06-25-2013, 04:38 PM
Eavesdropping is such a dirty word. A word with filthy, vile connotations. Jack doesn't eavesdrop. He fortunately overhears.
Other Kindred are there, because it is Elysium. The faceless members of court. Those who've chosen to keep in Denver in spite of the brutal winter, or perhaps even because of it: there are some who learn to take the nights night by night because they can lose themselves in the thrill and the promise of a perilous game.
The nosferatu - one particular nosferatu - is there tonight for a purpose. The purpose was over now, but it had its roots in the ground shaking, and now at his leisure he is reading over the last week's papers and keeping an eye on the rest of them. His demeanor is as polite - neat, trim, dagger-oiled, at-ready - and approachable even if his countenance is, uh. He's polite about it, let's just say that.
And he is extremely interested when Winthrop's mad protegé is given admittance. What luck that it would happen when he happened to be about. Cat. Jack likes cats. He likes Cats, too. And Kats. He's not fond of Kitty's, but there's been a Tom or two. Cat. The second Independent-ish with a strange and eldritch tale to tell in seven days. That means something, doesn't it. And here's the earth shaking, again, and the animals screaming a story or three (the tic of a frown [compulsive]), and hmm. He curls his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn't actually click it. Well, well, well.
And when Cat fixes him, in particular, with a stink eye, he just wiggles his fingers in an affable and beside-the-point huhllo, later using that same hand to turn a page of the newspaper, then to fold it up neatly and take the other up.
Other Kindred are there, because it is Elysium. The faceless members of court. Those who've chosen to keep in Denver in spite of the brutal winter, or perhaps even because of it: there are some who learn to take the nights night by night because they can lose themselves in the thrill and the promise of a perilous game.
The nosferatu - one particular nosferatu - is there tonight for a purpose. The purpose was over now, but it had its roots in the ground shaking, and now at his leisure he is reading over the last week's papers and keeping an eye on the rest of them. His demeanor is as polite - neat, trim, dagger-oiled, at-ready - and approachable even if his countenance is, uh. He's polite about it, let's just say that.
And he is extremely interested when Winthrop's mad protegé is given admittance. What luck that it would happen when he happened to be about. Cat. Jack likes cats. He likes Cats, too. And Kats. He's not fond of Kitty's, but there's been a Tom or two. Cat. The second Independent-ish with a strange and eldritch tale to tell in seven days. That means something, doesn't it. And here's the earth shaking, again, and the animals screaming a story or three (the tic of a frown [compulsive]), and hmm. He curls his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn't actually click it. Well, well, well.
And when Cat fixes him, in particular, with a stink eye, he just wiggles his fingers in an affable and beside-the-point huhllo, later using that same hand to turn a page of the newspaper, then to fold it up neatly and take the other up.