[ he tries to think of a dive bar they could meet at, but all he can think of is this gay bar called hole and he's pretty sure that's a bit much for a first meet up. who would ask someone to go THERE ]
I'll find somewhere and send you the address. Dick.
[ He switches his phone off without actually saying if he'll be meeting Cass at a dive bar named fucking Dicks, but he'll be heading out to Heropa anyway, just baseline assuming that he'll be there to join him. The only bar in Heropa with a name that comes close turns out to actually be a pretty decent place called Dick's, according to his phone, but - his phone's a filthy liar, it turns out. He heads to the bar and the apostrophe's been removed from the sign out front and the clean, white walls it shows on Google Maps have been painted a pretty seedy red in real life. He sort of sees the appeal. It's a lot more Maurtia Falls-y than its neighbours.
It's evening when he heads inside and takes a seat at the bar, drumming his fingers on the countertop and waiting for Cass to show up, in the same edgy black leather jacket and the rest of the edgy edgy black black black he's usually wearing. Someone tries to talk to him, so he gets disgusted and moves seats. Cass shows up, eventually, and Derek's already ordered him a drink that he, again, has no intention of paying for.
[Dicks is a prime example of a bar who's come to realise it's market and caters to it. It's less family friendly than originally advertised, but it's full of all sorts of folks from all walks of life, and a hell of a lot of hipsters. It's seedy, but less in the "constant brawling and stabbings" way, and more in the "come here to get high and fuck in the bathroom" way. Cassidy likes it, but then again he loves literally anywhere that sells alcohol, especially the ones that remain a mostly judgement free zone.
He assumes Derek will be there, but if not then it's not going to be a wasted night as he starts himself off with a brief bar crawl beforehand. When he finally shows up he's already buzzed (like always), and seems all too happy to find Derek actually there waiting for him. While Derek's gone full edge with his outfit, Cass is a mix of gaudy and trashy with sweatpants and converse, a brightly coloured (and creased) shirt, and a seriously old and battered looking denim jacket- ladies, judging by the fit- littered with random patches.]
Hey, mate! You came!
[Grabbing for his ready ordered drink as he tries to go for a friendly back slap with the other.]
[ Derek's used to being brutally and viciously attacked by strangers, so Cass's unbridled assault on his HARDCORE!! APEX!! PREDATOR!!'s spine doesn't really bother him. He's nudged forward in his chair and his elbow slips a bit from where he was resting it, but other than tightly knitting his eyebrows together and looking at Cass like he's kind of a moron, Derek doesn't really do anything. He certainly doesn't try to slap Cass back. ]
Hi. Wow, you look horrible.
[ That's supposed to be a joke to cut through some of the tension in the air (that literally only he feels), but it comes out deadpan and kind of judgmental. He needs to relax so he can be confident and friendly and nice, but given that he's looking down the barrel of what promises to be a pretty long night and that's sort of daunting to him, it'll take him a second or two to get there. He turns around in his stool to put his back to the bar, hands gripping the edge of the seat between his legs. He stares at Cass some more. How does... how... how do... friendship.
He just dives right in to the heavy shit that Cass probably doesn't care about. That'll do it. ]
I wanted to say that I don't normally go out of my way to hurt people. I get that that's what I was... threatening to do, on that night when we first met, but that's not who I am. There was just - something going on at that party, making people act out. That had nothing to do with me. So.
[ So. He sets his shoulders straight. ]
Yeah. I'm not a threat. I'm a friend. I got you a drink.
[Thankfully for Derek, he's meeting with a guy who already knows in himself that he's a trashy, waste of space with no value, so hey, being told he looks horrible just earns an agreeable chuckle and a nod while he makes quick work of downing the drink in his hand.]
That you did. Listen, man, it's fine, really it is. There was all sorts of crazy goin' on that night, wasn't quite feelin' meself either, truth be told. No harm done, eh? In fact, if it wasn't for that we wouldn't either be here, two mates hangin' out. Now relax, would yeh? Christ, I thought dogs were meant to be chill.
[He shifts to lean on the bar with an elbow while he waves for the bartender.]
[ Derek holds his straight-shoulder, pointed stare for a few more awkward, silent stretches, but he actually seems to relax a little when Cassidy gives him the most minimal amount of shit possible. His shoulders droop and he watches the bartender come over to take Cassidy's order, and he exhales a breath he didn't notice he was holding. ]
Okay.
