milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

There, at the bar, with an expression of near indifference to everything and everyone, is another vampire. He may have an air of innocence about him, or, perhaps, it is clear that he is trying to pull off just such a facade. To be fair, if you know him well at all, you could hardly fall for it, but everyone else? Well, he's hoping.

Come tell him that the phony smile he's offering passers-by is clearly that, or introduce yourself if you're dim-witted enough to fall for it.

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Malcolm's not in the mood to call Parnasse a 'phony' as such. Better to say he's ... amused.

"Having any luck with the gullible tonight?"

Montparnasse just grins and shrugs. "You are saying that you are not one of the gullibles then?"

"Well, not an outright *virgin* at least."

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow, then after a moment, snorts in amusement. "No, you most certainly are not, at that." Never claimed he'd stay on topic.

"So how've you been occupying yourself? It's been days."

Plenty of time to get yourself into god knows what. Or who.

Yup, still amused. Though not obnoxiously so.

"Took a friend to Paris with me for a time, made a few new acquaintances, discussed, with Illyria, and Fred, your nonsensical beliefs regarding the feelings of immortals, you know, been keeping busy."

Malcolm shakes his head in mock despair. "Still in denial about your true feelings for her."

"Well," he downs the last of his coffee. "I'm not worried. You'll come around eventually."

On to the evening's Glenmorangie. But as he orders, Malcolm feels a rare moment of generosity.

"Drink?" he offers Parnasse. Deadpan, yet double-entrendre-ly, no doubt just to mess with him.

There is an almost wicked smirk. "Non, monsieur, I have plans for feeding later."

Then in a moment of honest curiosity, "What is it which makes you believe that either of us have feelings for the other? What makes you think that you could possibly understand what either of us, two immortals, might feel?"

And how could one care for Illyria after Giselle?

"Suit yourself," Malcolm replies casually.

Then, a little thoughtfully, "I'll grant you I might be speculating a little in Illyria's case. Though I'll still stand on my hunch. Based on the things she's said. And her body language, which is more human than she'd care to hear."

"As for you, you've been 'immortal' for, what?, about a year now? Not exactly beyond human ken just yet. Maybe in a century or two, maybe. But until then--. In fact, technically, I'm *still* older than you. Dead first too."

But then thoughtful again, "Though if you held me to it--. I'd have to admit, I don't know for sure if your feelings might be for Illyria, or for Fred. For both? It's hard to say. You *do* have me on that one."

Unfortunately, Malcolm doesn't know about Giselle. Not yet, anyway.

Montparnasse snorts at the first comment. "Speculating in her case? Non, the other way around, I assure you." And he does, most vehemently.

"I feel nothing for either of them. Nothing beyond respect and even that is limited. In fact, I think that I will never care for anyone, in any other manner, ever again." Mostly limited by the potential fact that she cares about anyone at all, herself.

Malcolm doesn't argue the point. Either he's pondering what Parnasse has said, or leaving the argument for another day. There seems little point in just insisting yet again that he doesn't think Parnasse is being honest with himself.

"You went to Paris? Of your time, or some other time? I think I remember you saying once your Paris wasn't the greatest place to be."

"Well, for those who are dead or bound, it is better than the bar." He explains.

"And yes, I took an acquaintance with me. Darla by name. You'd probably like her, she's your type." A pointed look.

A bit subdued: "We've met."

"And not really. She seems to get into her 'work' a little too enthusiastically for my taste."

Montparnasse shrugs. "Suit yourself. I enjoy her well enough."

*Smirk smirk smirk.* "You probably wouldn't want used goods anyhow."

"Ah. She's just a temporary fling on your way back to your True Love," he smirks into his Glenmorangie.

A snort. "True love. You sound like a woman, monsieur."

"I'm not the one smitten with a goddess."

Still smirking, thx.

"Then perhaps I should find one who is, and ask their opinion on the matter."

He smirks as well. "Though I do not see how loving" He makes the word sound rather more dirty than it ought to. "a goddess, can be mistaken for femininity."

Malcolm intentionally misunderstands that: "What makes you think I was suggesting love meant femininity? Are you worried it might mean that?"

Mock concern: "When did you start having doubts about your masculinity?"

Montparnasse rolls his eyes.

"I was explaining that only women truthfully discuss true love as if they believe in it."

He also feels the need to reassure Malcolm on this next fact. "And I am NO woman."

"You are the very model of modern masculinity. I always thought so," Malcolm replies, with a certain lack of sincerity.

"Anyway, I'll leave your love life for Peter to worry about. Your running around with Darla seems like something actually worth worrying about. Until Illyria finds out about it, anyway."

"Excuse me?" He blinks. "What concern is Darla to Illyria? Or myself, for that matter?"

"Just saying you vampires seem to be a very possessive bunch. Who sired whom. Who belongs to whom."

"And Illyria strikes me the same way. Of course, I could be wrong. In fact, I'm sure I am."

"Just forget I said anything about it," Malcolm adds, in a way that might ensure Parnasse won't be able to.

Montparnasse cocks his head to one side, eyes narrowed.

"Well, if Illyria is indeed possessive, as you seem to imply, then I have nothing to worry about from any vampires." A cocky smirk.

Nice try, Mal, but it only reassured him.

Malcolm matches that smirk and raises it (ooc: he is, after all, Bruce Willis XD). "Absolutely. *Nothing* to worry about."

It's not his immediate reaction that counts. It's the annoying doubt that crops up some day when Nasse least wants it to.

Montparnasse shrugs. He's had several moments of worry and concern, but so long as Illyria is around, he considers himself safe.

Silly boy.

"We shall see then. And in the meantime, I will have my fun with the blond vampire, then perhaps the red head, and from there, who knows..."

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