chrisisofaith | IC Contact

There's a figure, dressed for the weather, although he doesn't need to be, standing just out of the circle of streetlight outside a large house with a very nice porch. He folds his arms casually, letting his senses drift until he touches the particular mind he's seeking inside.

The lightest pluck of a call pings in Chris' head followed by the inflectionless words, I'm outside. Fancy a walk?

He'll wait until he gets a response, just as content to continue alone as with company. He has been meaning to do this for a while now, captured by his own concerns and those of his people. There are times he feels like there isn't enough of him to go around, and there's far too much of everyone else.

It startles him in a way he knows he deserves for all the times he's done it to others, but that doesn't stop the heatless flicker of annoyance.

'Be down in a moment.' He doesn't even think about it. Just gets up off his bed to tug his boots back on and throw his leather jacket over his sweater before slipping out the balcony.

Chris takes to the air and flies over to the figure barely shifting the darkness outside the streetlamp's pool. He should have put on his nightliner.

"You know, I hear it's common for people to text each other in this day and age." He touches down, wings folding in against his back as he lets his adjusting eyes find Grayson's face. He didn't seem....well, Chris wasn't sure what he'd been looking for, but an invitation to walk with no trouble or issue at hand was more concerning than if there was.

Edited 2022-11-19 06:51 (UTC)

"Is that what all the kids are doing these days?" he asks, drawling just a little for emphasis. "Guess I'm just not a fan of common. So we're walking, then? It's a nice night for it." The drawl is gone again, just his usual non-accent.

He twirls the cane once and taps the metal end to the concrete with a satisfying ring. "It occurred to me that aside from helping your new friend, we haven't spoken since that strangely honest exchange at the therapy table. I prefer our conversations less guided. Don't you?"

“Grayson Frost and ‘common?’ Surely not” he offers lightly as Chris falls into step beside him, a small smile forming for the tap of the cane.

He buries his hands in his jacket pockets. “So we can lie and dance about each other like proper gentlemen? Yes, I’m inclined to agree. Besides, I’ve had a whole long rest and new memories since then, to me it’s been longer still. Anything on your mind or did I have the fortune of you being in the neighborhood?”

Which he would not be inclined to believe anyway when he was fairly sure Grayson didn’t even live in the Up.

A single rusty hinge sound serves as laughter enough. He taps lightly as they go and doesn't bother to muffle the hard soles of his dress shoes. They've little to fear between the two of them, and he's not out to sneak up on unwitting prey or more deserving city employees. It's just what he said, a stroll.

"Precisely." He inclines his head, humor still in his eyes even if no longer voiced. He shakes his head. "No, if I'm to lie, I'll make it far more interesting than that. How long?" It's always curious to him, these sleeps that aren't, people coming back with lived experiences stuffed in their heads. He wonders what his would be. If he even has a future after the theft of sensitive materials from the lab?

"I do have something on my mind. It can wait until I hear of your news, should you choose to share." He has few expectations in this. They do as they wish, both of them. Sometimes it's more pleasant, sometimes less. Sometimes more give, sometimes considerably less. For his part, he seems about as pleasant as he gets when it's not for show. Then again, given the clothes, something's for show for sure.

He gives a small shrug, his feathers shifting and resettling for the movement and after a moment, the wings vanish entirely.

“A month and some change, but there wasn’t a dull moment. Political intrigue, a battle, a journey to my world’s heaven in search of some answers, a clockwork dragon. The sort of month you could use a month to rest from.” Not that that was possible here.

He keeps the conversation with Bane out of the list, it was too personal and too much context would be needed for it. As it is, the list is factual and devoid of true emotion or weight; he might as well have listed locations on a map.

"On top of a month you could have used several months' rest from," he says, his look at him a steady one from the side.

"Well, that slots rather nicely into why I'm here, at least for a discussion." He's not here to implement any sort of plan. Improvisation with this kind of thing leads to disaster when there's not much trust to flow either way.

"At the party I was limited in the scope of what I could do. The presence of others, the lack of comforts. When I have full control of the environment, or you do, we can take it deeper. Quiet that noise of yours." He gestures vaguely toward his head.

"Pack a long rest into a shorter amount of time."

