Post by Ghost on Sept 30, 2012 20:59:23 GMT -8
Ghost wandered into the Boatswains Cup, amazed that it was actually open for business after a mere two months past the earthquake. He barely thought about that, though. In one hand he picked up the hot drink he had ordered, wearing his usual Coffee hop college kid face. In the other he loosely clutched at a well-used notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. It wasn't his usual style, being much nicer than the usual spiral pads he kept on him, and obviously not the same as his numerous electronic devices. This was Myra's notebook. 'Was' being the operative word.
Ghost typically couldn't stand Malkavians, though he knew how to play the Game when at Court or in dealing with prestation, and rarely allowed his personal feelings to interfere with his business dealings with the kindred... at least, no more than most of them. Despite his professionalism, though, he wouldn't ask a mortal to piss on one if they were on fire. He had never encountered a collective clan that seemed so completely useless and troublesome.
Myra had been different, though. While Ghost had recently found the proof that cemented that she was just as bug-shit crazy as the rest of them (and potentially far more dangerous), it was something that she kept in her private life, something that was kept away from the spectacle of court and Elysium, which so many Kooks in Sunnydale had failed to do. And Myra, also, had shown a sense of professionalism, a level of practical political cunning and savvy that Ghost had respected. She had started to give him hope for Kooks everywhere. While he would never have called them friends, he saw in her someone he could have a working relationship with.
And none of that mattered now. Myra was... gone. He stared mutely at the notebook's cover, having already perused its pages. It was all that there was now.
Being Kindred offered many advantages, even for one a cursed as the Nosferatu. Agelessness, superhuman abilities, the rush of the Kiss and the taste of blood, (better than most any other pleasure he had ever known), and of course the chance to live forever. But the downsides were no joke, either. The Beast was a harsh taskmaster, always demanding more, and sending you into bouts of fury or hunger or fear that were almost impossible to control, once started. Sunlight was forever denied unless you were clever, willful, and possessed the right kind of power. Human food, human sex, things of the past. Also, one thing he had discovered that he had NOT been warned about. He found it increasingly hard to grieve. Tears were all but impossible, and emotional pain, jut like some forms of joy,continued to fade from memory. Already he felt the motions of these sensations as more of a memory, an echo, rather than legitimate sensations. Like he was going through the motions.
With a deep sigh that felt at least partially forced, he set the notebook down and pulled out his laptop, No rest for the wicked, be there rain or snow... or natural disaster.
Ghost typically couldn't stand Malkavians, though he knew how to play the Game when at Court or in dealing with prestation, and rarely allowed his personal feelings to interfere with his business dealings with the kindred... at least, no more than most of them. Despite his professionalism, though, he wouldn't ask a mortal to piss on one if they were on fire. He had never encountered a collective clan that seemed so completely useless and troublesome.
Myra had been different, though. While Ghost had recently found the proof that cemented that she was just as bug-shit crazy as the rest of them (and potentially far more dangerous), it was something that she kept in her private life, something that was kept away from the spectacle of court and Elysium, which so many Kooks in Sunnydale had failed to do. And Myra, also, had shown a sense of professionalism, a level of practical political cunning and savvy that Ghost had respected. She had started to give him hope for Kooks everywhere. While he would never have called them friends, he saw in her someone he could have a working relationship with.
And none of that mattered now. Myra was... gone. He stared mutely at the notebook's cover, having already perused its pages. It was all that there was now.
Being Kindred offered many advantages, even for one a cursed as the Nosferatu. Agelessness, superhuman abilities, the rush of the Kiss and the taste of blood, (better than most any other pleasure he had ever known), and of course the chance to live forever. But the downsides were no joke, either. The Beast was a harsh taskmaster, always demanding more, and sending you into bouts of fury or hunger or fear that were almost impossible to control, once started. Sunlight was forever denied unless you were clever, willful, and possessed the right kind of power. Human food, human sex, things of the past. Also, one thing he had discovered that he had NOT been warned about. He found it increasingly hard to grieve. Tears were all but impossible, and emotional pain, jut like some forms of joy,continued to fade from memory. Already he felt the motions of these sensations as more of a memory, an echo, rather than legitimate sensations. Like he was going through the motions.
With a deep sigh that felt at least partially forced, he set the notebook down and pulled out his laptop, No rest for the wicked, be there rain or snow... or natural disaster.