Morose is being Morose.

But when is he not? Honestly. But recently, he's been given more to think about, more to tourment himself when he's alone, which is often.

Before, his life wasn't as bad as he'd thought. He'd been an orphin, unsure of what was so wrong with him that no one wanted to keep him. He'd been a loner, he'd had his only friend taken away, and he'd been released into the world with no friends and no family. That, he's learned to deal with. And then he was made blood sucker. He'd had trouble copeing, it's been a year and he still can't cope. Half a year ago he'd killed and had remained on his concsience ever since.

In the past month, he's fed from a woman twice and now can feel her constantly in the edge of his awarness, he doesn't want her there. He's been shot down several times. He'd confided in his sire, told her things he'd not dream of letting people know, she'd seen him in a state that he would not have wanted anyone to see him. And then she'd used them to hurt him. That sort of burn never goes away. His religion has been reduced to pitiful, fleeting prayers to a god he isn't sure exists anymore, he's realized what immortal really means, and he's realized that his best friend is mortal. He's going to watch his best friend grow old and die.

And Enyo. They've settled into some sort of mutual peace. It was uncomfortable and strained on his behalf quite often but it was much less of a strain on their voices as well as the mental comfort of them both.

He'd been in the apartment for only a few minutes after Jex left for the hospital before the silence caved on him. Usually, he welcomed it. Right then, he'd needed noise. Distraction. So he'd left. He found distraction and noise on Elm, cars, people,. He caught snatches of conversation that didn't matter to him, things that mortals considered important and he could no longer bring himself to call them so. Distraction faded away as he sat on the bench of the bus stop, and thoughts returned to him. Eventually, he stretched across the bench, lying on his back with his hands flat over his thin stomach, his knees up because he's too tall for the length of the bench.

To anyone else, he looked as if he were staring at the sky, to those who knew him, he wasn't seeing anything. His pale blue eyes were open, terribly sad, but unseeing. His bangs had fallen back from his face, long strands laying over the wood of the bench, the short back choppy and messy and ungelled. He's not been caring much for himself latly, his clothing, which is usually elaboratly put togather, is only a pair of bondage pants and a fishnet shirt. No makeup today. His skin is nearly translucent, his nails clear and thin. He's not fed in nearly two weeks and he's lost all the luster and beauty that being a vampire has given him, reduced to the qaulity of a sick mortal. But he'd been pretty to look at before, and even now, still was.

(ooc- should you decide you hate it I will gladly make it go away)

Galen was walking down Elm Street. He fancied he might be someone's nightmare on Elm Street and that amused him. The elf moved soundlessly but I'm sure anyone with hieghtened senses could hear him breathing, hear his heartbeat with anticipation as he stalked the street. His bright pink Mowhawk stood tall, making him seem taller and bristling with as much anticipation as the rest of him.

How is it possible he's soundless with all those chains hanging from his clothing, magic of coarse. He had on zip up leather motorcycle boots, black jeans with a chain belting them off and a black motor cycle jacket covered in zippers chains and pins that tickle Galen's fancy. He has on no shirt at all. So the happy trail of fine golden hairs that ends in a small thatch on his chest and leads down below can be seen as the jacket hangs opened, should one get close enough.

He had no idea what flavor of mischief he was looking for tonight. He only knew he was bored. He was sick of only toying with mortals and he certainly couldn't make friends with one. No, never. So he was looking for something or someone to do, or do in, he wasn't very particular about what shape his entertainment assumed.

When he noticed the man lying on the bench it aroused his couriosity among other things. He strolled over causally to take a peek over the back of the bench.

Breathing. Dinner.

No!

Heartbeat. Fresh Dinner!

No! No!

He lay lifelessly. Perhapes he looks entirly dead. Well...in a sense, he is. Morose banished that thought from his mind. How could he be called dead if he was bound to live forever? It's rather contridictory isn't it?

When the elf, and no he does not know it is an elf, peers over the back of the bench, his gaze didn't waver, he didn't see anything for a long moment. Maybe he was dead. He wasn't breathing, his heart didn't beat. He was cold as stone, his skin smooth as marble. Maybe he is really dead.

He pressed the thought away again and turned his head so slightly that it didn't seem he'd moved at all. His blue eyes arched from the sky to the face, showing an unchained sadness, emptiness.

