milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Damian wasn't surprised to find himself alone by the time night fell. Whoever chose to be in Nathaniel's bed near dawn was usually up and about long before he rose with the setting sun.

Now, however, he has taken to the grounds surrounding Milliways... or, more accurately, the skies. Usually he isn't keen on levitating where he can be easily spotted, but the desire to feel the wind in his hair is too much to ignore tonight. It is one thing that reminds him a little of the sea, though the air doesn't have that salty density to it. The sea has been a comforting thought throughout his long existence, even though he hasn't more than glanced it in centuries.

He loses himself in the sensation of flight, letting his mind go blissfully numb for a short while before picking an inviting, sturdy tree and sitting high in the branches so he sways lightly with the pulse of the wind.

Escapism can be a wonderful thing sometimes.

He's botherable by those who can climb well (or don't need to climb in order to reach him). He has no intention of coming down from his perch.

[[ooc: Primarily slowtimes, as the mun has an appointment and a worsening cough... plus homework. Slowtimes welcomed! ^^]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Pre-European? That's an interesting way to temporally place oneself.

"Comfort is entirely subjective," he feels he should point out. "I am from Earth as well, though the Era and plane of reality may be different. The year is 1996 by the Christian calendar."

He mangled his sentence a little: pre-European invasion of the 'American' continents.

"Yes. And I am talking about my comfort. Every time the door opens the atmospheres of the connected worlds mingle and change. That gives me the equivalent of a mild ice-cream headache all over my body." He waves at the full body covering clothing, "My uniform helps protect me from some of the pain, and it's not as bad as when I wasn't real, but this still isn't my favourite place."

Ah. That would make a rather big temporal difference... and happens to place him near enough the time that Damian was born.

Unfortunately, this vampire is old enough to have never been able to sample ice-cream. They sell it at the Circus of the Damned, but the only taste he can sense now is that of blood.

"I can understand that." The bit about pain making a place less appetising.

Sort of. It's complicated and Disney.

Xaldin smiles again "So no territory woes here. Although if you ask similar of Xigbar he'll probably yank your chain around." it's fond and he gestures about mid-chest high on himself, "Xigbar's about this tall, same coat, one eye. He's Space."

Damian nods, though he doesn't smile. "If I happen to see Xigbar and he 'yanks my chain', as you say, I will not take his falsehood personally."

Leaning back against what is left of the trunk of the tree so high up, Damian looks off into the distance, his eyes getting that sad, introspective look about them. "I fly occasionally, but you have nothing to fear of me... unless my mistress, Anita, refuses to feed the ardeur. When she pulls from my energy instead, I can make no guarantees. If I look crazed, best keep your distance."

It is a warning, though one given in a sad, tired voice rather than a threatening one. He hadn't been sure what to do in Milliways without Anita, and now that Anita is here as well, his purpose still feels uncertain, as vague as it ever was back in St. Louis.

Xaldin laughs, just a little bit, and says; "I'm not human. You wouldn't get any good out of my blood - what little I have - even if you did attack me. In addition, in the world I'm from Air is the protective element. If you attacked me, and somehow got past my lances, you'd still have to get past my Aero spells."

He gestures and summons his lances to hand, casually.

If Damian is impressed, perhaps he is too weighted down by his thoughts to show it. His face is impassive as he gives the lances a considering look.

It doesn't surprise him to be told that the flying man contains magic capable of setting spells. "Must be convenient," he comments calmly.

Xaldin shrugs and shakes his head. "Not really. The benefits really don't outweigh what we went through to get the weapons and powers. At all."

A quiet, mirthless chuckle is carried into the wind.

"I often find myself thinking the exact same thing. A thousand years of torture is hardly worth it for the power my immortality has brought."

And because he will never be a master vampire like Asher or Jean-Claude, he has reached the pinnacle of his power. There is nothing more than this for him, and that is quite a depressing thought.

Xaldin nods a little "You were real, though. That's important to hang onto."

It means a lot more than just the words sound like.

"I am still real... all too real," Damian whispers, more to himself than to Xaldin. He can tell there is a greater weight to Xaldin's words, but he doesn't know how precisely to place it. He simply doesn't know the warrior well enough.

He isn't sure what compels him, but he takes the bait that Xaldin unknowingly dangles. He is, after all, trying to distract himself. What better way than to learn about an unfamiliar but relatively friendly stranger?

