So far, he hadn't had any traumatic experiences at Jacobson's. Indeed, most of those had taken place at his theatre, which was rather annoying, because he really loved the theatre, and the fact that approximately half of the place was sending him into convulsions lately was not making his job any easier.

He almost wanted to quit... But then the vampire would win, as far as Dave was concerned, and that he would simply not allow! Stubborn lad.

He was browsing fairly aimlessly at the moment, mostly because he didn't know anything specific he should look for, because there wasn't anything particular he needed to know... Well, actually, he was slowly drifting towards medical texts, because he wasn't sure he wanted to find out what that horrible wolf-boy had possibly infected him with, but...

Well, he wouldn't want to give Vi anything, if things ever got that far between them.

And we know what he was wearing. Jeans and a black t-shirt. As usual.

Douglas took one deliberate step at a time as he scanned the shelves for anything useful. He wasn't expecting to find anything worth wasting his time on - most of the magical texts in Jacobson's -the ones that were easily found, anyway - were thin paperback things written by Uninitiates who wouldn't know magic if it came up and poked them in the eye.

He looked, as usual, as if he was just taking a break before a business meeting, or some such thing. Like Dave, he began drifintg towards the medical texts,... he'd been reading up on medieval medicine, lately, and was hoping to find something to interest him. They had for the most part crude, yet fascinating cures in those times. It was somewhat interesting to Douglas, and well,.. everyone needs a hobby...

I thought his hobby was making zombies?

Dave, being absorbed in his own world--a talent that he had acquired a long time ago, when he was about thirteen and already getting into theatre and encountering his first psychopathic directors and all that fun stuff--didn't see the gentleman.

Well... not until he ran into him.

"Oh, shit, sorry!"

That's his other hobby.

Douglas almost backed into one of the shelves, but stopped himself just in time. Before he even looked at Dave, he was annoyed and wanted to do something to him for running into him like that. Douglas really wasn't fond of sudden physical contact. Then he actually looked at Dave, and felt a sudden twinge of recognition. Where it had come from, he didn't know, but it made him want to take some kind of revenge on the young man.

"You should watch where you're going," he said smoothly, withut a hint of emotion.

"Yeah, I should. Sorry."

There was absolutely no recognition in Dave's eyes, so it couldn't be that Douglas had met him before.

He ran a hand back through his hair (in a gesture that he shared with his cousin, when said cousin was nervous) and shrugged apologetically.

"Lots on my mind, lately."

"Hmmm, like what?" he replied. He kept his eyes on Dave, mentally adding up a numberof tiny, almost insignificant little things about him that seemed familiar. He frowned thoughtfully, attempting to act like a normal person.

"...I,... do I know you?" he asked suddenly, sounding confused and frustrated. They were good imitations of emotion. The only way to tell that they weren't real was how his facial expression seemed slow to change to accompany his tone of voice.

"... stuff. Personal stuff."

Well, let's see. There's the eyes, which are by no means as intense as Alexander's, but still a similar colour. There's the dark hair. There's the facial expressions, some of his gestures... Build is similar, but not the same, and Dave is much shorter.

"No, don't think so. I'd remember you, prob'ly. Might've seen me around the Bay Street Theatre, though..."

He winced slightly, thinking of recent events there...

"Perhaps," Douglas nodded. Rather jerkily, he offered to shake hands. He even smiled and managed to make it look sincere. He hadn't practiced smiling in a while, so his smile was a bit rusty, but still reasonably well done. "I'm Douglas Kael. And you are?"
Not one to waste words, is he.

"Dave Tuckey." He shook hands briefly, briskly, and smiled, said smile being sincere friendliness, rather than pretense--albeit good pretense, on Douglas's part--and dropped his hand, stuffing it in his pocket for lack of anything better to do with it.

He has a similar air to Alexander's. Confidence. (Though there's a lot more arrogance in Alexander's manner than there is in Dave's.)

Douglas was silent for a few moments, mentally putting together the resemblances between Alexander and this boy. They were irritatingly similiar, but Douglas wasn't going to found a connection on looks and mannerisms alone.
"What are you looking for?" he inquired, nodding to one of the many bookshelves.

Would Douglas like a gene test?

Dave shrugged and his open, friendly face closed off immediately. "Nothing."

And that's like Alexander too. The avoidance of talking about things he considers personal. (It's doubtful that Douglas has ever even heard that Alexander had a family at all, you know?)

"Just looking."