[ Tate said to be friends with this dude to learn more out about his connection with Starr, and that's still a priority, but it's - a relief, to not be so harshly judged for something stupid or werewolf-y he's done. He still looks like he's got the tiniest fragment of a stick up his ass, though, and, cautiously looking back to Cassidy like he's not entirely convinced the dude won't leap up from his chair and start stabbing him, he makes absolutely completely sure he's not gonna leave this bar murdered. ]
People back home would've tried to skin me for less. That's all. It's kind of weird how chill you're being.
[Cassidy is a stark contrast to all the tenseness, casually leaning, shoulders sloped and lazy gestures, he's relaxed and slow, in part thanks to the masses of substances in his system but more so just his general approach to life. It's a damn sight easier to forget life's worries than it is to spend every minute looking over your shoulder.
As the bartender approaches, he orders himself an entire bottle of dark rum, vaguely gesturing towards Derek too in case he wants to get another order in.]
Look, Lupin, I've dealt with all the same shite. When y'got folks tryna kill you just for what you are, spittin' on ya, chasin' you out of town, you learn to look past the "transgressions" of others, like.
[ Derek does maybe the very worst thing a person can do by asking the bartender for water. It earns him a look, but the dude fucks off to get it, and Derek uses that time to listen to what Cass says. He dwells on it, actually, for another few beats of silence that he's really just generally awful at filling. Hitting him right where he lives with this, man. ]
Yeah.
[ Yeah. Yeah, okay. If Cassidy gets it, that makes sense. Derek exhales again, slumping back against the bar and looking up at the ceiling fan. Okay. He feels better. He can be normal. ]
"Lupin", fuck off. [ He grins, small though it is, looking at Cassidy out of the corner of his eye. ] I thought you were some kind of... bullshit... werejaguar, or something, when you flashed me those teeth. You hissed at me like a cat. I'm probably wrong, right?
Heh. Werejaguar, huh? That'd be pretty bloody awesome, I reckon I'd enjoy that well enough. But no, not quite. I'm a vampire, have been for eighty nine years now. Mostly just your garden variety kinda, y'know? All the normal shite that comes with it, although probably not as much as folk like to spread. I like garlic, don't give a shite about signs of the cross and holy water is a crock of shite.
[Considering how little he usually tries to hide his "condition", Cassidy seems perfectly comfortable talking about it, arms folding on the bar as he side glances at Derek.]
[ Vampires are new to him, but he's seen enough wild shit at this point to not be as blown away by the revelation as he might have been a few years back. It's the eighty nine years that he gets stuck on, because suddenly buying pills and showing up to their half-date kind of buzzed sounds a lot more depressing than it did a minute ago. Can't quite put a finger on why. ]
Werewolf. [ He shrugs. ] Born that way. Silver bullets aren't a thing. I don't know who thinks up this shit.
[ Derek thinks Cassidy calling him "fangy lad" seems somewhat lacking in self-awareness, but. Whatever. He nurses his drink. ]
Can't get drunk, though. Or high. Cells regenerate too fast, so. You'll have to get twice as wasted for me.
[While werewolves aren't something he's sure exist back home, he's seen more than enough media versions of them to have assumed as much. The not getting drunk thing is new to him though, and he's looking at Derek with a slightly incredulous stare, opening up a shoulder to better face him.]
At all? Ah, that's a bad deal, sorry to hear it, lad. Still, might be for the best if that party was anythin' to go by, eh? Can't have a wolf among the sheep every time he decides he wants a tipple.
[With his oversized bottle of rum delivered to him, Cass unscrews the cap and takes a few, large swigs from it, giving his new companion a thoughtful frown.] 'Least it makes you a cheap date.
Financially, maybe. Dates with me are still pretty taxing, emotionally speaking. What with all the ravenous bloodlust and unbidden transformations into Cujo.
[ He finishes his water and toys with the idea of getting offended by the wolf among the sheep comment, but. Can't get offended at something that correct. He rests his chin on his hand, looking at Cassidy, scrutinizing him. ]
Guess it explains why you're single. Probably gets hard to date when anyone you fall in love with is just gonna age and die. Or at least bail on you when you try to bake a cake out of their blood.
[Half mumbled as he automatically goes for the rum again, brows creasing together and nose scrunching in irritation as he sucks down half the bottle like it's water. Dereks' comment of everyone dying hit's far too personally for his liking, a negativity he's had to live with, and something he's stuck with. No matter how much he drinks, how many drugs he takes, or how positively he tries to look at life, he's always going to be stuck with the knowledge that he'll outlive everyone he knows and loves.
