could have been a corpse with his pale flesh and gaunt features. His eyes were just a little bit sunken, and that cast this shadow over them that made his normally bright blue eyes more haunting than anything. Like a spectre peering through the dark. His cheekbones were naturally high, and the emaciation of death did very little to make him seem…attractive.

He probably would have looked out of place if not for the fact that there were a few people in costume. Weeping angels, Daleks. It was like nobody had been given the message that it was an open house and not a convention for Dr. Who fans.

His flesh was like ice because he had come in out of the cold.

His smile was the warmest thing about him, hesitant in the way that one tended to be when confronted with a vaguely familiar face and barely a clue to go on as to who that person was – but sweet all the same. Because it was just to one side of a knowing smile, like there was a joke shared just between himself and Enver, a story told between them that nobody else in the room would have been able to understand, and yet without the arrogance that would have made that same sentiment obnoxious.

“I am well. My friends in school called me Grape if you would rather.” Had Enver nearly called him Ivan? Clearly Whitaker needed to make a more prominent impression (not that he held Enver accountable, not really).

“For you? How have you been?“ He had always been taught that it was polite to return niceties in kind. “As for my intentions; I am considering buying. Unfortunately, I am not really sure how practical the purchase would be now that I find myself looking at the layout. What would I use it for?” He questioned as his arms slid behind his back, his fingers creeping along his forearms so that he could grip either elbow. The position forced his chest out, his shoulders back. Had he not been clad in a suit jacket, button down, and undershirt, one might have seen his ribs. He looked thinner than he should have to have been ‘healthy’.

“What you are looking at is, from what I have gathered, a rare experience. You have stepped into a spur of the moment Doctor Who convention.” His jaw worked back and forth for a second as someone with a frizzed out blond wig caught his attention. And he caught hers. He could see her mouthing the term ‘Hello, Sweetie’, and she was approaching. Oh no.

No.

Whitaker had inadvertently dressed in clothing similar to the Eleventh incarnation of the Doctor.

And someone dressed as River Song was going to bother him. He carefully slid behind Enver. “Mind if we take this conversation elsewhere? I am about to get a lot more popular than I bargained for.”

[Enver Marshall II]

Grape? Enver's interest was piqued. That wasn't a common nickname that he'd ever heard. For a man or woman. He might ask about it later. "Okay, Grape." If that was what Whit would rather be called, then the Allurist wouldn't think twice about doing so. When Grape asked how he was, Enver gave one of his usual charasmatic smiles and nodded. "Good. Happy wife, happy life. Or so someone says." Enver chuckled as he thought about the potentially intense situation that Whit had been privileged to with he and his wife at the family get together. Truth was, it wasn't that bad or difficult being married to Keara. They couple had too much passion for the other, that occasionally they pushed boundaries by exploding over something that was probably pretty trivial. Pregnant puppies? Not a big deal. Yet, somehow it seemed to be that night. When the passion was positive, Enver felt like he was on top of the world. Yet, when it turned to the negative, people saw a side of him he didn't particularly like. It was a defensive mechanism. The cheeky, yet smart *** male side of him that liked to push just the right buttons or as many as he could.

When Whit-or Grape, talked about buying this place, he had Enver's full and undivided attention. He didn't care about the woman who wanted his autograph. Not unless she had something to say about this place; as to why it was so cheap. Maybe it was this way due to the thoughts Whit spoke about. Just what would he do with this place?

Then it hit Enver when Grape talked about Dr. Who. No, he never watched the show, but everyone knew the mention of Dr. Who. Some guy who traveled through time or other dimensions or something? Through a telephone booth that wasn't all it appeared to be. Yeah, Enver was pretty sure he had to have this place. If nothing more than for nostalgia. Which would turn in a pretty penny for it. "Well, if I bought it, it might be worth making the place a Dr. Who museum, more or less. I'm sure it'd make a damn good profit. Going that route." It wasn't that he hadn't heard Grape and his possible interest in the place, but if Whit didn't want it for whatever reason, Enver was going to snag it for himself. The only reason he'd let it go to the male was because he was a Vedarian. He was Peter's.

"And yeah. Can we just investigate this place a few more minutes? I know this place a few blocks down. The Lounge. Classy joint." Enver name dropped the place so that Grape knew where they might end up and if he had any reservations about going there, now was the time to speak up.

