02 | Action/Voice | Beds aren't doing their jobs of making me restful.

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle wakes up often in the middle of a dead sleep with his heart pounding and a swear word on standby, masked in a thin veil of sweat. It's times of the night like these that he slips up out of bed and paces around his room, working his arms and shoulders and leaning against his window until he's too cold to remain there. But if he travels back to his bed and lays back down, he feels smothered. Growls a 'shit', slips on his shoes and jacket, and goes outside to walk.

He's got a bandaged arm from a vampire trying to kill him two days beforehand—stitches and everything—but the thought of being hurt again is illogically pushed aside by the need for the dewy cool outdoors. Whatever. He could deal with vampires over persistent night terrors. It's why he slaps his hand against the windowsill in frustration and goes out for yet another night in a long string of nights.

It's his morning trip, right before the sun rises up over the distant canopy, that he finds something familiar in the shop: it's a sniper rifle scope, without the actual rifle. He rolls it in his hand, humming a sound of contentment. Just a harmless little spyglass as-is, but he appreciates having it. Doyle sits on the bench he'd appeared on two weeks ago and lazily stares through the scope at the people passing. Sorry, man, he feels like snooping on y'all.

When noon is creeping up on him he's out in the forest wandering. Can't do much until his arm's back in full commission, but he can at least go to the lake closest by and practice bouncing some stones across it, or perhaps use that little rifle scope to spy on the nature beyond the lake itself, or even go fishing like he's been working on these last few days (though it's a little less fun when you're working around said arm injury.

It's all slow and quiet and in a way meticulous, but he was alright with it. He simply needed something to occupy his hands with while he thought about things.]

[Voice]

This book is pretty damn good for asking a lot of pointless and not-so-pointless questions, ain't it? Good way to keep your mind focused. I'm sure some of you probably agree by now, especially the old-timers who've been here for a while... but see, the problem is, I'm complete shit at picking out decent questions. Why is the sky blue, what's the numbers for pi, why did the chicken cross the road, etc., etc.

So... how about... [he rubs his chin]

You ask me a question instead, and I'll try to get a good one to throw back at you; don't care what it is, as long as it keeps me occupied. A little company goes a long way. Besides, you guys probably got your own topics you'd rather shoot the breeze with, not my crappy attempts, huh?

[And then after this voice entry, more exploring of course, because Luceti's forests are pretty spacious.

After a while of boyscouting traveling he gets hungry and goes to eat at the restaurant, but sooner or later he'll get to the bar, because that's just a place he's been finding himself at lately. Sometimes he drinks a little, sometimes he drinks enough to get drunk, and other times he sits in the back and reads a book. Today it's a sensible glass of whiskey next to an old copy of First Blood, and he's thumbing quietly through it in no time while he's at the bar.

He'll shuffle on home, but no doubt end up on one of his nightly or morning walks yet again, with no real destination in mind.]

((ooc: it's dated for the 29th unless you wanna tinker with the date; lemme know.))

Comments

[relictusdeus]

[Hell if he knows.]

If these 'bullets' of yours can pierce the heart... then, perhaps. [Coldly.] I am telling you what I know to work, not what I merely think.

[Those eyes linger on the man's face, critical and piercing for a moment - and after, his voice regains a carefully fabricated pleasantness. His willingness to volunteer information is not to be equated with trusting Doyle, of course, and he wishes to make this clear.]

And... a word of advice, if I may. When wielding a stake, do be sure it finds its mark, lest the creature lives. ...As I have.

[He presses a hand gently to his chest, towards the left side, the gesture thoughtful.]

And as you can imagine, surviving a blow meant to be lethal has a way of infuriating the one attacked. [In afterthought, he adds musingly:] More so... if they are not a vampire at all.

[fuckthemission]

Right. So you're from a world that not only has vampires, but is superstitious as hell to the point where whatever you are, they mistake for a bloodsucker. Not surprised; human brains turn into mush around things they don't get, most of the time.

[he squints, scanning the other as he had done to Doyle]

So what does that make you?

[relictusdeus]

[It's tempting to reply with some fitting, fifteenth century equivalent of 'bitter and pissed off', but he smiles wryly instead, and it alone speaks volumes.]

...What do you think? [Isaac inquires with mild curiosity, cocking his head as if to offer Doyle a better glimpse of his tattooed forehead and cheek, his teeth bared with a sneering curl of his upper lip. From a distance, his irises are invisible, pupils dark and slightly dilated.]

A beast? [He offers, slowly rising to his feet and throwing his arms open wide.] ...A devil? [A beat passes; then another, the calm tenuous. Then, pleasantly:] Go on. You can nod.

