06-25-2013, 11:34 AM
Rasmussen is patient. His finger does not tap on his muted brown slacks, and his gaze does not waver from the Kindred (little undead girl) in front of him. He is a weathered statue, the kind that might survive of that ancient essayist whose tome he had just been reading from. When he blinks it may be likened to how some politician might clear his throat to say, I will be speaking now.
For Rasmussen, blinking has always been enough. At least since he no longer needed to clear his throat. At least since as long as anyone in Denver can remember.
"A Malkavian playing a prank. That's what you though it was?" Meanings layer upon meanings as he finally addresses Cat, a Kindred of that same clan she names as pranksters.
Lucille, having been dismissed, had drifted off like the silk-sheet-chic ghost she is. "Ring Narcisa, please," a Malkavian, the Sheriff, to investigate another Malkavian's claims. He says it and a woman speaking to Lucille manages to break her attention to the Toreador. She excuses herself from the Keeper's presence and sets about working Rasmussen's will.
"You're not eaten, are you?" Looking over Cat, now, it's the first time his neck moves and the statuesque pose bearing down on her is broken. Finder her physically whole, if her psyche Swiss cheese. "What a clumsy mouth," and he may be talking about the chasm she describes, that did not manage to consume her, or Cat's telling of her tale.
There are other Kindred around. John St. Germain, who is also speaking to Lucille, who if Cat overhears correctly insists on calling the young Anarch by the name Jean. He had fallen silent, as many had, to overhear Rasmussen's reaction to her story.
Oliviero Giovanni is also present, in his modern Italian finery as if it would hide the withered form of an old man he was locked within upon his Embrace. The Necromancer is speaking to a severe and precise looking woman, a full-bodied brunette who wears, of all things, the robes of an academic. She has another Kindred, a gentleman in a houndstooth sports coat and dark navy blue jeans, standing at her side.
The unfamiliar woman also shows interest (had been showing interest for most of Cat's anecdote, not just Rasmussen's reaction) though the companion at her side places a hand on her shoulder and the spell is broken. Her attention returns to Oliviero and the conversation they had been in the midst of, all at that slightest of touches.
Other Kindred are there, because it is Elysium. The faceless members of court. A Nosferatu (though it's not Gotfred, their Primogen, not if the face he wears is truly his) is kindly enough to stay in the shadows beside a bookcase. Another younger Brujah, maybe a Neonate, and another Toreador, both in conversation with the man in the shadows. There are others. They are the Greek chorus, as it were, whose names don't yet matter and go about their business or listen to Cat's tale and Rasmussen's answer to it with their varying level of interest.
For Rasmussen, blinking has always been enough. At least since he no longer needed to clear his throat. At least since as long as anyone in Denver can remember.
"A Malkavian playing a prank. That's what you though it was?" Meanings layer upon meanings as he finally addresses Cat, a Kindred of that same clan she names as pranksters.
Lucille, having been dismissed, had drifted off like the silk-sheet-chic ghost she is. "Ring Narcisa, please," a Malkavian, the Sheriff, to investigate another Malkavian's claims. He says it and a woman speaking to Lucille manages to break her attention to the Toreador. She excuses herself from the Keeper's presence and sets about working Rasmussen's will.
"You're not eaten, are you?" Looking over Cat, now, it's the first time his neck moves and the statuesque pose bearing down on her is broken. Finder her physically whole, if her psyche Swiss cheese. "What a clumsy mouth," and he may be talking about the chasm she describes, that did not manage to consume her, or Cat's telling of her tale.
There are other Kindred around. John St. Germain, who is also speaking to Lucille, who if Cat overhears correctly insists on calling the young Anarch by the name Jean. He had fallen silent, as many had, to overhear Rasmussen's reaction to her story.
Oliviero Giovanni is also present, in his modern Italian finery as if it would hide the withered form of an old man he was locked within upon his Embrace. The Necromancer is speaking to a severe and precise looking woman, a full-bodied brunette who wears, of all things, the robes of an academic. She has another Kindred, a gentleman in a houndstooth sports coat and dark navy blue jeans, standing at her side.
The unfamiliar woman also shows interest (had been showing interest for most of Cat's anecdote, not just Rasmussen's reaction) though the companion at her side places a hand on her shoulder and the spell is broken. Her attention returns to Oliviero and the conversation they had been in the midst of, all at that slightest of touches.
Other Kindred are there, because it is Elysium. The faceless members of court. A Nosferatu (though it's not Gotfred, their Primogen, not if the face he wears is truly his) is kindly enough to stay in the shadows beside a bookcase. Another younger Brujah, maybe a Neonate, and another Toreador, both in conversation with the man in the shadows. There are others. They are the Greek chorus, as it were, whose names don't yet matter and go about their business or listen to Cat's tale and Rasmussen's answer to it with their varying level of interest.