run, run, run away : no sense of time

[fegkarion]

In about the time it takes to register that the door has opened, someone (coiled dark hair, pale smooth skin peppered with ash-grey freckles, dark eyes and a strong nose - tall and lithe, dressed in simple but tailored black) has already come through it. The man stands at the bar, touching it, looking around the room, even flickering a long, forked

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[dieneidio]

The next time that Enfys turns up in the nexus - without Bruce, second time around - she's looking a little less like a truck backed up over her and started biting, so that's something. Stigmata is somewhere she likes, she's decided, so it's her first port of call (the novelty of a PINpoint hasn't worn off yet, she's planning to play with it); she stops, taken aback, in the doorway.

And then she beams.

"Hey, handsome!" ...well that is a novel recognition, isn't it.

[fegkarion]

He's found some Klingon Blood Wine and is frowning at it in a fit of advanced skepticism. It's well-sealed so he's not...sure, but then suddenly some crazy wench is grinning at him.

At least it's a pleasant view.

"Hello, woman wearing yellow knickers. I am going to open this. If it is not actually blood wine, would you like some?" No use letting it go to waste.

[dieneidio]

The expression of utter consternation as she realizes - he's right in every way except the scars and the not knowing her - is actually sort of comic, the way a switch appears to flip and her delight turns into pouty disappointment. She sighs and drops her bag down on the bar, boosting herself up with it. "It's Enfys, champ. Stupid bitey flying boat bastard must still be there- I would."

She's not surprised by how much she misses the people she'd got attached to in Taxon; she tends not to let herself get attached in the first place for just this reason.

[fegkarion]

The Brucolac stares at her, unblinking, and then his tongue flickers a few times. It's as if he were, say, a giant albino monitor lizard who is slowly realizing that someone has dropped an extremely interesting mouse into his tank. There aren't any others, and he is vaguely hungry, but this mouse just started singing Carmen.

He puts two glasses on the table, opens the bottle, does that really annoying zooming-speed thing where one second he's behind the bar and the next he's sitting at it. He pats the bar in front of the stool next to him. "Come here, Enfys. Stupid bitey floating boat bastard would like to hear more."

[ankhenaten]

It hasn't been quite that long for Ankhenaten, though he looks a bit like he's aged a hundred or more; it's been about eleven months, and he's been spending this week re-acquainting himself with the area. He's still used the Nexus, but only in a capacity in which to hide his sister and niece. Contact had otherwise been cut off, because he knew if he gave himself too much of a net to fall back on that he would certainly lose his nerve in favor of running.

And that was just not possible.

Ankhenaten looks and feels less human as he steps inside - his usual facade is thinner, his manner of dress less conventional, his movements less controlled. He's covered throat to toes, and is even wearing gloves; under a wrap over his shoulders is a gold and obsidian broach that looks older than the vampire he's now looking at.

"Will wonders never cease."

[fegkarion]

The vampire has changed not at all, of course. Even the cut of his clothes is basically the same, though the collar is perhaps a little higher, rather boxy - a slight concession to the changing fashion of his world.

Ankhenaten's face and voice bring a smile to the Brucolac's face, though it does not settle as deeply in his eyes - the transformation is telling. When he had left, Akhenaten was seeking shelter with the elves, for his sister and her human daughter at least, if not for himself also. The naja had gone to ground, physically and socially. There is no trace of elves on him now... the only unusual flavors in Nat's scent now is... rot?

"A king of cobras, indeed. Akhenaten, I am glad to see you."

[ankhenaten]

There are plenty of people who could go through what Ankhenaten has this past year and just be mildly annoyed, or even write it off as just another obstacle in life - but he's a damn librarian, not a warrior, and the experience has shaken him and left him scarred in more ways than one. Still, he is genuinely happy to see the Brucolac, and the way he cracks a smile despite the ill-fitting weight around him proves it.

"I hope to never hear such a title in seriousness," he says, stepping forward and reaching out with his right arm to squeeze the older man's shoulder, not quite a hug. (His left arm he keeps against him, folded near his middle, like he's favoring it.) "But I'll selfishly admit I'd been hoping to see you, my friend."

The strange smell of necrotic flesh and magic is vague, like a shadow, or something haunting him. Besides that it's desert air and sand and heat and blood, but the latter isn't surprising, seeing what his diet is made up of.

[fegkarion]

"Your summons is quite successful," he replies, spreading his arms in a 'ta-da!' sort of gesture, before bringing one up to rest right back on Nat's shoulder. The other he holds out toward a table, as if it were not at all awkward to have an effectively one-armed companion.

"Come, sit. I will fetch you a drink as penance for depriving you of the finest company all of Bas-Lag has to offer, and then you can assure me that I have not lost my youthful beauty, and tell me whatever it is that you can tell me of your own transformation."

[faderbroderson]

Godric is incredibly pleased to see the Brucolac, not yet knowing that this Brucolac was never in Taxon. It's clear by the faded scars that he's older now, but Godric still presumes that the other vampire will remember him.

"Kinsman," he greets warmly.

[fegkarion]

And the Brucolac does not yet know that this Godric is quite intimately familiar with him already, rather than the casual acquaintance that he had made in the Nexus.

"Godric," he hisses back, smiling. "Your timing is excellent - I was just warming up some supper."

[faderbroderson]

And since this Godric doesn't remember the Nexus, we're in for some confusion.

The Brucolac's reaction isn't what he's expecting. He'd assumed it must have been a long time since the other vampire had seen him, but perhaps not? Perhaps this Brucolac-from-the-future has been in Godric's company, off and on, the entirety of the time it took those scars to fade?

And yet, if that's so...something is still off. There's a lack of something.

"That's a kind coincidence. I came in here to find something to drink." He sits beside his kinsman. "Have you been in this place long?"

It's clear he's talking about Xanadu, not Stigmata.

[cailisairgid]

The purpose of Nuala's glamour is simply to move without being noticed for who and what she is; someone who knows her might, might be able to sense what she's so expertly hidden, but they aren't the people she means for this to conceal her from. Even the sometimes overwhelming sense of her sheer presence is tamped down, behind human eyes and long, thick dark hair.

Her bone structure remains roughly the same, and her expressions; the Brucolac will likely not have to look hard to recognize her when she isn't really hiding from him. The enchantment is almost total (if it were easily penetrated then it would be useless to her), but the cock of her head remains the same.

"There you are," she says, warmly.