Fuck it, just change the subject and keep moving on. It's all he ever can do.]
I don't know what sort of shite you get up to in your spare time, Fenrir, but I've never baked a cake with anyone's blood. It's not like that. I'm a vampire not a bleedin' serial killer.
[ Derek's projecting, more than anything, so while he feels he might have touched a bit of a nerve with his last comment, it's not something he's wholly sure of - witnessing death, being shadowed by it but never touched himself, that's something he gets, and though he briefly considers pushing the conversation and apologizing if he stepped over any lines, Cass changes topics before he gets a chance. Hm. ]
Is this just going to be a thing between us? Lupin, Fenrir. Fangy lad. Just gonna be anything but Derek, huh?
[ He doesn't mind, exactly, but he looks pretty surly. Might just be the way his face naturally falls, honestly. Topic change. ]
But, so, okay - do you break into blood banks and go to town? Do you hunt for food? How does eating work for you, exactly?
[A vague nod at the first question, because Cassidy's just going to use whatever term of endearment he feels like at the time. It just shows he cares.]
I don't hunt for nothin' 'cept maybe the best drug deals. I eat food like normal folk, blood just helps me heal when I need it, no matter the source. I'm not about to go tearin' out throats when I got a perfectly easy source from blood bags and the occasional animal, know what I mean, man?
[He sounds genuine enough, even if he is glossing over certain cravings. Point is he can control himself and isn't a mass murdered, so he thinks he deserves some credit for that.]
'Sides, I'd rather be here suckin' down a bottle than suckin' on a neck.
[ Man, everyone he likes seems to make dog jokes. Derek can't tell what that says about him, but he rolls his eyes, pretending not to feel as fondly towards this piece of shit as he does. He listens, quiet, and it's good information to know. There was a time where he would have seen Cassidy as a threat to be taken care of, rather than someone who might understand what it's like to be judged based on what he is - it's nice, making a friend. If that's what's happening. ]
You kind of suck at being a vampire.
[ He gestures with his glass, pointing his finger at Cass. Just kinda indicating towards his whole deal. ]
Chasing drugs down with drinks. Mixing patterns instead of wearing fancy, monochromatic suits. Hanging out with someone like me instead of seducing virgin women in the Victorian era. Bet you don't even sleep in a coffin.
[He admits with a chuckle, head tilting slightly as he considers his werewolf buddy. Cassidy's not well versed in werewolves, but the whole black and leather theme, and grouchy demeanour seems to fit pretty well with what he's seen in media.]
Although I actually have slept in a coffin, recently like. I know a fella back home, proper vampire cliché shite; frilly cuffs, fifty languages, classic music and a coffin, y'know? Usually I'm just as comfortable with an old couch or bathroom floor though.
[But his vampire boyfriend bought that coffin for him and it was a cute gesture, okay, so he had to try it out. :(]
Actually, there's another fella a bit like him in this world too. I bet you he sleeps in a coffin.
[ Being grouchy and leather-clad is one thing, but Derek also used to be captain of the basketball team in highschool - Michael J Fox had a whole movie about that. Despite himself, Derek chuckles, falling more and more in love with this dude. It's kind of difficult not to like him, and that's a bit disarming, because it's always the charismatic people who end up screwing Derek over. He should put his guard back up, maybe cut this night short and go home already. ]
Feels kind of fake, now that I've met you. Like a vampire would only go total english nobleman if he was, like, embracing the opportunity to be pretentious. Or something.
[ Derek taps his fingernails on his glass, studying Cass in silence. Another vampire's around here, huh. ]
Are you guys... I mean. [ what's the equivalent of "pack" for vampires. ] Are you, uh... Are you in a... coven? With either of them? Wait, shit, that's witches.
[Derek achieves a genuine laugh from Cassidy, nose scrunched and snorting little laughs at basically every single word out of his mouth. This werewolf is a funny guy when he's not sitting with a stick up his ass, even if not all of it is intentionally amusing.]
Right?! Christ, it's pretentious as all shite.
[Pretentious, but he still unironically ends up loving the vampires he's met doing said act. It's strangely endearing to see such stereotypes embrace it with their strange levels of flamboyance.]
And nah, lad. We ain't like youse dogs. I mean, we got our little groups and shite, ones we can call in a pinch, but we do our own thing. Most times I've met fellas like me they've been alone. I'm not in a coven with any of them any more than you and I are right now. [Beat.] I think coven is right? Brood? Clan? Community? I don't feckin' know.