[fuckthemission]

You look like a person. [Not said with sympathy, with any sort of emotional attachment, just a statement that echoes confusion.] An eccentric one, I'll give you that. But neither of those words come to mind, exactly.

[His idea of a beast? Beauty and the Beast, 1991. Look it up.

As for devil, more sinister things arise. But nothing he can mirror this guy with.]

What do you call yourself?

[relictusdeus]

[An infinitesimal pause, the first honest answer surfacing in his mind set aside in favour of the second.]

A terrible sinner; a blasphemer, if you prefer. I am among the most wicked and unrepentant of sodomites... [He chuckles softly through his nose.] ...that is, to say nothing of other wrongs I am guilty of committing in my time.

[Tilting his head with a look as if he were meaning to pass himself off as a blameless child, he asks:]

...Oh. Or were you merely asking for my name?

[fuckthemission]

[... Isaac, all those things are extremely common in the 21st Century. Doyle is unimpressed.

YOU WERE JUST BORN IN THE WRONG DECADE, MAN.]

A name'd work, too.

[relictusdeus]

[The answer earns Doyle a small smile - one that is roguish and amused.]

'tis Isaac.

[fuckthemission]

Isaac. [That's a totally normal name. Huh.] The name's Doyle. You have any other information on the, uh... vampires from your world?

Sounds like you've had a lot of experience when it comes to them.

[relictusdeus]

[The grin of a hellion plays his lips.] Indeed.

[He doesn't expect Doyle to manage to destroy Drusilla if he tried, even if properly 'equipped'. In a world far too uneventful for him thus far, their struggle (if and when it next occurred - he was confident it was the latter) would likely make for an entertaining show, he muses. Was death here not impermanent, anyway?]

My dear Doyle... [The Forgemaster makes his approach one deliberate step at a time, his hips rolling smoothly - and while he carries his spear with him, upright in one hand, the tip is pointed outwards and his grip fairly relaxed. He pauses when there is only a few feet of distance between them, giving the man a lingering look of appraisal.]

...I cannot be expected to share all my secrets when given nothing in turn.

[fuckthemission]

[... Dear lord, are you hitting on him. Or asking for sex. Or both.

However, despite Isaac's odd nature, nothing seems physically threatening about him. Or rather, he doubted with his injured arm that he'd be able to shoot the guy, anyway, if he tried anything. With the most deadpan of humor -]

I'll give you my blessing and a handsome blow-up doll.



[... yes he knows that will fly over your head, no he doesn't care]

[relictusdeus]

[And for the briefest moment, he's silent while gazing back, his jaw shifting near-imperceptibly - and then he remembers a smile's still lingering on his lips. It grows colder.]

...Keep your blessing.

[Though his voice remains low, that particular word is thrown back at Doyle with undeniable spite. The next instant, however, he seems entirely unbothered by the turn of events; even quite amused.]

You will have more need for it than I, one of these nights.

[fuckthemission]

[He thought that might be the reply he'd get. You paint a pretty clear picture of things for him, Mr. Isaac.]

I doubt my blessing is as helpful as a gun or a knife. Unfortunately, my bullets only seemed to slow her down enough to make a run for it. If you hypothetically offered what the best weapon on them would be, what would you say?

... Hypothetically. Unless you don't feel like throwing a guy a bone here.

[relictusdeus]

'Throw you a bone'?

[He repeats with a note of incredulity in his voice. You and your strange expressions.]

Have I not done so already, dog? [A dark chuckle.] ...Pray you do not meet her with your arm as it is.

[Stepping back with a smirk, a softly glowing magic circle suddenly expands at his feet. It swallows him, his form dissolving into it - but he does not vanish from the area altogether. He phases into existence behind Doyle after a moment, leaning in with the intentions to bring his lips close to his ear and whisper teasingly.

Of course, the man is more than welcome to move away and would be easily capable of it.]

Think you that you will survive?

[fuckthemission]

[He glances at him, his voice lighthearted.]

If I thought I'd survive, I wouldn't be asking an alleged blasphemer with a pointy spear for advice, would I?

[relictusdeus]

What good is my advice, in the end, if you lack the skill and the experience to destroy her kind? [A beat.] A grisly end it would be, your body shriveling as she drains it of every last drop of blood... and you, lacking the strength to cry out for help.

[He shuts his eyes as if to bring into focus and better appreciate the mental image.]

Should she turn you... I shall gladly tear you apart.

[Dracula had once been the only vampire he had held in high regard - - but of course, betrayal had a way of turning admiration sour.]

'twould... relieve some of the boredom... and we have been most restless, indeed; Abel more than I.

