How many students would expect to see their English professor at a nightclub? The tendency among university kids is to assume that their teachers have no life and no existence outside of grading papers and thinking up horrible and impossible assignments and lectures.

Granted, most university professors don't go out of their way to dispel this illusion, but it's still an illusion.

Alexander Barclay doesn't often frequent nightclubs, but even he will occasionally head out and sample the local nightlife. Preferably in places like the Triskele or here, where magic is less of a secret. He's been avoiding the Triskele lately, though. Wouldn't want to have a brush with any of the gods... Not this close...

He's handsome, in that older, distinguished gentleman sort of way. Precisely combed black hair, with white streaks at the temples. Not quite business attire, but certainly not the sorts of things that young people sport nowadays. He's in a corner booth, drinking something that glows faintly. I'm not sure if it's radioactive or slightly imbued with magic.

A man, perhaps in his late forties, walked into the nightclub, his steps brisk and quick. He gave the impression of knowing where he wanted to go, and how to get there ten minutes faster. Douglas Kael (Doctor Douglas Kael, as he always signed his name) looked in too much of a hurry to belong in a nightclub. He looked like he'd never heard the word 'relax' in his life.Reaching the bar, he pressed close to it, but didn't lean on it.

"Beer, please. Whatever's closest to hand."

He drummed his fingers on the countertop while he waited. His eyes darted around the room. They were quick, cold-grey eyes that shone a tad too brightly. They drew the attention away from his other features, which looked too diminutive to be of consequence - thin lips, long, narrow nose, skinny eyebrows that jumped at the least provocation. He had a high forehead, that was made to look even broader by his short, blond hair. His hair was beginning to recede, but he hadn't made an attempt to reclaim it.

Douglas's gaze paused a moment on a man approximately his own age, seated alone at a booth not far away. His eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Well, well..." he murmured. Having been given his drink, Douglas turned and headed straight for the corner booth.

Alexander glanced up and lifted his own thick black eyebrows. What a coincidence... Imagine meeting Douglas here. He lifted his glass in salute and waved his colleague to a seat. Which Douglas would probably have taken anyway, but still.

"What brings you here, Douglas?" he asked when his co-conspirator was within hearing distance.

((Bah. Writer's block.))

"I come here for the atmosphere. I find it stimulating," he said emotionlessly, taking a sip of his beer. It was always difficult to tell when he was being sarcastic, since most of the time his voice was flat. "And yourself, Alexander? Escaping the daily grind of lecturing today's youth?"

"More like escaping the daily grind of grading unimaginative, uninspired, and ungrammatical papers. It makes me wonder why I ever became a professor in the first place." There was mockery in his tone, and humor, and just a tinge of bitterness.

Well... he'd had to do something. And for the first few years of his career, he'd enjoyed teaching. He'd probably have enjoyed it more in another universe, one where his grandmother hadn't died and he hadn't been foolish and summoned Azrael, but...

There was the occasional shining star, as well. But none this semester.

"At least you still have a career," Douglas pointed out. "I no longer have mine to occupy my time, but I suppose there are better things to do than remove piece after piece of people who don't bother to even take care of themselves. Smokers, for example - "

He put an emphasis on 'better things to do', with an almost eager air. But the look vanished as he went on to complain about people's self-destructive tendencies.

"-They ruin themselves. Waste of perfectly good lungs."

While that would have sounded morbid coming from anyone else, when he said it, it sounded factual and uninteresting.

"You could still have a career if you'd taken more care with your experiments, Douglas." There's a dry tone in his voice that suggests that they've had this conversation before, or that he's thought similar things before. And recently, too.

And, rather deliberately, he pulls a cigarette pack out of his pocket and offers one to his companion. Just because he's working with the man doesn't mean that he has to like him, after all.

Douglas shook his head, and waved away the offer of a cigarette without a hint of a change in his expression. He knew he was being taunted. "Why you insist on breathing through those foul things, I'll never know... Yes, I grew careless. And I do regret it. But they shouldn't have taken my license. They couldn't prove it was my fault the bodies were found outside the hospital. They did walk out by themselves. It was on the security cameras."

He paused to look at his watch. Whatever time it was, he appeared to be satisfied, and looked back at his companion. "That subject is in the past, however. What are you up to, these days?"

He thought he knew what Alexander was up to. But he asked anyway. It was never safe to assume.

"Oh, this and that. Papers, tests... I have a very interesting fellow in one of my classes. Andrei Petrov. He should be coming in for tutoring, sometime soon." He puts a curious emphasis on the word 'interesting,' one that implies that Andrei is interesting on a completely different level than scholastically.

And he is. Son of Azrael and all that. Most interesting, especially considering what Alexander does in his free time.

There's going to be more going on in those tutoring sessions than just tutoring, methinks.

