chrisisofaith | IC Contact

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."

He's quiet again as he thinks that over. The span of timelines and the structure of the society itself might be well beyond him, but the core concepts given were not. They were terribly familiar and he's reminded of the gods back home. All of their strife and struggles were on such a massive scale, it seemed beyond mortal comprehension...but when looked at on paper, they were really not so different from every day issues. He wasn't aware of any great vampire cabal back home besides maybe the ones used by the Red Wizards, but perhaps it wasn't so different there either.

He didn't like the thought.

"Sometimes that is the only way to burn out all the rot. Even after Melvaunt burned and a good portion of the Mercantile leadership with it, we were still cleaning up the leftovers of rotten choices and corruption that had escaped with their lives. We're hopeful we can build something new and better, as you said, from the ashes. If you can manage to net a decent group together, you might be able to as well." He pauses briefly and looks back to Grayson. "What will you do if there's still poison in your ranks?"

He nods. Yes, he understands that all too well. Virtually every consequence they face right now is ultimately due to the poor decisions of leadership spanning back centuries, grudges that could have and should have been avoided. Would have without certain heads in the mix. Tremere himself made questionable choices in his Council of Seven.

His mouth firms a line. "I will do as I have done in the past. I will root it out, and this time, power will not stand in the way, for of the truly powerful, only two are left, one my sire and one the vampire to whom we have pledged our assistance. Schrekt is a brute, but a brute with a head for politics and what ought to be done beyond his own appetites. As long as he keeps that firmly in mind, he'll have Meerlinda and me at his side, holding the line of the treaty."

He's quiet again, weighing his words carefully before he picks them. "You trust your sire enough for this? You would include her despite the...problems she's posed to you in past? You would work with her still?"

He doesn't mean to ask that last question, it's implied enough in the rest, but it slips out, quiet and a bit more exposed than he'd intended, but he can't help it. He needs to know the reasoning, if he can.

"There are different kinds of trust," he says after a few seconds to organize what he wants to say of this and how to say it. "In all the time I've known her, two things have been a constant, her dedication to our clan and her desire for order. When you know what someone values above all else, you can predict them to a degree. Trust that they'll take the most certain route to that goal."

He frowns, turning his gaze ahead again. His voice is softer when he adds, "I'm my sire's only surviving childe. I managed that by never openly coming between her and her goals and by being skilled enough that she came to view me as an essential part of her plans. Others she cut loose, and inevitably they fell. Or she had judgment declared against them by the archons, and they were executed. I worked with her just enough and no more than I had to. That's my trust of Meerlinda. Our ultimate goal is the same, the survival of our world. Everything else is secondary and any feelings I have about her much further down the chain than many other concerns."

He's quiet throughout and more than a beat afterwards as that sinks in. It makes sense...and echoes what he'd been thinking and feeling about the deal with Bane when he decided to make one.

'Are you sure about this?

I can trust him to keep his word, so long as we make sure there's no holes to snake through in the words he gives, this can be tenable.'

Someone lawful, even to their own code, was someone predictable and maneuverable. Manipulate the god of manipulations: such a simple task of course. Gods literally only knew if they'd managed it. But...he still felt it had been worth it. As Grayson said, their feelings were well lower than secondary in comparison to what could be achieved.

He breathes a small sigh that borders on relief. "That makes perfect sense. I hope it goes as well as it can for you."

They're approaching the final turn to take them back onto Marzipan Terrace and it's perhaps a little odd to find he's sort of sorry for it.

The well wishes aren't expected. He shoots him a quick glance. Given what happened just before he found himself here, he's not sure at all things will go well for him. He's not sure he'll be free or existing for very much longer if he's thrown back home. They've had a pleasant conversation. This isn't the time to bring any such thing up.

"Thank you," he says, inclining his head. "I hope so, too, naturally." He is resourceful. He may do well with a head start, especially if he can get to Seattle. Time will eventually tell, most likely.

When they do reach the turn, he stops where he is. "I shouldn't keep you any longer or raise any alarms. I was lucky you were awake and others weren't when I called to you. Let's not tempt fate."

Chris pauses at the turn, glances down the road, and then back to Grayson. "You're right...I expect Jon's likely up anyway and he'd Know you were about. Thank you for the talk and walk. Both have been...helpful." And something to look forward to which was unexpected.

A nicer interaction than he was expecting, but one he'll keep in mind the next time they find themselves coming together.

"May the rest of your night be productive and satisfying to you." He offers with a small smile and an equally small bow of his head, before he turns to make his way back home.

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