[ At first, Derek doesn't really know how to take Cassidy's laughter - people don't laugh, not with him, and his shoulders go straight, bristling with a shot of insecure anger. Cass just keeps laughing, though, and the more it goes on, the more he realizes it's just... genuinely good natured, and he lets himself relax again. He chuckles, even, quiet and kind of sheepish. Again - this is hard for him, but it feels really, really nice to maybe make a friend. ]
That sounds lonely.
[ If that's okay to say. He looks at Cassidy, searching him, then quickly presses on, just in case it wasn't. ]
[Somehow, in his depth of totally useless trivia knowledge, he's pretty sure that's the one for bats, and what else would vampire groups be, if not groups of bats?]
It's n-- [He's about to deny that it's lonely, wave it off as a totally normal thing, but the two of them are are here, mates sharing drinks and secrets.]
The immortality, mate. Gets to you eventually. Sometimes y'just gotta get away, find new folk and new places, see things y'wouldn't when stuck with the same oul crusty vampires.
Ants? Makes sense. You're spindly and big on biting. I can see it.
[ Or bats, too - that's a piece of trivia tucked away in the back of his head, too, but - seems kinda racist to make that comparison. He already feels like he's been low-key vampire racist tonight, sssso. He waves the bartender back over and orders something stronger than water, even though he knows it won't have any real effect on him. He briefly remembers they don't have a lot of money on them, so... they might... dine and dash by the end of the night, but. S'fine.
He listens to Cass talk and straightens out the napkin under his empty glass, reading between the lines as best as he can. He gets it, he thinks. To a degree. ]
I couldn't do that. Leave people I knew, if I had the choice not to. [ he gets his drink back and takes a sip, letting it settle on his tongue before he continues, bitterness seeping into his voice. ] But I think I get it. Outliving people takes its toll. Can't imagine you've had it easy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Maurtia.
[ he tries to think of a dive bar they could meet at, but all he can think of is this gay bar called hole and he's pretty sure that's a bit much for a first meet up. who would ask someone to go THERE ]
I'll find somewhere and send you the address.
Dick.
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is taht dicks as in the bar or the insult?
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[ wait. ]
There's a bar called Dicks? I thought Hole was on the nose. Uh, so to speak.
I kind of want to go to Dicks.
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Bye.
[ He switches his phone off without actually saying if he'll be meeting Cass at a dive bar named fucking Dicks, but he'll be heading out to Heropa anyway, just baseline assuming that he'll be there to join him. The only bar in Heropa with a name that comes close turns out to actually be a pretty decent place called Dick's, according to his phone, but - his phone's a filthy liar, it turns out. He heads to the bar and the apostrophe's been removed from the sign out front and the clean, white walls it shows on Google Maps have been painted a pretty seedy red in real life. He sort of sees the appeal. It's a lot more Maurtia Falls-y than its neighbours.
It's evening when he heads inside and takes a seat at the bar, drumming his fingers on the countertop and waiting for Cass to show up, in the same edgy black leather jacket and the rest of the edgy edgy black black black he's usually wearing. Someone tries to talk to him, so he gets disgusted and moves seats. Cass shows up, eventually, and Derek's already ordered him a drink that he, again, has no intention of paying for.
Doesn't say hi. Just stares. ]
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He assumes Derek will be there, but if not then it's not going to be a wasted night as he starts himself off with a brief bar crawl beforehand. When he finally shows up he's already buzzed (like always), and seems all too happy to find Derek actually there waiting for him. While Derek's gone full edge with his outfit, Cass is a mix of gaudy and trashy with sweatpants and converse, a brightly coloured (and creased) shirt, and a seriously old and battered looking denim jacket- ladies, judging by the fit- littered with random patches.]
Hey, mate! You came!
[Grabbing for his ready ordered drink as he tries to go for a friendly back slap with the other.]
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Hi. Wow, you look horrible.
[ That's supposed to be a joke to cut through some of the tension in the air (that literally only he feels), but it comes out deadpan and kind of judgmental. He needs to relax so he can be confident and friendly and nice, but given that he's looking down the barrel of what promises to be a pretty long night and that's sort of daunting to him, it'll take him a second or two to get there. He turns around in his stool to put his back to the bar, hands gripping the edge of the seat between his legs. He stares at Cass some more. How does... how... how do... friendship.
He just dives right in to the heavy shit that Cass probably doesn't care about. That'll do it. ]
I wanted to say that I don't normally go out of my way to hurt people. I get that that's what I was... threatening to do, on that night when we first met, but that's not who I am. There was just - something going on at that party, making people act out. That had nothing to do with me. So.