His brows shoot up and he gives a quiet nod. He wouldn’t deny that by any means. He would have thought going home should have helped the static in his head, but maybe it was just a permanent fixture now. Wouldn’t it be nice if it weren’t?

For a moment, he’d had quiet at the party under Grayson’s abilities. Guilt had broken it down again, the thought of Jon’s upset was heavy -and he had been upset- but Jon couldn’t fix the problem and it wasn’t fair for Chris to ask him to try when he dealt with everything with just as much difficulty, if not more.

“I haven’t been…well enough to properly dom anyone in over a month and a half even prior to sleeping. There’s those who come to me to clear their heads.” He pauses and feels those brambles in his throat try to close on his words, but he pushes past most of them.

“I’d…appreciate an arrangement of some kind. As you said, something with more comfort and more controls to have safety to go deeper.”

It’s carefully and diplomatically put, but sincere.

Edited 2022-11-19 22:07 (UTC)

"It's difficult being the one others come to for their strength," he says. He knows. "Sooner or later something has to give."

He takes a few more steps in silence punctuated only by their steps and the cane. "There's no shame in having a limit or finding succor when it's reached. I wanted to visit sooner. Events conspired against both of us."

He looks ahead for a time then back to him. "Doubtless you wonder why. I would in your place. In my experience, finding a true understanding at an intersection of a need few comprehend is rare. I'm currently doing well enough, in a position where something I enjoy will benefit someone I respect. It's no more complicated than that. Beyond one other thing."

His lips press a firmer line. "I have a better understanding now of how much harm I did when I arrived, not only to you. I was..." He finds himself at a rare loss for words, his shrug barely visible under the heavy greatcoat.

"With greater understanding comes greater accountability." That part is easier to explain. "If not restitution, at least remorse and a desire to make better decisions going forward. I'll always be what I am. Who I am has more...flexibility. Not even the very old are immune to the necessity of change."

Maybe...but it shouldn't. Right? The quiet of their steps, of the click of the cane, is enough time for his own guilt and self recrimination to stir. Shouldn't he be able to handle this alone? Don't most people? If everyone needed pain to sort their heads, it wouldn't be something he needed to skirt around in the darkness, so why was his head broken? What had he done wrong?

The thought goes quiet in favor of listening and he keeps his peace as Grayson explains, especially when part of it pulls at what he was thinking already. A need few understand...and yet this man did, incongruous to the fact that Chris could trace back the start of this long line of near-breaking to when he arrived, Grayson understood more than nearly anyone else he'd talked to about it.

And the near-reflection of his thoughts continue and Chris' hands curl a little tighter in his jacket pockets. He's not sure quite yet how to respond to that. Any of that, but he knows where he can start.

"What you are...was always only secondary to me. I have friends and lovers here I'd not be allowed to have back home, that is a boon of this place I don't take for granted, who you are...is something I had a week to watch change...and you're still adapting as any good predator and person would. I admire that. You'd not be the first vampire to cause me fear and pain that I've given another try to knowing. I still hold to the thought having enemies here is unwise when avoidable. Besides...enemies is not quite how I'd label you besides."

He certainly wasn't in the habit of taking walks in the dark with enemies.

What he's allowed to have here. That sinks in and strikes a painful place. His side glance is equal parts startled and understanding. He'd never have been allowed, much less allowed himself the connections he has forged here, whether out of necessity, convenience, or some combination of both. They have begun to transcend their original purposes, which has left him more than floundering at times.

"You are the first priest I've had more than incidental contact with and not sought to destroy." It's easier with gods outside his kin, faiths outside his considerable trauma and abiding enmity because of it, not that he has ever thought of it in any such terms until very recently.

"For my part, I bear you no enmity, either. An ambivalence, perhaps." His mouth quirks. "Nothing new for me when things develop in a more positive direction." Allowing himself to like others is a struggle when they remind him sharply of himself. He doesn't need a deep understanding of psychology to know what that says of him.

"As hard as it is, this place is...well, no. Not this place. The time outside of time. The people out of their own worlds and contexts. The...removal of the pressing pressures of home. It's bane and boon. More boon than one would expect on the surface. It provides space for allowing the improbable." He makes no effort to hide that he's discussing their association in that latter.