[Whit]

A faint smile at the use of his childhood nickname. Whitaker’s last name was Concord. Apparently someone had put it together that concord was a type of grape, and it was really just as simple as that. Kids weren’t infamously good at being creative. At least, he hadn’t ended up ‘Fudgie’ which one of the other boys in his grade had. And it hadn’t been for a particularly good reason either. There was brief nostalgia and then the feeling was gone.

“I take that to mean Keara’s well?” He made no judgments about the couple or their relationship. It frankly wasn’t his business, and so long as the two of them were happy, that was what ultimately mattered. Besides. Whitaker wasn’t particularly close to anyone in Vedarian other than Peter, though he had made friends whilst looking for team raid partners. Kelly, Kallista, Opal, Nakia and Jersey. He would have been remiss to say that any of them were more than acquaintances, but there was indeed something of a bond there. Perhaps it would develop more with time. For that reason, though – he was pleased to see Enver. The opportunity to get to know some of his ‘family’ better made him feel more comfortable in what otherwise would have been a stressful situation.

He rather liked Keara. She was a bit odd, but she immediately accepted people. Or so it seemed to him.

“Give her my love.” He assumed the other man would see her before Whit did.

A Doctor Who museum? That certainly had Whitaker’s attention. Plans to purchase the building (which had only ever been dodgy at best) immediately dissipated. Enver was family (Whit was still getting used to thinking in those terms with people he had only recently met), and he seemed to want to respect the fandom. That was enough for Whit. “If you would like, I would be happy to help. I mean if you need another perspective on the sorts of displays and exhibits that should be put out for the public. I know the show fairly well, and would be very pleased to weigh in.” The flow of conversation though brought a thought to Whit’s mind.

Was this what Enver did for a living? Purchase buildings and repurpose them? He knew next to nothing about the man. “Of course, I’m just trying to avoid being mobbed but I think I can side step people a few more moments.” There was a tap at his shoulder and he half turned. There was an elderly man there in what appeared to be a robe and boxers. What? He looked like he was about to kick the bucket, and suddenly he began to speak.

“What are all these people doing here? This is my collection! You have to tell them to go away!” Whit stood there frozen for just a second, licking over his lips. His attention to Enver waned as he began to realize that it was another spirit. Asking things from him again. They always did. They always came to him when they realized that he could see and hear them and they always wanted him to deliver a message, or check on someone, or do something they had not been able to in their lifetime.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have that power.” And then the old man began to scream at him. They always shouted when he couldn’t or wouldn’t do what they wanted. His hands lifted to his ears so that he could cover them, a scowl passing over his features even as he strode briskly away, only to be followed after. He probably looked like he was ******* insane. At least to Enver. Most people weren’t paying any attention to him.

“ALRIGHT!” He shouted.

Okay. That had everyone’s attention.

“Oh. Sorry. I mean would everyone mind leaving.”

He wasn’t sure who started laughing first, but someone did, and it spread like forest fire. His shoulders slumped. The old man started to scream at him again.

God. He hated public appearances.

[Enver Marshall II]

A nod was given to the male when he inquired about his wife's well-being. "She is." Enver added in, just in case Whit had missed the nod with all that was going on around them. The jostle of people, conversations about "TARDIS" and other Dr. Who things Enver hadn't a clue on, and then the pitch of the sales rep for the place. Something was going on in every corner of the room it seemed.

Enver's attention snapped in on Whit completely, tuning out everything that was going on around them, when Whit told Enver to pass on his love to Keara. A small shred of the man knew that Whit meant well, but the majority of Enver? All he heard was some guy, close to Keara wanted her husband to make sure she knew he was thinking about her. Whit was thinking about Keara and was professing some form of love. Enver didn't even know they were close or knew each other outside a few occasional run ins.

Narrowed eyes locked in on Whit, as Enver cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and tried to shrug it off. But he just couldn't. "Give her your what?" Enver asked, a cool, sharp pitch to his voice as the male's hand dropped to his side and clenched in a tight ball. He tried to rationalize that Whit wasn't a threat, by reminding himself that Whit was one of Peter's. That Whit was family. That his wife wouldn't even give Whit the time of night, but there was still some doubt. Seeded deep down, whenever Enver thought of any male potentially loving his wife in any capability.