He didn't say anything, his pale lips didn't move. The parted just slightly in wonder, white teeth, sharp fangs, unworn because they don't get used. And they are new. He is young. One year young. Twenty years old. And he knows what he's looking at isn't human, and it's amazing. He's amazing. Like looking at Asher, looking at this one was startling, confusing. What was he?

(Bah! It was good.)

(ooc-I am glad then)

Turquoise eyes widen. Not human at all, he could tell from a few feet away, but now he knows what he is dealing with. His face is covered with unabashed curiosity. "Please tell me you aren't on a fad diet." he teases, his sharp teeth show when he speaks. It's clear the young one has been letting himself go. His lackluster look gives that away. He doesn't have the bright shiny edge a freshly fed vampire should have. Galen can't hear any signs of life either. It's been a few weeks by the looks of things, but not too much longer.

While he jokes about diet, his mind drifts to the past. He had known a few vampires but only called one a friend. Demetrius had starved himself to death. Vampires can die, it just takes much longer. It took Demetri a decade to do so. Galen recalls the details and side affects vividly.

He sighed softly. He was suddenly feeling nostalgic. He wouldn't use this one for sport. "What are you doing?" he asked in a voice only a shade more audible than a whisper. He knew full well the youngling could hear it though. He remained clinging to the back of the bench and peering over, statuesque and regal. Even without the vampiric luster after a fresh feed the youngster was still breathtaking. Galen's heart beat a little harder, a little faster, and he smiled faintly.

Morose's blue eyes flickered, a breif moment of...annoyance? An emotion that was not sadness? He didn't like the other's joke. It was stupid and demeaning. A Fad Diet. Phf. He knows he can die, he knows also, through interigating the oldest vampire he knows, how long he can probably get away with it. A long time. But he won't go more then a month, for Jex's sake. For sanity's sake.

He could hear the whisper. Easily. "If I said I was contemplating the whole meaning of my existance, it wouldn't be entirly a lie." His voice is suprisingly deep coming from such a thin body, silky somehow, smooth. But anguished, you can hear what you can see in those eyes. You can feel the hurt and the bitterness.

"What are you?" Again, something else in his voice that wasn't sadness. Awe, wonder. He takes his hands off of his stomach and puts one on the seat of the bench, the other on the back of the bench and uses them to sit up and push himself backwards to the edge of the bench, then turn and sit with his feet on the ground and his back to this other. He folds his hands in his lap.

Elves can be very annoying, and arrogant. Galen feels no guilt about being either. He can detect the annoyance. He grins, but not at being the source of annoyance, he grins at the question, what is he. As for such weighty philosophical ponderings he remains silent. He has never wondered why he exists.

"I am alive, and I wondered if you were at first." He answered. "But you want the particulars don't you, I shall indulge you. I am an elf. An adult male in my prime right around three hundred and fifty years of age. And you are a vampire, but why aren't you eating?" Sadness only flickers in those turquoise eyes for a few seconds before the elf wills it gone. His voice is still soft, quiet, yet rather light and melodic while he speaks. Even his breathing seems to have an almost musical and enchanting quality.

Morose doesn't like music. Or musical voices.

Alright, he doesn't not like music. He just doesn't care for it one way or the other.

An Elf? What? Morose heard about, and believed in, the initiate world around the age of twelve. He entered it a year ago. But he's still learning. Vivienne was the first mage he'd ever met, Enyo the first vampire, and now, dear Galen, you are the first elf. Asher was the oldest he's met, so the age receives no response from him, but the explination of what he is does.

There is another flicker of annoyance, but this one wouldn't be seen as his back was to the other. The muslces that are lax tense breifly with the annoyance. He knows what he is, not that he's happy about it. And it makes it less happy to hear it spoken to him. He shook his head.

"Because I don't need to yet." That's not the reason but it's certinally true. He won't need to for a long time to come.

Curiosity stirs more. Galen clambered gracefully over the back of the bench to sit and look at the other while they talked. "Well do you intend on waiting until you absolutley must eat? You should already be feeling some discomfort." He said still softly, a bit of sadness crept into his voice.

"My discomfort is sacrifice to my beliefes," he replied emptily. Morose leaned back and then leaned his head back, turning his eyes back up to the sky. He heard the sadness in the other's tone, being a firmiluar friend to sadness. Morose turned his head to the side, still tipped back towards the sky, to peer at the elf for a moment.