"Oh, really? ... Must not be particularly bright, if he's coming in for tutoring. What is it that makes him such an interesting specimen?" Douglas queried, not au courant of where the gods' bloodlines led these days. Though he would be quite fascinated by the information, once he found out. Anything that had to do with death - the god or the process - was his passion. If it could be called that - really, it bordered more on obsession.

"I know his father. They have the same eyes."

Alexander is nothing if not cautious. There's no telling who or what might overhear them, here. Vampires, other mages... gods... It's not quite as risky as the Triskele, but quite enough.

"You might say I've taken a personal interest in him."

"Would his eyes... be ones that I would have seen before...?" Douglas frowned, fishing for details that could help him piece together the identity of this interesting young man. This was clearly of importance to them both, or he knew Alexander wouln't be bothering to tell him. A suspicion floated to the surface of his mind, and came out as a question. "Maybe they are eyes that I used to look into every day?"

He was referring to the figure of speech, to 'stare Death in the face', which he had technically done a lot of in the past. Despite having seen countless people die, Douglas had never met Azrael. Not that he knew of.

"You could say that, yes," Alexander answered with a slow smile. He's an English teacher; of course he knows the common, cliched sorts of figures of speech. He sees them all the time when students attempt to write something creative.

"It gave me quite a start that first day in class," he added, in a slightly confidential tone.

Of course, when he'd realized that Andrei was the son of Death and not Death himself, he was much less worried about things.

Douglas smirked slightly. "No wonder. What a pleasant turn of events. I'm sure you two are great friends by now. He must be quite the character, to have you so fond of him."

If he had been serious about his last comment, he would probably have laughed about it afterwards. He knew what Alexander's thoughts were on the god of Death. The sentiments probably applied to the offspring, as well.

"Oh, I'm afraid he's teetering on the edge of failing." It might not have been conscious, but Alexander graded Andrei's papers on a scale about ten times harder than he did any of his other students. Same with his tests. A brilliant student would be coming close to failing with that kind of pressure.

He didn't... quite... hate Andrei as much as he hated Azrael. Not quite.

"Ha. That is ... exceedingly amusing, whether it's intentional or not," Douglas said. Despite his assertion of finding the situation funny, his tone was agaiin dull and flat. There was still a smirk on his face, but it couldn't possibly have the effect that was usually intended by such an expression. It was a lifeless twist of his lips, nothing more.

"I suppose it is, yes. It certainly has a slight feel of revenge to it." Of course, he would have his real revenge when their plans were completed and Azrael was no longer free to roam and wreak havoc.

No more of that for anyone.

"I have my eye on a few promising young people in some of my extra classes," he said, changing the subject. Extra classes being the ones that he taught outside of the University's express knowledge. "They should be quite powerful, with time."

"With time...? None that would be of use now, I suppose?" he replied, almost sighing. His gaze flicked down to his watch. Then back at Alexander. He didn't have anything he had to be on time for. But he hated to waste time. There was so little of it to be used, in his eyes.

"Oh, I didn't say that. They could be quite powerful. It's only the knowledge and the study that they lack."

In other words, they would be quite useful for their purposes. The potential and the raw power was there, but the students didn't know how to harness it. Alexander and his fellow conspirators did.

He glanced at his companion. "In a hurry to go somewhere, Douglas?"

"No. I just prefer to know what time it is. It's a good thing to know," he shrugged, and took a long drink of his beer. He hadn't been paying much attention to it, and decided now was as good a time as any. "In case something happens, you always know exactly when the event occurred."

((Bleh, shortness.))

"I see. And what have you been doing lately?" he asked, more out of a wish to see if Douglas had anything more 'productive' on the brew than he did than out of actual curiosity. And if he did, well... Alexander would simply have to find something beyond that. He was rather competitive, you see.

"Research, and practice," Douglas said simply. "I've even tried using the internet once or twice for research, but the information there is unreliable, and you never know who might be tracking you. Mostly, I've been poring over more detailed aspects of various containment spells. Some of them shatter so easily if the right amount of attention isn't given to a specific stage of the casting. Almost all of them have their weaknesses."

He raised an eyebrow, as if daring Alexander to contradict his statement.

"I certainly shan't argue with that," agreed Alexander, a memory that he really preferred not to think about surfacing in the back of his mind. "I find the internet to be valuable, occasionally, so long as one knows precisely for what one is looking. Unfortunately, in our case, it is highly unlikely that we would find anything there other than vague superstitions and useless tripe. A pity."

He cocked his head. "Have you found anything that might be useful?"

Douglas frowned pensively. "Yes and no," he said slowly. "I've found many powerful spells. Very obscure, most of them - ancient, as well. A lot of them involve actual, physical bindings. But I have my doubts about whether a single one of them is completely unbreakable. There's one that's near-perfect though. I haven't been able to find fault with it yet..."

Alexander nodded. "I suppose there shan't be anything completely foolproof. We'll have to rely on sheer, raw power for some of it."