Whit managed to change the focus when he started talking business. The other thing Enver put all his time and focus into outside of his wife. Running his businesses and making money. The Hollywood has been wasn't completely bought on the idea of opening a Dr. Who museum, it had just been a passing conversation, but the second Whit seemed to put his two cents in about it, Enver could see it. Only, he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one owning it. Everything he currently possessed in the business world, he had some knowledge on. The theatre, the boating supplies and the cabaret; with a main emphasis on comedy more than anything else. All things he could relate to and talk up? This? This was uncharted territory. For Whit though? Might be right up his alley. Enver thought about suggesting that if the other guy was interested, he should make an offer before someone else did. Hell, Enver would even front the guy the cash if need be. Most of Enver was all too happy to do that, because Whit would be here, busy working. And away from his wife.

"Huh?" Enver asked when Whit started talking about power; or lack there of. Was he projecting his thoughts to Whit? He'd done that a couple times to his wife. What power did he need? Enver would front him the cash and the guy could do whatever he wanted. Hell, he could even get Enver to front him some extra cash for the manpower needed to remodel if he wanted. No power really needed.

Again, it seemed Whit was hearing what Enver was thinking. He was agreeing to the idea of Enver fronting him some cash. "Am I doing that thing again? With my thoughts?" Enver blurted out after the guy practically screamed a single word at him. Enver wouldn't blame him for screaming at him, but he could have told Enver to stop thinking at him too.

"You alright?" Enver asked, looking the male up and down when Whit asked everyone to leave. Like he owned the place. Well, he could if he wanted to. Someone was laughing. At first Enver thought it was someone laughing in a different conversation, but soon the whole room was laughing. They were laughing at Whit. The male turned to his side to look around the room. Then, Enver started clapping.

"Yeah, you know what, kid? Think you sold me on it. Didn't think you had it in you. I'll give you my mate's number." Enver fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. It was his, but no one would know that. No one but Whit. "Call my buddy Ben. Tell him I passed you his number for a reading for the part you're interested in." It was the best thing he could attempt to do at the moment. The card was passed after Enver jotted down the words, 'follow me,' on the back of the card with a pen he fished out half a second ago. Then, he started walking backwards towards the door, as he kept talking. "I want to see you at that reading next week. You hear?" Enver extended both his pointer fingers at Whit, like he'd done on the streets of Hollywood a few times before Enver turned around, opened the door and left the building. He didn't go far, just around the corner and waited for the commotion to die down and for Whit to follow after him.

[Whit]

He could feel the sharpness of that tone like cool metal against the flesh; if words had been manifest as physical things, those might have been knives. The mechanical part of his mind, all gears and cogs, said that he should probably answer the question on its most technical level, by repeating what he had already said. There was, after all, always the chance that he had somehow misspoken or been misunderstood, or not heard correctly. The more pragmatic and human aspect of his being said that Enver had heard, and Whit had possibly overstepped the natural boundaries established by good faith and social contract. It wasn’t too much of a stretch, because Whit had always been something of a strange boy, never quite the right shade of normal to fit in.

He looked curiously to the other man for a moment as if either confused by the situation or searching for an answer, the skin between his brows scrunched so that tiny lines appeared there. He decided the best course of action was not to answer verbally at all, which was a bit better than blurting something akin to ‘I’m gay’ in the middle of a store full of people he didn’t know. Which was not to say that Whitaker felt particularly bad about it, or in any way ashamed. He was just a private person when it came to personal attributes that he considered to be intimate. It also ultimately, was not his job to assuage anyone’s feelings as to their partner; it frankly wasn’t his business.

He didn’t even have the clinical interest to be curious.

The moment passed swiftly at the approach of the spirit, and Whitaker was only vaguely aware after that point that Enver was talking to him. He endeavoured to reply, realizing how confusing his antics likely were, but he had a little difficulty paying attention when he had a nagging ghost practically tugging at his shirt. It was like they had this doorway into his brain, and could shout right into it. The whole thing was intensely invasive in an uncomfortable way. The second part caught his interest more than the first, if only because it seemed so out of place. What thing with Enver’s thoughts, could the man have been talking about? Despite having been a vampire for a few months, Whit’s practical knowledge of their species was very limited. More his fault than anyone else’s, he’d been the one to run away and try to live his life.