"Does it sound strange to you to know that I rest easier knowing someone beyond the SIN Guards could potentially shut me down if it became a necessity? Someone who'd do it with greater understanding than a slavish devotion to tyranny."

Ambivalence...yes, that seemed about the sum of it and still better than it might be otherwise. Even without their history, there wasn't much need to point out the only vampires he'd run across back home were ones he'd needed to fight and kill as well.

Yet here he'd let incubi and vampires and Eye-men worthy of the Abyss feed on him without fear. Happily, even. Not something he'd even consider for a moment back home. The city didn't matter but the removal of stigma and expectation? Maybe. Then again, if he met a vampire or incubus from Faerûn here, would he give them that chance? Would they even have a mind enough to get one? Maybe his prejudices weren't gone, just shifted...it was fine as long as they weren't his monsters.

Grayson's question earns a look of surprise in his direction, though he's quick to clarify it. "In the general premise? No, from you? I...I suppose it makes sense, I know you fear the loss of control of your mind far deeper than death, and now that it's said, I can see the desire to not want that end to be had at the SIN guard's hands, even if they could." His expression turns thoughtful and his posture relaxes that little bit more it hadn't yet.

"In general premise, you'd not be first of a significant amount of dangerous power who expressed a desire for such failsafes. I find those who don't wish to lose what humanity they hold have that sentiment most often, whether the humanity is in the form of their own mind or for the connections they've made. If I were to venture a guess...perhaps you're finding it's not only the one anymore? Perhaps you'd have some measure of concern for those you've grown to trust here as well as a desire to spare yourself the heartache?"

He nods. It's likely a moot consideration. If he's taken out, he won't be allowed to stay out. The new fear, mostly in the back of his thoughts and not an immediate one, is that if he ever did lose himself to the Beast, if he became a wight, they wouldn't allow him to stay dead no matter who killed him or how often, that he'd return time and again with animal cunning and mindless appetite, to feed and feed, perhaps be spurred by the city to fuck, too, but not as anything anyone could know beyond the way one knows any of the true terrors of the world.

"I would." It shouldn't be difficult to admit. He was fighting for this before he sired Vanessa. Attaining that breakthrough all at once with an infusion of soul, killing another and benefiting from it so unexpectedly is what isn't sitting well.

"People are as persistent as ticks burrowing under skin," he says with a soft, half-amused huff. "They find ways inside without seeming to make much effort. I just open my eyes, and another one is there. I could say it's annoying, but I suspect you'd know that protest for what it truly is." Surprise. Chagrin. Concern that he's not good enough to have that, that he'll destroy those connections in the end and potentially the people along with them. Because it's his nature as well as his history, and he doesn't know how not to repeat it.

That pulls a sharply honest laugh from him and he shoots Grayson a wide smile before looking ahead again. "I think I would, a little too well. I remember thinking and even saying something dreadfully similar once."

His group at home who both pushed him to be better in spite of himself and even some people here. Hell, Jon certainly fit the bill better than most.

"But we're better for it." He offers a bit quieter. "Whether we like to be or not, whether it's inconvenient or foreign or...complicated. It's better than moving through everything alone. Even at their most annoying, even with the heartbreak it can cause...I wouldn't change it.

"Hopefully you get there too. Certainly...I think this is a better look on you than that arrogant asshole look you used to have. Whether you want my opinion or not."

That gets him laughing, too. It's less rusty these days, closer to natural, if still a bit wry. He's nodding and finding it strange how parallel both of them can be without ever realizing it until these moments of catching up. Maybe it is Fate. He has felt its hand here so frequently now.

"I was telling someone that not so very long ago, that we need at least one person in our lives who sees the best in us despite our flaws. The person we're desperate not to disappoint." It keeps them more honest, but more importantly, it's armor plating against despair and self-loathing.

"Whether I want your opinion or not, not only will you have it, you'll state it. It's good to have those people in your life, too." Amusement flashes in his eyes. "Not that you asked, but I agree. I'm glad I have the...space here...to set that down from time to time." There aren't a thousand knives pointed at him at any given time looking for a chink in his armor, ones who could successfully bloody him if he gave the opening.