Funny. He's stopped trying to dance around the subject... Although if Douglas actually goes out and says Azrael's name, (or one of them), Alexander plans to end the conversation immediately. But of course, Douglas is not fool enough to do that.

"Yes... I guess we will," Douglas nodded, his motion parroting his companion's. "I believe we'll be able to handle that, though, don't you? And we can always borrow some from elsewhere if it's needed. Which it may be. Doing something of this... magnitude, it's almost unfathomable."

He seemed to drift off into space for a moment, an extremely unusual state for Douglas. He returned in a snap. "I haven't found any records of anyone ever attempting this before," he said, in a tone that might be taken for apprehension.

"Nor I." A grim smile. "At least if we fail, we are guaranteed to make magical history in the trying. Not to mention if we succeed."

Is that doubt? No, no, of course that's not doubt. Alexander simply believes in remembering that nothing is foolproof. After all, he learned that to his sorrow many years ago.

"You may hope for literal immortality, but I will be content with historical."

"True. Very true. But even if the end is different, our means of attaining them are the same," Douglas's gaze flicked to his watch again. He didn't think of it as a habit. "In any case, we'll be doing our damnedest to succeed. I'd prefer to think that we will. Not that I'm ignoring the possibility that we might fail, but there's something to be said for the value of positive thinking."

That was just statistics to him. Douglas wasn't an optimist or a pessimist, but to him, the glass was half empty, and would continue to become more empty.

"Oh, I agree there, certainly. I simply intend to anticipate all possibilities in order to be prepared for them all." He shrugged. "I learned that long ago, and I have never forgotten the lesson." How could he, after all?

"What are you going to do when you have what you want, anyway? Spend eternity laughing at a prisoner and living in a body that's past its prime?"

"I can't say that that would bother me. At least I wouldn't be dead," he said. "Dead like everyone else. The grave's a cold place, by all accounts. I prefer a warmer climate. And it would please me very much to taunt death every day. I rather miss it. Of course, I lost the bouts more often than I won. But that'll change."

A horrible, but gleeful grin crossed his face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "What are you looking for out of this, Alexander? You never told me. Just for the glory? Your name in the books?"

"We'll simply say that I have a score to settle, though the imortality--my version, not yours--shall be quite enough of a bonus."

What, you think he's going to tell exactly why he doesn't like Azrael? Certainly not. Not to someone he likes, and not to someone he almost-but-not-quite-dislikes such as Douglas.

"I imagine that once you are in the grave, the cold is not all that noticeable."

"No doubt. But I'll avoid it if I can, thanks," he shook his head. As a small child, he had spent several hours in a wrecked car with his family, dead, around him. He remembered it perfectly - he remembered seeing them all stop moving. It was not a pleasant process. That would be enough to make anyone not want to die, according to him. "You can have your sort of immortality, and welcome to it."

He took a long sip of beer, draining it at one go. "I'll go to your funeral," he said thoughtfully.

"Do me a favor and don't read a eulogy for me; I just may wake from the dead in order to shut you up and rest in peace."

Alexander's grandmother had died when he was seventeen. It wasn't something that he enjoyed remembering, either. How her face had gone so gray and slack and how she'd not been able to talk properly... How the whole thing had lasted for months, until finally she died...

He'd wanted to know if what everyone was saying about her being in a 'better place' was true.

Douglas laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound, like a dog's bark. "I said I'd go, I didn't say I'd participate. Maybe I'll dance, though. On your grave." Was he joking? Yes? No?

Yes. As if he, Douglas Kael, would be undignified enough to actually dance on someone's grave. That was for people with petty differences, a vengeful nature, and a warped sense of humour.

There simply weren't enough petty differences between them to justify it, Douglas figured.

"Can you dance? I wouldn't have thought you were coordinated enough."

Alexander didn't dance. He'd taken a few 'social dance' classes in high school, but that didn't teach him how to dance in the modern world... Or, for that matter, in formal settings.

"I imagine, though, with an eternity to practice, you could always return and dance. Perhaps I'll even visit you, as a ghost."

"This is becoming absurd," Douglas shook his head, with that weird smirk he had plastered across his face. "It was only a joke. In any case, unless we have anything else to discuss, we should conclude this friendly little conversation."

He looked at his watch again. Another few moments had passed, and were now long gone.

"As you wish. I intend to keep my table, so unless you would rather remain here in awkward silence, you may go." There was a (probably) unintentional flavour of master to servant, king to subject in that, but of course Alexander didn't mean it.

He didn't. Really.

Oh, fine, don't believe me.

"Very well. Have a nice evening," Douglas stood up, and as he was leaving, added as an afterthought, "Stay out of trouble."

He was quite oblivious to the tone of Alexander's speech. Though he could be haughty every once in a while, he generally shrugged off insults. When he noticed them at all.

He strode briskly towards the door, and left the nightclub, empty beer bottle still in his hand while he checked the time.