Bar Stools

[Amath Mortum]

Reaching for his trench coat, Amath winced lightly. "I've got a better idea," he stated, retrieving a small stone from one of the pockets. "Hand me a glass," he ordered, pointing to the bar.  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

"What?" she scoffed as she handed him a beaker freshly cleaned.  

[Amath Mortum]

Taking the beaker from her, he slid the stone inside the glass container, causing a slight tink to echo. As the stone became still, blood began to seep from the stone, filling the beaker until it was full of crimson blood. "Cheers," he murmured before gulping down the blood, his wounds healing almost instantaneously. Once the beaker was empty, he turned it upside down, retrieving the stone.  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

With a shrug she turned and caught the scent of her master. "I need to leave now" she said exposing her fangs in a small smile as she moved to leave.  

[Wolfe Whitehorn]

Around this time the presence of another vampire would become apparent within the small bar, cold crimson eyes staring across the room without the slightest hint of emotion, save the moment they passed the form of his beloved wife. Seeing the man he gave a bit of a tilt, his neck popping as he relaxed from the pitched combat with the would be bouncers of the Clinic. When he caught the scent of the man his hand instinctively flexed for his blade, but for two ancients to battle in a sanctuary of any kind was as most against their rules as it was for the immortals of the gathering games. Giving the man a wary nod he would walk across the room to place his hand on the shoulder of his wife, kissing her neck gently before he founded himself a seat, one borne of the shadows he had so prolifically controlled his entire lifespan.

"Another ancient, however, I feel you're not a first generation. Perhaps a child of, or the first turn of one however? Or a different strand of vampiris completely." He said with a steady voice, his hand touching the table as a thin wineglass appeared from it, filled with blood from an old reservoir, as fresh as any, but not as tasted as his wife's.  

[Amath Mortum]

"Brat," he murmured to himself as he slid of the gurney, grasping his trench coat and sliding it back on. After returning the blood stone to his pocket, he left the small room, once again entering the bar. "Sorry about the mess, pal," he stated towards Seto as he sat at the counter.

Sensing the arrival of an ancient as old as him, Amath turned on his stool, his burning red eyes narrowed, reducing the amount of fumes escaping his eyes. As the vampire spoke to him, Amath felt disgusted that this person would speak to him as if he were an old friend or a youngling. "I am but a part of a much older and greater ancient than myself," he stated bluntly.

I did. >_<  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

"Master Wolfe," she said with a lowering of her head, "Is he...?" she let her voice trail off knowing he could read her fragile thoughts.  

[Wolfe Whitehorn]

"Ah, another ancient who shattered as I did long ago. I trust you've found or at least gleaned the thoughts off of your other half, or parts as it were?" He'd asked the man as he came to a stand, savoring the taste of his bloodied wine as he stepped towards the man, his long-coat brushing past the clinical tables and gurneys, the blue fabric occasionally shifting darker as the light passed throughout it. Stopping before the man he looked down, his physical size seeming to have increased from the time he arrived, but the truth to the matter was the difference between a fragmented ancient and a full elder, much as Wolfe had faced in the days he first met Daroff ap Fire and the other members of the proud race along his road to recovery.

"Mortum I assume?" He asked now, catching the scent of the ancient, the true ancients all knew of each other, or some semblance of their pets or 'seconds' as some were to be called. Stepping back a fair few inches he merely smiled.

"How strong are you?"  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

"Master, " she said with a look of horror, "You know the rules." she said, her full fangs now keeping her on her guard as not to bite her lip and lord help her should it bleed.  

[Amath Mortum]

"Shemgar, or my other half as you put it," he began, his hand tightening around the saya of his katana which laid upon his lap. "Carries out memories, but yes, I know the past of Shaht." He eyed Wolfe carefully as he backed up, he smirked lightly at his question, turning half way back to the bar before replying, "Don't bother."  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

Her intense ruby eyes flickered from her ancient to those of the man she thought she was going to save. Why me? she thought as she let her gaze flicker again between the two. "What next?" she asked her master using their silent communication line.  

[Wolfe Whitehorn]

"Indeed I know the rules of the establishment, my Fayth, but it was also my fortune that built this sanctuary." He chided gently as he watched the man's hand grip the saya of his katana, while in turn Wolfe's own hand would prepare the hilt of his tachi, instead sliding it back as he prepared for a more focused manner of combat if any.

"Shaht, I know that name well. Many of us do. Some claim he's the end of humans, others claim he's the end of everything. So do tell, what's the story you know of, the community version, or the diluted stories from the days of our birth?" He asked the young man, twisting his finger around the buttcap of his tachi.  

[Amath Mortum]

"Shaht is the creation of God," Amath began, tossing his blood stone into a cup, allowing it to fill with blood as he continued, "The weapon of Heaven to battle the successor of Lucifer, Bethresen. Upon imprisoning the foul half-breed on a burning cross, Shaht was corrupted, turning against Heaven and eventually split into two beings, being banished to Earth on the sixth day of creation." As he finished, he took a gulp of the blood that had filled the cup, as if he hadn't been talking to anyone. Personally, he hated explaining himself to everyone but these days, it seems all too common.  

[First Lady Jocelyn]

With all the blood around her and her lack of feeding as of recent she looked to Seto with heaily lidded eyes. "What I said earlier still stands." And with that she began a sprint to the point her feet barely even touched the ground let alone make a sound. Her master and the other could trace her easily but she needed to feed, debilitating blood lust or no.  

[Wolfe Whitehorn]

The ancient vampire would stare back to her, his hand raising as he let a shade of himself chase after her, keeping watch over the beautiful love of his immortal life, or what he had of his life so far. A slight amusement coming to his face as he still searched over the figure of Amath.