"You were not real?" Call it a hunch.

"I wasn't. For ten years." he says quietly "I was a Nobody - a Mind and a Soul that had neither Body nor Heart. I do mean that in a quite literal way - even now I only have the barest amount of biology meant to run a heart and am mostly made up of magic. I'm real now, Xigbar is real now."

He laughs and it's not exactly innocent or free - but it's real and of good humour. "And trust me, not having biology? Drives me crazy. I was a biologist when I was Dilan."

That information gets a reaction, however subtle. Damian's eyes widen, his eyebrows arching as he considers such an existence... or lack thereof.

The last comment causes a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. "It seems irony is... multiversal."

Xaldin nods - he's good at picking up subtlety - and says "Something like that, yes. That is another reason why I probably don't have to worry about anything you might do when crazy. I probably have less than a pint of blood in total."

"Not nearly enough to make you worth the trouble, if you'll excuse the expression," Damian admits, his voice a bit more emotive and amicable.

"I will have to feed again before the night is over, something between a sip and a full feeding."

His smile is a little sharp, "Certainly not."

"Anyway. What chemistry I have is so different from human that the two species never managed to so much as interbreed. I believe the bar can provide anything, but I don't know about living things. You could always ask around."

"I have sampled what Bar has to offer. It does little to sate the thirst and tastes nearly as sewage would to a normal human. It is tolerable for a short period, but I much prefer a donor or two. Some of the lycanthropes from my world are here, but... much is happening at the moment, and I don't want to impose."

He would see to his hunger, yes, but he doesn't want to make matters worse by feeding on Nat... or on Jason, who had donated recently. He knows Liz is around, but he has never even met the wereleopard and knows Anita dislikes her. Things always seemed so complicated...

"Plenty of helpful people." Xaldin says with a shrug "You could put up an open call. Unfortunately I only know one living human and she's pregnant right now."

The smallest shiver runs the length of his spine.

"I would not take from her unless forced." And he means it. The horrors of his time in the are of She who made him were still quite fresh. Now that he is given a choice more often than not, he can be more selective. He will not endanger an unborn child's life.

Setting up an open call... That is certainly an idea. He doesn't know how he feels about it just yet, but it's something to consider. Anita forbade him from drinking from the unwilling, but those signing up would be on the same level as those he drinks from at Danse Macabre. "I will think about setting up an open call if my friends cannot provide me with what I need."

The good humour drains from Xaldin's face and he says, "And I'd kill anyone who tried, no matter the external forces on them." it's not a threat. He's just got too much on his shoulders already.

"You might want to do so earlier, just to have some willing donors on stand-by."

Damian doesn't blame Xaldin for such a serious reaction. In fact, he approves of it, vaguely pleased that the pregnant woman has others around her willing to protect her. That is as it should be.

"Your point is well made," he says with a thoughtful nod. "I will have to ask my mistress before the decision is made, either way." It was a compulsion. Anita serves as his Mistress just as Jean-Claude had as his Master but a short time ago. Such a move must be approved.

That attitude from Damian honestly makes Xaldin's skin cringe. Even as Dilan he didn't get the idea of asking permission to live.

Yeah, he followed Braig, but that wasn't because Braig owned him. It was just the way things were.

"You have to ask."

"Yes," Damian readily supplies. "Anita has forbidden me to drink from the unwilling. While those who sign up would no doubt be willing, I am already on her bad side. I would be unwise to do something like this without her approval, even if she just ends up waving her hand at me and saying 'Fine'. She is... dangerous."

The fact is, he's frightened of her, all that power that she is barely able to control. She has never mistreated him the way his former mistress had, but she had just as much potential for doing harm to him with all that power at her disposal. He doesn't want to know what her mind would conjure up as punishment if pushed.

"She sounds like my old superior." Xaldin says - and he's not finding the comparison pleasing. "He was something of a tyrant as well."

Damian frowns. "My former mistress was a tyrant. Anita may be... neglectful at times, but it pleases me to follow her orders most of the time."

It isn't like he has much of a choice, in the end. "In any case, she is my Mistress, and her necromancy is what causes my heart to beat and my soul to return to my body at sundown each night. Without her, I am reduced to nothing but a ravenous animal worthy of execution."