He had holes in his understanding of what vampires could or could not do. “You what?” he asked, between attempts to brush off the old man. His direct questioning was an indicator of curiosity on Whit’s part. He was fine when it came to exchanging pleasantries if only because his adoptive parents had been quick to teach him the importance of good manners, but outside of what was required by most social standards, he was a quiet man who only bothered to contribute vocally when he felt something required attention. It may very well have just been a slip of the tongue on the other man’s part, but Whit could not help but wonder.

And then the ordeal took a turn for the worse. Could he answer Enver that question? Not with any honesty, whilst adhering to Peter’s request that he not reveal anything of a supernatural nature. That had been one of the first things the man had told him, so he just kept his comments to himself until after the charade Enver put on had come to an end.

He just stood there rather stupefied by the whole thing, with eyes a bit on the wide side, which likely did not make him at all convincing. The good thing about public humiliation was that it made it much easier to tune the badgering spirit out, and allowed him to focus more on the exchange between himself and Enver. A card slipped into his hand and he read over the words, licking his lips to wet them. It was not the first time he had been laughed at by a group of people he barely knew. But it still bothered him because he had been attempting to do the ‘right’ thing. There had been no obligation on Enver’s part to help the young man save face, but that’d been exactly what he had done. In that moment, he won Whit over for his kindness.

It was perhaps more pointed because of the exchange only moments before when Whit had been offering his affection to Keara through the proxy of Enver.

Whatever the case, it was small things like that, a willingness to help him out when he made himself look foolish (it happened more often than he would have like), that were huge to Whit. This did not show visibly, of course save for expression of relief once he had cleared the crowd and found his way outside to follow along after the partner of his grandsire.

Only when he was certain they were not being listened in on did he elaborate on what had happened. “Thank you for that.” He began. “To answer your earlier question, I’m alright. I just…there’s this thing. You see, I see the dead all around me everywhere I go. Back there, the old owner of that location was upset that so many people were going through his collection and he wanted me to clear them out. I tried to help, but you saw how that went.” Which sounded mad. Totally insane, really. “You said we were going to The Lounge?” An attempt to change the subject, or really, an easy way out for Enver if it wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss in any depth.

[Enver Marshall II]

Enver nodded his head to the question about The Lounge, giving what Whit had said some deep thought. He would have to ask questions to assess just what the male was on about. He could see them too; wraiths. If that was Whit was talking about. "Yeah. It's not far from here." Enver pointed a few blocks to the east and then put that hand in his pants pocket and started walking.

"You mean you see wraiths? Keara has one too. Her sister. Deanna." Enver hadn't ever believed in things like vampires, wraiths, fae and anything that rested between those things. "She was a real chatty Cathy for a while. Just to annoy me. Haven't seen much of her in a while, come to think about it." He moved around a small city garbage bin as they started walking, Enver's eyes falling briefly on his car. Enver wouldn't classify himself as a man who was materialistic, outside a few exceptions. He liked a certain car and would purchase it for as long as they made it. And his boat; but even that was modest compared to the boats he could have gotten. He could afford a lot more; houses, properties of all sorts, multiple vehicles and anything else on a whim, but Enver was oddly frugal. Always had been. If he didn't need it, he didn't get it. He was a man of principle and some of his ideals were on the old fashioned side. His perception on passing down his legacy to his children was still something Enver believed in, even though he had been a vampire for a while now. Some habits died hard with Enver and that was one of them. The male always held out for the chance that maybe one night, vampires could actually have children. He loved Lorde, and would give the woman just about anything if she asked, but she would never want to take over his businesses and properties here while he and Keara took off for a few years to gather identities there before returning in a few decades as some form of a relative to the both of them. An heir seemed the most logical to Enver. The only problem being, they could have an heir and neither of them could take care of dogs rightfully either.

"They're everywhere and some of them are right assholes, mate." Enver's thoughts broke away as he realized they had walked a little bit in silence as his thoughts consumed him. "You didn't summon any of them did you? You're sort of stuck with them if you had. Unless you banish them to that place up there." Enver pointed upwards, because he believed that's where the shadow realm was. Somewhere, up there. Right before heaven, if that place existed. He didn't a handful of years ago. "They aren't all bad. Some are useful. Deanna can be when she's in a mood to be helpful." He shrugged his shoulders. "Anyways, I'm no pro on that. Keara would probably be a better help than me on wraiths and all things like that." He offered, only because Enver had to. The idea of Whit with Keara wasn't something he wanted, especially with the guy asking about his wife a couple minutes ago. "You drink?" Enver stopped right outside a first floor building that had a sign lit in a neon blue that stated the name of the place, 'The Lounge.' He didn't know anything about Whit outside his knowledge about Dr. Who and what appeared to be the guy wanting to become a business man. Something Enver could get behind and talk about for a while.