Douglas would prefer to use a spell to determine if there's any blood relation between Alexander and Dave. He actually didn't think Alexander had a family at all,... didn't care, either.

"Oh. Really," he nodded, seeming nonplussed. He shifted attention to the bandage on Dave's wrist, which was plainly visible.

"What did you to yourself?" Douglas asked, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

Well, other than that distracting boy of his...

Dave shrugged and shoved his hand into his back pocket, which was a somewhat uncomfortable position, but it mostly hid the bandage from casual sight.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," he observed. This was, what, the third time Dave had responded evasively? Obviously he had something to hide. He put the subject of the bandage away for a moment, planning to spring it on him again later, then went on, "...Never mind. You know, you remind me of someone..."

Dave shrugged.

"Dunno who. There're prob'ly a hundred guys with dark hair and brown eyes in Bayfield. Could be any of 'em. Who're you thinking of?"

He'd met many people who thought he resembled someone they knew. It was one of the annoying things about being (he thought) so ordinary that everybody knew someone who looked like him.

"No one in particular," Douglas lied, "You just seem familiar."

He'd decided that he didn't need any proof that Dave was related to Alexander. He'd decided it really didn't matter - if he was, lovely. If he wasn't, that was too bad for him. There was fun to be had (Douglas' definiton of 'fun' was definitely not the same as everyone else's) in tormenting this boy. The reason? Because he reminded Douglas of Alexander.
...
Dave has really bad luck.

Yes. Yes he does.

"Oh. 'kay then." Let's get the subject off of him, shall we? Douglas is making him just a tad nervous.

"What're you looking for?"

"Anything interesting," he waved a hand at the shelves. "By interesting, I mean medieval medical practices,... cures,.. superstitions. That sort of thing. Odd how some of the practices are still in use, yet some have died out. Take bleeding a patient, for example. It was like an all-purpose cure. But do you see that technique used nowadays? No."
He gave a laugh, more like a bark than a laugh. There was a peculiar glint in his eye, and he was almost smirking. He was thinking of various methods of causing harm to Dave, and these thoughts were immensely pleasing to him.

"God, I'd hope not. Lose enough blood as... is." Shit.

He is not going to explain that statement, no matter what Douglas does to him. He's not. At least, he doesn't plan to. If Douglas causes him a good deal of pain, he might.

Cue the attempt to look casual.

"What kinda stuff's still used?"

"Hmmm,... leeches, for one. Herbs and weeds made into teas and pills and such. A few of the ones that used to be said to 'keep away evil spirits' are now used as antidepressants," he said. He blinked, looking mildly at Dave, and added, "Don't let me blather on, I'll go on forever. What's that you said abut losing blood?"

"Nothing." That makes four, doesn't it?

"No, really, it's really interesting. They really still use leeches? Yeeech." Disgusting, nasty, slimy things, leeches. Not that he has an aversion to slimy things, mind you; he chased his share of toads when he was a kid. Just ones that suck blood.

Evaded again. Sneaky.

"I used to be a doctor. I find it very interesting, myself. Leeches are hardly seen, but they are still in use. There's an anticoagulant agent in their saliva that keeps wounds from closing. They're no less disgusting than most people." He smirked. "That's a joke, by the way."


((Blehhh. Douglas makes me do /research/.))

Yes. Quite sneaky.

"Brr. Still wouldn't want one of those things on me. Why'nt you want a wound to close, anyway?"

Pause.

"... how come you're not a doctor anymore? Retired? Don't look old enough."

"Say, for example, you had a digit bitten off. They would use leeches to keep the blood flowing so that the tissue doesn't die," he explained.

Douglas raised an eyebrow.
"Retired," he said smoothly, with a hint of a threat in his tone. His eyes seemed to catch on something on one of the shelves, and he turned to look. He took the book off the shelf and flipped through it, muttering to himself,... which made it look like he was reading aloud, very quietly, but considering that the book was in English and his words were not, that wasn't the case.
He slipped the book back in its place, and turned back to look at Dave.
"My apologies, I thought I recognized that book, but it wasn't what I thought."
He smiled.

Dave has awful luck. Just horrible...

"No worries."

He looked a little nervous--no wonder--and decided that he'd do his STD research online, or something. There weren't any symptoms so far, anyway... hopefully there wouldn't be.

"Um... guess maybe I'll see you 'round, or something."

"Alright, then," Douglas said pleasantly, and brushed past him to look at the books in a darker corner of the room, "Goodbye, Mr. Tuckey."