[ So. He sets his shoulders straight. ]
Yeah. I'm not a threat. I'm a friend. I got you a drink.
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That you did. Listen, man, it's fine, really it is. There was all sorts of crazy goin' on that night, wasn't quite feelin' meself either, truth be told. No harm done, eh? In fact, if it wasn't for that we wouldn't either be here, two mates hangin' out. Now relax, would yeh? Christ, I thought dogs were meant to be chill.
[He shifts to lean on the bar with an elbow while he waves for the bartender.]
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Okay.
[ Tate said to be friends with this dude to learn more out about his connection with Starr, and that's still a priority, but it's - a relief, to not be so harshly judged for something stupid or werewolf-y he's done. He still looks like he's got the tiniest fragment of a stick up his ass, though, and, cautiously looking back to Cassidy like he's not entirely convinced the dude won't leap up from his chair and start stabbing him, he makes absolutely completely sure he's not gonna leave this bar murdered. ]
People back home would've tried to skin me for less. That's all. It's kind of weird how chill you're being.
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As the bartender approaches, he orders himself an entire bottle of dark rum, vaguely gesturing towards Derek too in case he wants to get another order in.]
Look, Lupin, I've dealt with all the same shite. When y'got folks tryna kill you just for what you are, spittin' on ya, chasin' you out of town, you learn to look past the "transgressions" of others, like.
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Yeah.
[ Yeah. Yeah, okay. If Cassidy gets it, that makes sense. Derek exhales again, slumping back against the bar and looking up at the ceiling fan. Okay. He feels better. He can be normal. ]
"Lupin", fuck off. [ He grins, small though it is, looking at Cassidy out of the corner of his eye. ] I thought you were some kind of... bullshit... werejaguar, or something, when you flashed me those teeth. You hissed at me like a cat. I'm probably wrong, right?
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Heh. Werejaguar, huh? That'd be pretty bloody awesome, I reckon I'd enjoy that well enough. But no, not quite. I'm a vampire, have been for eighty nine years now. Mostly just your garden variety kinda, y'know? All the normal shite that comes with it, although probably not as much as folk like to spread. I like garlic, don't give a shite about signs of the cross and holy water is a crock of shite.
[Considering how little he usually tries to hide his "condition", Cassidy seems perfectly comfortable talking about it, arms folding on the bar as he side glances at Derek.]
What about you, fangy lad?
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[ Vampires are new to him, but he's seen enough wild shit at this point to not be as blown away by the revelation as he might have been a few years back. It's the eighty nine years that he gets stuck on, because suddenly buying pills and showing up to their half-date kind of buzzed sounds a lot more depressing than it did a minute ago. Can't quite put a finger on why. ]
Werewolf. [ He shrugs. ] Born that way. Silver bullets aren't a thing. I don't know who thinks up this shit.
[ Derek thinks Cassidy calling him "fangy lad" seems somewhat lacking in self-awareness, but. Whatever. He nurses his drink. ]
Can't get drunk, though. Or high. Cells regenerate too fast, so. You'll have to get twice as wasted for me.
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[While werewolves aren't something he's sure exist back home, he's seen more than enough media versions of them to have assumed as much. The not getting drunk thing is new to him though, and he's looking at Derek with a slightly incredulous stare, opening up a shoulder to better face him.]
At all? Ah, that's a bad deal, sorry to hear it, lad. Still, might be for the best if that party was anythin' to go by, eh? Can't have a wolf among the sheep every time he decides he wants a tipple.
[With his oversized bottle of rum delivered to him, Cass unscrews the cap and takes a few, large swigs from it, giving his new companion a thoughtful frown.] 'Least it makes you a cheap date.
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[ He finishes his water and toys with the idea of getting offended by the wolf among the sheep comment, but. Can't get offended at something that correct. He rests his chin on his hand, looking at Cassidy, scrutinizing him. ]
Guess it explains why you're single. Probably gets hard to date when anyone you fall in love with is just gonna age and die. Or at least bail on you when you try to bake a cake out of their blood.
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[Half mumbled as he automatically goes for the rum again, brows creasing together and nose scrunching in irritation as he sucks down half the bottle like it's water. Dereks' comment of everyone dying hit's far too personally for his liking, a negativity he's had to live with, and something he's stuck with. No matter how much he drinks, how many drugs he takes, or how positively he tries to look at life, he's always going to be stuck with the knowledge that he'll outlive everyone he knows and loves.
