Ghosts

David
Tonight it snows.

There aren't many people on the street. They're all inside and they're all with other people, little units that protect them from the monsters who are just trying to survive, really, the street people are diminishing, are growing pale and wan as the snow gets into their lungs and turns them into omens, America's greatness is tattered, no more returns, terrible, terrible. Tonight it snows and it snows quiet, the flurries delicate a-bumbling -

and tonight David, and his companion, are in a building with a brick façade. It's a warm lounge, owned for years by an Italian family with their fingers in all the pies. There was a fire last year; now it's re-opening, thanks to an anonymous backer, and the upstairs is an open plan deep seats couches leather chairs a small carefully contained ultra-modern fire place and a band called the Gunslingers and a milling crowd. It's not packed but it's not empty and it's as good as any a place to look out at the snow or to take advantage of how warm people are, really, biologically, when you get right down to it.

David has a good wool coat. Expensive wool coat. Drips elegance and money in equal measure. He is not wearing it now; it is in the coat room. He is wearing a tuxedo t-shirt and the tattoos on his arms are visible, as is the earrings in one of his ears. His dirty blond hair has some product to give it shape and he looks pugnacious, he looks Irish. With that nose.

He's checking notes on his phone and frowning. If Verna gets the feeling that David has some Work To Do Here, she might be getting that feeling for a reason.

Verna Gardner
Verna has a nice coat too. Maybe not as nice as David's, the wool mixed with cheaper threads. But she had it tailored so that it looks better than it really is -- a grey peacoat, now hanging next to David's in the coat room. But she did not follow his lead with what to wear under it. Tuxedo t-shirt? If only he'd let her help with the fashion a little. It might be of use to him. And she does so much want to be of use to him.

No, tonight she wore a high-waisted black pencil skirt with a sleek grey sweater that looks to be made of something shiny. Red boots, for a kick of some color.

She loves going out with him, really. It's less nerve-wracking, and he's also... just there. Being with him feels right. She doesn't have to send him a text just to make sure he's still alive. It helps her mood. A little.

He is busy, doing his thing. They're not really here just to have a nice night out, but then, when are they ever? She stays his quiet, reserved companion, watching him, watching the crowd.

David
It might be easy for David, or somebody else in David's position, to begin to take Verna for granted. She's always such a quiet shadow; a quiet, distressed little neatly turned-out inoffensive mouse of a companion - easy to ignore and easy to forget except David has a very difficult time. He's sensitive. He's sensitive and when he notices Verna watching him the way she does he always has a reaction, some visceral and guttural and tonight when he comes out of reading his notes and the frown leavens and his blue eyes rest on his childe, he shifts restively. Bony buttocks on leather. The leather creaks, the bony buttocks doesn't.

The question he asks when he asks it might seem abrupt, out of nowhere: as if it's something he's talked himself into asking with a lot of lead-up that he only thought about and never actually did. There's no easying into it. Just:

"So, erm... ghosts. How would you try to get at them?"

Verna Gardner
Her thoughts are broken up by her Sire's words, fleeing off somewhere, because his words are always so important they blot out everything else that might be going on. Except that this time...

"I... wouldn't? Because they don't..." Exist. Wait, no? She squints at him, whispers. "Are ghosts real?"

She'd normally expect someone to playing a kind of joke on her -- make the new kid believe in things that aren't real. But David's just not the type. He's too good for this world.

David
Oh, no. She's whispering again. His ears are mobile ears, sometimes: depending on his expression they rise or they fall and right now they fall a little and the lines around his eyes fan out as he squints back. The squinting makes him look sleepy, but he's not sleepy. Ruffled, sparrow bird. Punk sparrow bird.

"When did you decide they weren't real?"

Tam
Now is an excellent time for a stranger to come waltzing in out of the cold and interrupt the hell out of them.

Said stranger has the tall and handsome parts down but the 'dark' part is where he deviates from the script. Fair eyes and fair hair and his skin would be fair too if he were alive but he died shortly after this country was born and his fair skin has gone pale. Easy enough to overlook in the dark and with the proper application of vitae and so on and so forth and besides he isn't here to meet a mortal man.

He conquers the stairs and his motorcycle boots make him sound heavier than he is. Certainly give him more of a presence. As if he hasn't got a gravity about him already. He has.

They're whispering. He doesn't give a shit. He keeps his coat on and locks his eyes on the punk sparrow bird before ambling on over there.

Verna Gardner
About the same time she decided Santa Claus wasn't real, or the tooth fairy, or the monster in the closet. Except now she is that monster, so.

"Since science has provided no proof of their existence since the beginning of... science? They are apparently weightless, completely immeasurable by any instrument, lack energy or mass, and can be entirely explained by hallucinations?"

Verna shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It took her a long time to come to terms with what she became. Took many nights and a blood bond to even start accepting, if not really believing, that she had to drink blood. The unnatural doesn't come naturally to her.

"I mean. I'm not saying... Obviously there are things that I haven't been able to scientifically explain yet," she says. Yet. She will, just give her time, David. "Perhaps this is one of them. But... Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, yes?"

