Chapter VIII: Van Helsing's Cinematograph; Late Evening

[master_helsing]

[It was the first time in seven months that the good professor had allowed his Net Vice to connect to the community unbeknownst. He was not a man of publicity, no, not in such a distant way; for he saw the network as a divider rather than an embracer. No matter the instance in which one speaks to one another physically they are parted and so much

Comments

Action.

[psyd_seward]

[There's been a shroud of death-like quiet in the past hour of such the like that upon hearing the commotion upstairs Seward could not help but drop the book and parcel he'd been holding out of surprise, his heart leaping up into his throat. For a moment the roar of his Professor had quite startled him, so much so that his heart fluttered behind his ribcage like a bird frantically trying to escape.

Granted, he'd retired in brief if only to have privacy in preparing a fitting gift for his kingly friend. They'd had a stately dinner beforehand, so now would only be appropriate in his approach as to show him he hadn't forgotten the occasion. That is...If his Professor hadn't taken to brooding, which he seemed more inclined to do these days. He hoped the merry atmosphere would bring about a bit of cheer to the old fellow. Why, their manor was already decorated with all manner of holiday cheering, after all! Why shouldn't a little merriment be spread about like a jolly contagion?

Sidling about to peer through the door Seward peeked his head inside, half-afraid he was going to be witness to the brutal destruction of Abraham's NV with the scattering of pieces everywhere. He knew the man to possess terrible strength, after all.]

Are you quite through with abusing your device, 'Bram? I have something I'd like to...Well, share with you.

[There was a bit of a cheekiness to his tone, his brow raised in that mischievous manner that was used when he was about to endeavor in manner of tomfoolery.]

But first! A drink, I say, man. Can't have you holing yourself up in here.

[Pulling forth a bottle of the finest cognac he'd been able to purchase from its velvet pouch John presented it casually, the label handwritten and stamped with the year '1840'. Upon pressing it into Abraham's hands he also slipped a cigar into the other's mouth, pulling him back from the NV toward the balcony lest it succumb to another fit of his rage.]