mayfield_rpg

A): phone - mid-morning.

[OPEN;]

[one hazard of spending a good deal of your time lurking on the phone lines is that one might become prone to forgetting that people can HEAR you while you listen. so, it's entirely innocent, of course, when the half-absent and somewhat petulant mumble comes across the phone lines sometime this morning.]

...all this talk of Valentines Day... honestly! As if they're rubbing it in some of us are destined to be forever alone. 'Vow of celibacy'? More like vow of perpetual and ongoing boredom.

[...a pause.]

It's not like I wanted to find out what a romantic holiday with another human being is like, regardless... eh? I'm sure edible underwear isn't all it's cracked up to be, anywa--

[...]

Eh? [wait for it.]

AH--

[...there's a rather flustered squawk, and a hasty CLICK of the phone into the cradle.]

[filter to Charles Fei-Ong]

Alright, so maybe I'm a little late in checking in. You'll forgive me, right? After all, I'm sure you've been busy collecting recipes and taste testing! [no really are you okay... :| last time he saw you, after all, was... uh, colorful, to say the least.]

...I don't suppose you'd be up for a cup of tea, Charles? [he has a feeling you'll just bs him even if you weren't alright over the phone, anyway. CLEARLY HE MUST BE NOSY IN PERSON.]

[filter to Esther Blanchett]

Esther-- do you have a minute? There's... ah, something I wanted to ask you. [AND IT DOESN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH EDIBLE UNDERWEAR HE SWEARS DEAR GOD.]

[filter to Django]

How are you holding up, partner? I hope the radio silence is because you've been gloriously enjoying the sunshine, hm? Making up for lost time and all that...! [are you okay partner? :(]

B): action; 1648 Albright Lane - lunchtime.

[there's the smell of something burning, late in the morning approaching lunchtime -- and if Rachel or Cain follows their nose, they might find the source in the form of one (1) Abel Nightroad with his drone wife's FRILLY PINK APRON several sizes too small draped around his neck and haphazardly tied back in the process of butchering... grilled cheese. yes, he is a total failure.

...somehow, he's gotten butter all over the counter and is trying to catch an overturned bottle of orange juice that is apparently spilling its contents over and onto the floor. the pan is burning and he's jostling cups and plates, trying not to drop EVERYTHING EVER as he fumbles to cease the spill of juice fruitlessly.

NO ONE SAID YOUR DAD WAS GOOD AT BEING DOMESTIC. this is why.]

C): action; around town - afternoon.

[the tall, lanky, and often times clumsy priest is among your streets today, Mayfield! anyone similarly prone to hitting up the bakery quite often might recognize his face, or simply wish to gape at the way he's leaving cheerily with a bag under his arm and so engrossed in the effort of inhaling the vanilla frosted doughnut in his hand he is clearly not paying attention to anything else. ...like the sidewalk. which, he may or may not inevitably trip over at an uneven crack and WOEFULLY lose his doubtlessly precious bounty as the bag tumbles to spill the fruits of his labor everywhere...

...and maybe his doughnut might happen to ah. misplace... itself from his hand and end up on your face. WHAT DO?]

D): action; church - evening.

[Abel's day eventually brings him to someplace to seek solace, to rest a weary soul... or something of that effect. one who enters might be hard pressed to FIND said priest who should be more or less easy to spot on the regular, right? how many 6'4 lanky bastards in cassock ARE there in here?

...but if one is apt enough, they might notice that the Father's side of the confessional is occupied. do you care to confess? ...or notice that said Father might just be lightly snoring if you listen hard enough...]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Only Ciel and I work together. Arcueid, on the random occasion, does work with us.

...You work with Sister Ciel?

[oh.

...oh. he perked up a bit at that, quite obviously surprised.]

We're close co-workers, yes.

She didn't tell me a friend from home had arrived... [now he's looking pouty. CIEL... HE THOUGHT THEY HAD A THING HERE...]

Ciel likes to be quiet about much of her home life.

She is a private person, I suppose. [dragging anything out of her is something of a game, isn't it... HMM. he's garnered more from observation than anything she's said herself, now he thinks about it.]

I guess it would be rude of me to ask too many questions, hm?

Do what you wish, Father. I personally learn a lot from a person by what they ask.

Are you saying you'd like to get to know me better in tempting me to ask?

Yes. Would you like me to tell you the things I already know?

Already know, hm.

[...h-heh?]

Ah-- sure. Sure! Shoot. I'm all ears!

I would first say that you're used to the idea of vampires, which means you knew some or plenty before myself. Whether here or elsewhere is up in the air but considering your affiliation with the Church, it's not a stretch to suggest where you original had dealings with them. Secondly, you don't really like the idea of fighting, considering how that was one of your first questions when hearing about others from my own world being here. Not that I blame you, I heartily dislike violence myself.

Very astute...! On both points, actually... My currently droned wife was a Methuselah, or vampire, from my world and a close friend. We've worked together in the past, so I'm no stranger to vampirism; it's true.

And you're right-- I really dislike violence of any kind... I'm rather happy to hear that we're of like sentiments in those regards. You're quite sharp, Mr. Merem!

It comes with the territory. Besides, it's hard to be sharp if all you wish to do is fight, correct?

Ah, but... how does it go? 'The pen is mightier than the sword,' hm?

True. That and words hurt far more than blades ever will.

...Ah. That's a sad reality, isn't it...?

Not that I'm particularly fond of blades and the like regardless, but. You know.

Is it sad? The pain may be worse but at least no one is dying, hm?

Now, you're getting too philosophical on me! [he's pouring the water into cups, straining the tea out.] I'm afraid I'm not quite as sharp as Mr. Merem, so you'll have to forgive me.

Come on, now. If you're more of a words person, you can't claim to be unintelligent.

Not all of God's children are blessed with that kind of wit, alright? I'm not on par, that's all! You're not judging me again, are you?!

Are you a child of God?

Aren't we all His children, Mr. Merem?

An interesting question but the answer is no. Would you like me to elaborate?

...If you would? [...]

God is a creation of the human unconscious. That's what makes humans so interesting for if enough of them believe, perception becomes reality. But if humans stop believing, their ideas fall into the realm of fantasy and simply cease to exist. I have lived through the rise and fall of many gods and almost all of them now exist in the realm of fantasy.

To state that all of us are children of god would be wrong since I existed before the idea of the Abrahamatic and Christianic God came into power.

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