David
"Wouldn't you say most of the breakthroughs in your field of interest fall under that headliner? 'Extraordinary claims'? I - " He is awkward. Of course he is awkward. He is often awkward around Verna. She probably wouldn't believe he could be smooth. He can be smooth. He has, on occasion, been known to be smooth and tenacious and even cunning. Diligent. Get things done. That was his reputation: new up and comer. Bit of a malcontent, but. It only takes one night.

" - I - " His eyelashes flicker. There's a tall blonde in stompy boots meeting his eye. " - I'm not being critical. I just want you to think about, uh. I mean, how would you go about trying to test for such things? And yeah, they do exist, but... I think this might be the book guy. Er, Peter Welch."

But David has the wherewithal to make sure, doesn't he? At least of somebody's mood. The punk Ventrue stares at Tam without blinking, sifting through the lounge's lights to see what halo bounces out of Tam's pale skin through his coat.

[I've never botched aura scan roll before.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Verna Gardner
"Well, I... I guess I'd need a ghost to study? And some equipment. I'm not going to say no," she says, because of course she isn't. She can't say no, even if she doubts very much that she'd be able to find ghosts.

Already, the gears turn in her head, because David has asked, and what he asks for, he will receive. Mass spectrometry, perhaps?

The book guy. Verna looks up to find this Peter Welch, and sees a familiar face. She's seen him before, the one who was setting up an all-night bookstore. Yes, of course, that would make sense, wouldn't it? That he would be mixed up in vampire business? He was nice, at least. Verna puts all the charm she can in a little, shy smile.

She also waits for her sire to do the introductions, because manners are important.

Tam
At least David doesn't mistake the book guy for something he's not.

The figure is not an unfamiliar one to Verna nor she to him. They did not exchange names with each other but she did leave the nascent shop with a copy of a book she's never read before. Call that one a win for both sides. His eyes flick to her in the low light and with that flick comes a spark of recognition though he's here on business and intends to stick to that business.

For now his mood remains his own. When he speaks his voice is deep and warm and carries with it the vestiges of his homeland. A country across the Atlantic. If he really wanted to he could affect the accent of this land but that's a want he's never thought to kindle.

"Evening," he says. "Pardon the interruption, this'll only take a moment. David, yeah?"

David
Discussion of the study of ghosts is put on hold, temporarily.

NERVOUSNESS LEVELS: CRITICAL. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. CRITICAL LEVELS OF NERVOUSNESS. But David plays it relatively cool; he's often nervous. He does bat an eyelash again, and he shifts himself out of the leather chair. The chair goes creak. He offers a hand and watches Tam as closely as he can without seeming too obvious. This may or may not be that closely.

"Yes. Peter?" Given some confirmation, he does give cursory introductions. "This is my, erm, this is Rachel."

Courteous pause so Rachel Davidson can say her piece if she has a piece to say. Business is an art.

Tam
[i want to roll stuff! perc + aware.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Verna Gardner
She nods her head slightly at David's introduction. "It's good to see you again," she says, eyes flitting to David and back. A subtle way for her to say 'yes, I've met this guy before, and he isn't too terrible'.

If 'Peter' shakes David's hand, Verna will offer her cool and dry and delicate hand next. She knows David's nervous about this man, perhaps it even creeps into her as well, but without bodily functions, it's hard to have sweaty palms.

Tam
One can't necessarily blame David for being nervous in this fellow's presence. Not when he radiates a quiet menace about him. Seems like one of those types who lives by the credo regarding the volume of one's voice in relation to the size of one's stick but he is quite a bit bigger than David and looks as if he can handle himself in a fight.

He isn't looking for a fight tonight. He's here about a load of books a certain someone needs to offload.

The only sign that something strikes him as amiss is the ghost of a raised eyebrow. It does not quirk high up but a muscle remembers what it is to twitch to indicate curiosity and they can both see that 'Peter' recognizes something in David.

Peter does shake David's hand. His grip is firm and his skin is cold. This does not change when he takes up Rachel's hand in turn.

It's good to see you again.

"Mm." An affirmative noise but no real word to follow it. He smiles and the action does not appear forced. Warm as his voice even if he does seem a bit of a bruiser. He's not a barbarian. "Might I borrow David for a moment? I'm feeling overburdened by money."

David
David checks his phone. In this age people check their phone all the time. It's innocent, checking the phone. It's even innocent, sending a text. It might be innocent, taking a picture, but David doesn't try for that right now.

Peter asked Rachel if she minded whether or not he borrowed David. David, for all his nervousness, does not give Verna any indication that she should use this courtesy as an excuse to keep him from wandering off. He looks at her, dolor in the eyes, and his phone goes back into the pocket of his slacks. The light glints on one of his earrings.

If -- are we kidding ourselves? Should it be when? -- Verna looks at David for a signal, he winks at her.

Verna Gardner
It's not really up to her, but Peter asks her. The first thing she does is look to David for guidance -- what should she do? He winks at her, which... doesn't say much.

"Oh, no, I... don't mind. I can leave if you need," she says, hoists her purse straps back on her shoulder. Peter might want privacy for this business, perhaps? Or just to even the odds. She's lying when she says she doesn't mind. She minds. Greatly.