"It makes things much more interesting."

He can think of a few people like that, the ones who saw the best in him and forgave the rest, the ones who only saw the best. The ones who looked at him how he looked at them, some small wonder that the other saw anything more special than the ground at their feet. He did his best for all of them...but there was also something in the relief of those who really knew him, who saw the bad and continued to care for him...or those who saw the bad and rightly distrusted him for it. They were almost more important. Certainly all were needed.

He nods and runs a hand back through his hair. "Like you were saying: not to give this place too much credit, but not everything here is suffering and discomfort, there's some good to measure as well. Opportunities not always afforded us, people and things we'd never know in our own places. Like showers! Shower's are nice, never knew what I was missing." Among many other things.

He pauses a moment, but then nods the way they're headed. "We were looking for privacy, any particular place in mind, or just out somewhere unseen?"

"A sentiment echoed by everyone I've met from worlds similar to the one you've described. I admit I envy you lot a bit. I've always been too numb to revel in the pleasures of running hot water, although I was exceptionally pleased with the advancement of indoor toilets and better sewage systems." The world was a horribly smelly place for a vampire pre Industrial Revolution.

"Mm, just walking for my part. I didn't think you'd have a mind to get up to much tonight. If you do, then I do know of a place. Otherwise, left is as good as right." He speaks of the approaching intersection.

"There's some running water back home. Artificers have managed a system similar enough, though it's expensive and nothing can heat the water automatically. Usually have to light a fire...unless you're willing to use magic for it." Which he is, but it's an ongoing process. Most people were willing to at least accept magic around them or in those who walked by them, in their friends...but in their home? There was still some distrust to work through.

What Grayson says about just being here to walk takes him by surprise and Chris glances to him. No, that was...that was better. They should talk before moving forward with anything.

Why could he write a whole contract on lines and limits and expectations when it was someone else, but when it's him...he either ran face-first into whatever slimly-thought out arrangement was before him or simply stopped lock-kneed like a mule? There was no in-between and for all his ability to measure another man, looking inward was as difficult to him as it was for most others.

There's a spike of annoyance through him for himself and he nods. "Left is good. Speaking of technological advancements and the tinkering of Artificers, I've some curiosity, if you'll indulge me. Have you run into clockwork creatures much in your time?"

It's so odd to him to think of using magic for such mundane things, except he's aware in worlds with less developed technology, it's not mundane at all. It wasn't in his world for far longer than it has been. He has seen how development has changed lives.

He catches the glance but doesn't question it. If he wants to tell him, he will. If he doesn't, he doubtless has his reasons. It privately amuses him that he chooses left. He usually does, himself, when given a 50/50 decision and no context to weigh in one direction or the other.

"Not true creatures, per se. There was an era around four hundred fifty years ago or so that goldsmiths took their art to new heights and crafted all manner of clockwork beasts and even people. They were clever and sophisticated in their own way, but nothing with sentience or true capability to do much beyond amuse. Why?" It's a curious question. He can't help but to be curious in turn.

Chris nods and leads them on the turn before deciding where to start on that. "There were creatures made of mechanical parts that whirred and ran on their own, We learned later it was called 'clock work' around the time we learned what clocks even were. For a long time, we didn't know."

Why was he asking this, was there a point to chasing these threads? He'd once tried to learn what he could of the creatures here, but the information clearly hadn't stuck by the time he went home. What would any additional knowledge or insight do?

"A lot of the creatures we saw were on the smaller side, but there were also massive golems we had to fight and a dragon that sat on the ruins of my city. Before I woke here again, it was starting to make a grinding sound and smoke seemed to be coming from it. Some peace of mind to it's imminent demise would be...helpful."

He listens. It sounds well outside of the scope of anything he ever saw in Venice or Paris. He slowly shakes his head. "I wish I could provide you some insight. General experience with machinery tells me that a grinding sound or smoke coming from a machine isn't ideal, but if it's a dragon, it's hard for me to say that smoke isn't fitting."

He taps his cane a few thoughtful taps between steps, wracking his mind for any other knowledge that might apply.