Fuck it, just change the subject and keep moving on. It's all he ever can do.]
I don't know what sort of shite you get up to in your spare time, Fenrir, but I've never baked a cake with anyone's blood. It's not like that. I'm a vampire not a bleedin' serial killer.
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Is this just going to be a thing between us? Lupin, Fenrir. Fangy lad. Just gonna be anything but Derek, huh?
[ He doesn't mind, exactly, but he looks pretty surly. Might just be the way his face naturally falls, honestly. Topic change. ]
But, so, okay - do you break into blood banks and go to town? Do you hunt for food? How does eating work for you, exactly?
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I don't hunt for nothin' 'cept maybe the best drug deals. I eat food like normal folk, blood just helps me heal when I need it, no matter the source. I'm not about to go tearin' out throats when I got a perfectly easy source from blood bags and the occasional animal, know what I mean, man?
[He sounds genuine enough, even if he is glossing over certain cravings. Point is he can control himself and isn't a mass murdered, so he thinks he deserves some credit for that.]
'Sides, I'd rather be here suckin' down a bottle than suckin' on a neck.
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You kind of suck at being a vampire.
[ He gestures with his glass, pointing his finger at Cass. Just kinda indicating towards his whole deal. ]
Chasing drugs down with drinks. Mixing patterns instead of wearing fancy, monochromatic suits. Hanging out with someone like me instead of seducing virgin women in the Victorian era. Bet you don't even sleep in a coffin.
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[He admits with a chuckle, head tilting slightly as he considers his werewolf buddy. Cassidy's not well versed in werewolves, but the whole black and leather theme, and grouchy demeanour seems to fit pretty well with what he's seen in media.]
Although I actually have slept in a coffin, recently like. I know a fella back home, proper vampire cliché shite; frilly cuffs, fifty languages, classic music and a coffin, y'know? Usually I'm just as comfortable with an old couch or bathroom floor though.
[But his vampire boyfriend bought that coffin for him and it was a cute gesture, okay, so he had to try it out. :(]
Actually, there's another fella a bit like him in this world too. I bet you he sleeps in a coffin.
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Feels kind of fake, now that I've met you. Like a vampire would only go total english nobleman if he was, like, embracing the opportunity to be pretentious. Or something.
[ Derek taps his fingernails on his glass, studying Cass in silence. Another vampire's around here, huh. ]
Are you guys... I mean. [ what's the equivalent of "pack" for vampires. ] Are you, uh... Are you in a... coven? With either of them? Wait, shit, that's witches.
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Right?! Christ, it's pretentious as all shite.
[Pretentious, but he still unironically ends up loving the vampires he's met doing said act. It's strangely endearing to see such stereotypes embrace it with their strange levels of flamboyance.]
And nah, lad. We ain't like youse dogs. I mean, we got our little groups and shite, ones we can call in a pinch, but we do our own thing. Most times I've met fellas like me they've been alone. I'm not in a coven with any of them any more than you and I are right now. [Beat.] I think coven is right? Brood? Clan? Community? I don't feckin' know.
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That sounds lonely.
[ If that's okay to say. He looks at Cassidy, searching him, then quickly presses on, just in case it wasn't. ]
Brood is chickens.
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[Somehow, in his depth of totally useless trivia knowledge, he's pretty sure that's the one for bats, and what else would vampire groups be, if not groups of bats?]
It's n-- [He's about to deny that it's lonely, wave it off as a totally normal thing, but the two of them are are here, mates sharing drinks and secrets.]
The immortality, mate. Gets to you eventually. Sometimes y'just gotta get away, find new folk and new places, see things y'wouldn't when stuck with the same oul crusty vampires.
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[ Or bats, too - that's a piece of trivia tucked away in the back of his head, too, but - seems kinda racist to make that comparison. He already feels like he's been low-key vampire racist tonight, sssso. He waves the bartender back over and orders something stronger than water, even though he knows it won't have any real effect on him. He briefly remembers they don't have a lot of money on them, so... they might... dine and dash by the end of the night, but. S'fine.
He listens to Cass talk and straightens out the napkin under his empty glass, reading between the lines as best as he can. He gets it, he thinks. To a degree. ]
I couldn't do that. Leave people I knew, if I had the choice not to. [ he gets his drink back and takes a sip, letting it settle on his tongue before he continues, bitterness seeping into his voice. ] But I think I get it. Outliving people takes its toll. Can't imagine you've had it easy.
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