Time: 3:00 P.M ish - who really knows anymore?
Date: Friday, 5 December 2013
Location: Rose City and Moon Forest
“What's in a name? That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that we are told is ours.” - Ulysses.
The cool air seeped through the small cracks in the dusty attic, yet they were not felt by the man hanging from a support beam, casually flipping through the pages of a novel in the dark. True, one would wonder why such an odd fellow would find comfort in a novel while darkness shrouded the area, but the again that person hadn't met a vampire before: and, if they were close enough to witness him, were probably drained at the moment.
Nevertheless, Zakhar hung from the wooden beam, his eyes scanning the pages of the newest novel he had found: The Girl with the Dragon tattoo. In sincere honesty, he was shocked at how detailed and intricate the piece of literature was. More often than not, he was starting to become bored with the modern idea of literature, in which each age group had a specific set of themes and plots. How were the young adults supposed to 'upgrade' into the adult section, if all there was to read were fantasy drama and post-apocalyptic novels? The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo surprised him with its intricacy and theme, so he was having a bit of difficulty conversing with others.
Piled beneath him were all that he owned: two duffel bags stuffed with relics and literature. Anything else that Zak owned was either stored in a safe box in the middle of the Atlantic ocean - as a sailor, he found random islands all the time - or had been burned. Sure, he would miss a few of his old belongings, but anything that had significant sentiment or knowledge was stored within his journals, which were what nearly took up an entire duffel bag themselves. Granted, the others were on said island; after all, he was somewhere around 400 years old, and he hadn't stopped writing since he could.
Back on track, and in the present: Zakhar was roughly halfway through the book before the first call was sent out by Genevieve - something about five minutes to go. Plenty of time for Zakhar to get through more of his book. Sure, it wasn't the greatest idea to leave things to the last minute, but where was the fun in being so overly prepared? Part of what made his life so exciting was that edge that was imposed upon him, the fact that no matter how prepared you may think yourself, it was nowhere nearly enough for the trials ahead. Nowadays, people wanted everything to be predictable: how could one have fun like that?
Refocused, Mariette now yelled out that they were leaving in two. Where did those three minutes go? Zakhar stopped reading to stare at the pages in confusion. How had he simply let three minutes slip through him so easily? It wasn't because he was reading, as he only got a page done. Zak mused over this problem for a little bit before coming to the realization that this musing was his problem; once that was established, he went back to reading. He could not help but allow his mind to wander slightly, pondering why he was, again, under the thumb of another. For centuries, Zakhar had been refused to be ruled: what made now any different? Zakhar tilted his head slightly, wondering what had changed, if anything. Perhaps it was simply this city: he had heard lots of mysterious and ominous tones coming from this city when he circulated the globe. Obviously, this piqued his interests enough - but was that the reason he was only the right hand man?
His thoughts, once again, were rudely interrupted by Mariette yelling about how it was time to go. An annoyed sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it, and his right hand closed the book before he dropped down. Preparing himself, Zakhar put on a pair of sunglasses and opened the half-broken window to the sunlight. As if he was an odd version of spiderman, Zakhar scuttled from the attic all the way down to the roof - while hard to describe, it was quite interesting to watch. In a few moments, Zakhar was on the roof, but he didn't stop there: nope, Zakhar moved and read like paper in the wind, drifting around objects with random precision, until he was on top of the car (Zakhar quite enjoys sitting himself in places one would find odd). While there was music playing underneath, he laid on the roof and began reading again, before speaking in the direction of Mariette, knowing her sister could hear him as well.
"Destroying the mansion would be safest. Burning would be better, but is too obvious - perhaps a storm or sledgehammer would do the trick? Hmmm." Zakhar was pensive before speaking again. "Cacciatori will find what they want regardless. Destroyed mansion will confirm we were hear and are not coming back: abandoned may confuse them." Zakhar's random speech pattern was odd, sure; but while his words were choppy, his tone and voice were always as smooth as silk. "I may stay behind, act as spy and scout. Find out what they know about us. Kill a few for fun."