[Whit]

As the pair of them walked, Whitaker carefully checked his suit jacket to make sure that there were not any fibers out of place or debris. He wore a dark brown tweed that paired well with the green tartan panels of his vest. There was a chain of silver that hung across his abdomen – a pocket watch. Whitaker actually collected them, but he collected several things. He had been fortunate enough to nab all of his antique watches when he had fled his apartment some several months back. He could not say the same for most of his books and a majority of his comics. Time alone had been good for working on restoring what he had been forced to sacrifice for his death and rebirth. The move had been a calculated one, and he did not begrudge those losses because what he had gotten out of the deal had been far more valuable.

One hand lifted so that he could carefully press over one wide lapel, ensuring that it was straight. He followed along after Enver, in the direction the man had gestured towards, but it was what he had to say next that caught Whit’s attention. A wraith? Was that what they were called? He didn’t really know the difference between sprits, and wraiths, or really any of that, another hole in his learning. “I would assume so.” He replied, though his hesitation likely gave away that he wasn’t 100% sure, if only because the nomenclature seemed rather specific, and he figured that meant there was a precise definition for what a wraith was. Regardless, he could see all of it. The spirit world sort of overlapped the world of man for him. The two were almost totally one and the same.

“Maybe she’s had better things to do.” He suspected the dead were like that. Surely they had things that they wanted? Much like the old man from only a few moments before, they had to have some sort of agenda to keep themselves going. Maybe this Deanna character had decided to take some time to handle her own affairs. Or maybe she was just floating around somewhere. Whit wasn’t rightly sure how that worked.

Several moments after that passed in silence, which was fine for Whit. He was not one of those men that needed loud noises or frequent conversation. One of the reasons that he and Peter had been drawn together in the first place was that they had shared a bond in the form of literature. They could literally spend hours together and never once talk. And even that was generally more than enough to feed Whit’s social needs for a good while. So seconds ticked by, and Whit considered options for the Dr. Who museum, and other businesses that might do well in Harper Rock. There were a few book stores scattered around, but not really a hub of nerdiness. Maybe the city could do with a polished graphic novel shop.

Not one of those dingy, dark, comic shops that was barely able to keep its doors open – but an actual store that could be used to host certain events that could draw a decent amount of revenue. The idea had merit, but it would ultimately require some sort of start up funding. Peter had given him a decent chunk of change and it was just lying in his bank doing nothing. He supposed that somewhat spoke for itself. Whit hated feeling like he owed people things. He wasn’t big on gifts for that very reason, because people generally took the giving of gifts as invitation to enter this cycle of perpetual giving and receiving. No thanks. He had plans to pay back that cash in full, with a decent amount of interest on top. He needed to find work first – so maybe opening his own place really was the place to go.

“You can say that again.” Because yes, in Whit’s experience, the spirit were jerks. “But no, I didn’t summon one. At least I don’t think I did?” They found The Lounge a moment later, and Whit glanced up towards the sign, a shake of his head given.

“No, I don’t drink.” Was that even possible? He had tried once while he was out on his own, exploring the world. The result had not been good. He breezed over the comment about Keara, recalling what had happened only a few short moments before. He would be more likely to get in touch with Peter to try and figure out some of what was going on with him. From what he had gathered, different vampires had different abilities. Maybe he needed to find one like himself. Peter had called himself a Shadow? So what exactly was Whit?

He reached for the door, tugging it open, gesturing for Enver to step inside. “How might I find out what…Path I am?” That was the word Peter had used. Path. “I imagine learning a little more about that might help me to figure out some more about…everything.” The hand not holding the door open moved vaguely in the air as if to refer to quite literally everything. His life had drastically changed after being turned, and he wanted to get a good grasp on why that was. Maybe he could even shut the spirits up or figure out what he needed to do to make up for his sins.