She's about to slip off to another quiet place, but not even about to stop keeping an eye on David.

Tam
"Oh, no, I don't need."

And the response comes with a shadow of a smile across his eyes as if the idea is not only absurd but charming in its absurdity. From speaking to him at the bookstore the other night Verna ought to be able to say with some certainty that he's a helpful if not trustworthy sort but it's tough to make out the color of a man's sails from doing business with him for ten minutes. For all she knows he's a murderous psychopath who's come in here tonight to drag her sire out back and stake him.

File that away under things he doesn't have any interest in doing.

"We'll have to step out for a moment, actually--" He looks back at David. "--unless you've brought the lot inside."

David
"I'll be right back, Rach," David says. He cocks his head in a this-a-way manner at Tam. He's nervous, but it hasn't yet touched on his voice thickened it made it lilt. He's American, through and through.

This-a-way as it happens is the other side of the room. There's a bar, and behind the bar is a leather brief case David placed there earlier in the night. "You a Kerouac fan?" David asks during the long walk to the bar.

Verna Gardner
Her face falls a moment when she realizes they are going outside, and they are not taking her with them. Every time she and David get separated on a night like this, something awful happens.

She's not going to cling to her sire and protest, even though she greatly wants to. Instead, she forces a smile on her face and nods, 'letting' them go.

Trying to act like the calm, secure being she isn't, she watches them leave, and then watches the crowd. It would be so nice to have a drink right about now...

Verna Gardner
[Wits + Alertness!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )

Tam
Maybe he can remember what it was like to be young and to lack autonomy because his own sire was more concerned with everything in the world being capable of killing him than she was with allowing him his freedom.

Then again that night was over two hundred years ago. If he can remember it it is only with great forethought and good reason. In either case he's old enough that the concerns of the young woman sat at the table with a creature capable of using Auspex are beneath his own. They don't strike him as a threat and the fact that he strikes at least one of them as a threat is not much of a concern either.

So David assures Rachel they'll be right back. She is not assured.

'Peter' does not look back over his shoulder as he and David make their way towards the exit.

David
[And since Jamie has to go to work, Tam and David are just gone for a while. Thanks, Jamie!]

Part of being a vampire is being aware of the crowd, isn't it? The mob can come with pitchforks at any moment. Verna watches the crowd.

David and Tam leave through a door, David with his brief case. Good leather. A bloody brown, a richness warm as embers. The faux fireplace continues to flicker, not anywhere near enough to summon the Red Fear. Has Verna felt that yet?

The hum of the crowd has a different tone, now. Suppressed excitement, wonder. Noticement. They're noticing something and it's rippling outward. New people coming into the room.

Verna Gardner
New people. New people could be trouble, like Peter. Verna looks, not with excitement or wonder, but wary caution.

Could be Peter took her sire off to pull his attention from this? Or... something. She is learning to put herself at a distance from the crowd, to look upon them differently. What has the prey interested, hmm?

David
New people.

Three of them. The first, the one who most of the excitement seems to be revolving around, an older man with silver hair fog coloured hair and dark thick eyebrows, impeccably dressed in some dark plum sports jacket no tie a tasteful watch a straight hawkish nose just the slightest bit of a hook vaguely Hispanic bones, famous Alex Hernandez, an author of numerous NYT best sellers. Literary as fuck. The second, friend of the first, a man in his forties with a face like a shovel. Which is to say, hard lines, a sinister aristocrat: imperious jaw, imperious nose, imperious nostrils, imperious all along, but hard too: like this is a man who has worked in the mines. Blue eyes. Shock of blue eyes. The third, the youngest (of course) of the trio, a young woman with soft brown hair cut in spikes. They are all pale. It doesn't have to mean anything.

They are also drifting toward where Verna loiters. The place she and David had etched out for themselves is a good one, and she's the only one still staking a claim to it.

Verna Gardner
Claims can be jumped, especially when the claimant is jumpy. Verna notices, oh she does. Important people coming her way, and wanting her space? They won't get a chance to argue. She's so gracious, she is.

Still, there she is, watching with some anticipation to see what they do. Are they meeting with someone else perhaps? Might she not have to move?

David
Their conversation is animated.

Animated, Frankenstein-style. Given lustre, immortality, due to some electric spark; mad science, unnatural. Okay, the metaphor is running away:

Hard to tell what kind of animated from visual clues. Their conversation is animated, and the one who talks the most is the silver haired author. The aristocratic looking man (thug, bruiser; he could handle himself) is the one most obviously scanning their surroundings. This leaves the youngest, the young woman, to engage Verna directly.

"Do you have a large party; do you mind rather if we take your couch and chair?"

Verna Gardner
"Oh, no no, that's fine. I'll just," she says, and gestures over 'yonder'. Slips out of her chair and gives them a nervous smile. Her real thoughts are located elsewhere, to the outdoors, where David and Peter are discussing business, and where she wants to be.

Having excused herself, she walks off to find another place to lurk. That is what monsters do, yes?