"In this respect, I fear our worlds differ enough that I have no further information. Condolences on the destruction of your city. It's never an easy thing to see your own people brought to ruin." He'd know.

Chris nods more to himself than in response. That was fair and probably all he could hope for. If it wasn't a dragon thing, perhaps it was breaking down. If it was...well, it's not much his problem now.

"I appreciate your considering the thought regardless. And the condolences. A good portion got evacuated and we've the resources to rebuild. Once the dragon's dead, I'm sure that's what they'll do." But... "You sound like a man speaking from a point of familiarity, not hypotheticals."

"That's good. Not all is lost, then," he says. Such a thing sounds as though it would have the power to wipe a city completely off a map never to recover, especially if it happened suddenly. It sounds like they had adequate warning.

He's quiet for a few, deciding whether to answer the not quite question or let it lie. "Fourteen years ago, the main stronghold of my clan was destroyed. The attack was sudden, an enemy clan of assassins who have reason enough to have quarrel with us. It shouldn't have been possible, except...magic is fading in my world. It started with humans and more recently has extended to my clan. I was an entire ocean and continent away. I still felt the deaths of all to whom I was bonded. For some time, I thought my sire among them, the psychic shock of it all temporarily disabling my ability to feel any blood bond save that of my servitor." He shakes his head slowly.

"We're fugitives now. The Assamites have vowed blood vengeance down to the last Tremere. Some of us still have clout enough within the Camarilla to attain sanctuary. I and my sire do. Many others do not and cannot be saved or helped with the resources we have. We're a dwindling power. None of the other fools realize it's a symptom of a far larger problem, that our fall is only the beginning of the end of our world. Much easier to scoff and point than listen to those whom you despise." For all of the sternness of his expression, there isn't much heat or anger in the words. He has accepted that those without magic lack the needed perspective to see the writing on the wall.

"Those of us with places and resources continue our work to save not just our own skins or those of vampires, but everyone else on that dying world. We've never had their respect, only their fear. Now we have that only as individuals rather than a united front." It's a waste, he thinks, aware that some of their approach is part of the reason for it. They're not innocent victims, not entirely.

There's a few pieces of that Chris takes a moment to work through. The horror of having everything you knew stripped from you all at once, of having people not listen to you even though you're trying to save them, of knowing you're being hunted even if you're safe in your stone walls. The mention of being feared over respected also files itself away in his mind, even if it's not as relatable to him as the rest...and hopefully never would be, if he could help it.

"I'm sorry you and yours suffered that. It's not a thing easily endured by anyone, but I imagine having such a long life where things likely change slow, makes major upset worse than usual." He glances to Grayson as they take another turn, this arm of the block shorter than the other. "I also imagine that, while fourteen years is only a drop less than half my lifespan, it's nothing to you. That wound is likely fresh enough still. Is there no hope of broaching some peace with those who'd see your clan dead?" It didn't sound like it, but it was worth asking.

His group had set out with the intention of violent retribution and ended with resources for peace and new alliances...things didn't always turn out how they made most sense at the time.

"I'm more tolerant of change than many of my kind my age. I've always been something of an outlier in that respect, but I confess I have several lost months I can't account for after the fact." He has made attempts to retrace his steps to no avail. It will likely always remain a mystery. "I must have been in some sort of fugue state."

He shakes his head. "Their oaths of vengeance are absolute. Our quarrel spans centuries. Only our magic thwarted them, and much like any who long desire something and finally see a path to it, they will not be swayed." Nor would he ever expect or ask such quarter. Should he ever make it back home, that's one of many daggers poised for his back.

"It isn't long. We haven't had the luxury of mourning. My own feelings are mixed. There was much rot at the heart of the pyramid. Some who died were no personal loss to me or the world, but it was..." He frowns as he tries to settle on the best explanation.

"From the outside we were bastions of stability and organization. The other clans, as much as they hated us, also took inspiration and found security in our ability to present a united front. We were a pillar of a treaty that lasted centuries. Our fall has many questioning the value of the treaty at all, and if that dissolves, there's nothing but more death and chaos to come of it. Yet it does present us an opportunity to bring something of more value out of the ashes, one we'd never have managed with the stultifying power of the eldest among us at the top."

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