[fuckthemission]

If I turn into a vampire? [Ha. The fact that they exist is crazy enough, but the mental image of him stalking around just makes him laugh more than anything. He walks over to the lake, sitting down at the front of it.]

If you ever see me running around in a cape hissing at crosses, you're free to put me out of my vampirely misery.

The turning into a raisin part, though, that sounds fucked-up. [He lays back, getting comfy in the grass.] Maybe I'll just leave the vampire slaying types to it, if there's really jack-shit I can do.

[relictusdeus]

Hah.

[It's an unusual, surreal thing to have a human being in his midst who does not seem the least bit hostile or intimidated by him. Who seems comfortable, almost, sexual advances aside. Of course, he knew he would be a fool to factor out the possibility that this was only a trick to coax him into lowering his guard.]

Please. They will not always be there to be save you; do not think that they will place your well-being... and your life... above their own.

[If there is something he has learned, it's that one has to know how to fend for oneself. Fight back or be trampled down; kill or be killed. Depending on someone was only a source of suffering, in the end; after all, one day, they would no longer be there. In the madness of the world, the only person one can really trust is themselves.]

[fuckthemission]

If that's the case, then I'm definitely as good as dead.

[Not that he entirely agreed with Isaac. Buffy had give him enough to work with to make him believe she was hardly a selfish vampire slayer. He shakes his head, snickering. Him, a vampire. Or a vampire's raisin. The horror of it all.]

Not the first time I've dealt with life-threatening gigs. It's just the most supernatural shit I've ever had to deal with.

[relictusdeus]

[At this, the Forgemaster breaks into a husky laugh, rolling his eyes as he returns to the rock and seats himself upon it. Look at that guy, laid out over the ground like some sort of bait. This wolf opts to keep his distance, watching keenly and hungrily, albeit warily.

And this... is only the beginning.

[He neatly folds one leg over the other, the lazy rise and fall of his foot betraying the itching of his nerves. It's been far worse, however; this he can manage.]

[fuckthemission]

I get the feeling you're bored. [He tangents for a moment, and glances over to the guy. It's not hard to see that he's the kind to go rushing into a battle.] Ever consider keeping yourself occupied with those 'missions' they give out to people?

[relictusdeus]

[Neither needing nor wishing to reveal everything to Doyle, he keeps his answer brief and in a light, lilting voice, meeting his gaze cooly.]

Perhaps. [He lets it hang in the air for a moment before tilting his head in a show of curiosity and amusement.] ...How considerate of you to think of me and my interests. ...And after rejecting my proposition. [He muses aloud in afterthought, laughing dryly.]

[fuckthemission]

[Gosh, you so silly, Isaac.]

No offense, but I prefer my bedfellows with a female touch. Still, I wouldn't be much of a local villager if I didn't make sure my fellow prisoners weren't losing their minds from boredom.

[He rubs his chin, considering something.

GUESSING GAME TIME. He's trying to connect some dots in his head.]

Let me see... You talk like you're from a really early time period, but you've got tattoos that look more like they'd be from my time; your world's obviously supernatural, even if the people in your world are appalled by that sort of shit.

[He tosses a stone casually into the lake, letting it skip for a while first. If they were appalled and had that way of talkin--]

1500's? 1600's?

[relictusdeus]

[Silly indeed!]

Prefer...?

[He repeats, jabbing at Doyle's choice of word. Perhaps 'prefer entirely' would have been more fitting, he muses - unless this fellow did in fact take men to bed but simply had no interest in him. Turned away by his ugliness, he supposes bitterly. But chuckling gently, deep in his throat, he adds teasingly:]

'twould seem you have yet to find a man who can... ahaha ... satisfy.

[Ah, he still wants and will forever want what he so often cannot have. Well, the only solution is to tease at every opportunity - it is a release from some of the frustration, and humour is a familiar and comforting defense mechanism.]

What good is a woman... if she cannot please you?

[Another laugh bubbles out of him. How can he resist? 'Pleasing' another person is not exactly something he considers a high priority, to say the least; a selfish lover, this one.]

'Female touch'. [Isaac contemplates the answer with an accompanying eye roll, drumming his cheek while his chin rests in his palm.] How very boring. [Then he falls silent for a moment, amusedly inviting Doyle to guess at the year from which he hails.]

You were closer with the former.

[fuckthemission]

[eyeroll]

I'm heterosexual.

[GET MY DRIFT. well he figures you probably do but you're just being an enormous troll.]

14... 50's?

[relictusdeus]

[Indeed he is.

The word 'heterosexual' does not mean very much to him, nor does 'homosexual', for that matter, unfamiliar as they are.]

'79, if we are to be exact. ...Not bad~.