And then he straightened again, turning his eyes to the sky. "Sympathy from the living?" Oh my, are we getting bitter Morose? No. Just jelous. But why should he feel jelous over an elf who will live forever in the same way that he's going to be dead forever alive? Because the elf can walk in the daytime. The elf hasn't got to feed from the living to keep himself alive. But he'll still live forever. Morose doesn't even want that. If he should be jelous of anyone, it should be of Jex, or any other mortal human he sees. "I'm sorry," he said a little softer.

Galen would point out he doesn't understand, but would he really want to. He's capricious, selfish, mischievious and a complete and utter stranger to convictions of any sort. Those born without souls and without the hope of ever having them do often remain oblivious to higher philosophies. Members of the Unseelie court have no convictions about anything but themselves rest assured.

Still he is curious anyways, even if he won't understand the motives entirely, he'll ask. Even after hearing it's over beliefs, An elf who believes in nothing will still ask, just to stave off the boredom. "What exactly do you believe that keeps you from eating?" he asks quietly.

Morose's fingers came up and grasped at his throat at a leather strap. It was an instinctual movement, an attempt to grasp his cross, but he'd removed it from the cord and was currently carrying it in his pocket rather then wearing it. He frowned and dropped his hands.

"My religion. It's disgusting," he lowered his head so that he stared down at his hands, his wrists. They were marked with fading spots where he'd bit himself. "Feeding from mortal blood to feed an immortality I don't want."

"What if it wasn't mortal blood?" the elf asked he really wanted to know. He had no such compulsion agains delighting in mortal blood himself, but no need to metnion that right now, is there? "And just what do you mean is disgusting to you, you confuse me, your faith, or your---Condition?" The elf fumbled for exactly what to call the vampire's state.

"Is your existance so miserable?" Galen asked quietly.

Demitri's had been. Galen never had learned to relate to moral dilemmas.

"Not mortal blood?" He frowned. "I don't know." He shook his head. He honestly didn't know what would happen, if there was a difference in mortal or immortal blood. He recalled Asher telling him that he fed from lycanthrope and left them alive. That lycanthrope blood was stronger then human blood, but Lycanthropes were mortal.

"Condition?" He seemed momentarily confused by this comment before moving on to the next question. Was his existance miserable. Without the slightest hint of hesitation or thought, and without sounding anything but entirly sincere and entirely saddened, he replied: "Yes. It is."

The elf's stomach lurched. It was exactly the answer he'd expected but, still he hoped not to get it. His features went wide and his face read much like an opened book, disappointment could be read there. He did not want sadness and disappointment. He looked down at the side walk for a moment then back up after brushing something from his eye. Only a speck of dust, he would insist.

He gave a very deep sigh and shifted his weight on the bench. Even the sigh seemed impregnated with a tinkling quality. He spoke, not whispered, in a voice so low no human could have heard it, "I'm sorry." And he was, which he hated, it was a painful roiling within the elf, sympathy was so very unpleasant for him to feel. It wasn't quite painful, but it was strange and awkward, part of the range of emotions the elf seldom felt and hardly understood. It was not a sentiment he felt at peace with.

Morose noted the sound once more, sympathy. WHile he'd been rude earlier in his comment 'sympathy from the living', he had been serious. He was suprised that an elf would sympathize. He hadn't yet decided if that was a good or a bad thing and chose to withhold judgement on it. For the time being anyways.

"Don't be. It is my own decissions that I don't feed. They are my own mistakes that make my existance miserable." At least, he's convinced they were his mistakes. He swears up and down something was wrong with him for his parents not to want him. Something must be wrong with him to be able to kill a man. Something must be wrong with him if he can't even follow the instincts that being a vampire gave him and he can't follow his human instincts any longer.

Poor pitiful vampire.

Galen wouldn't believe any of those things made him wrong, but look where he comes from. Unseelie elves seldom like their children, they often trade them up as changlings, those are no just stories. Killing people, Galen has killed a lot of people including men, women, children, and babies, though honestly not in the last eighty or so years. He really doesn't comprehend self loathing at all. He can live with himself, he can't see why others can't. He won't get into a deep discusion about it though. He already knows it would go badly.

"I meant that I was sorry about your misery. Is there nothing you take joy from?" he asked in a quiet tinkling voice.

"There was." He replied. He blinked and once again turned his head to the side in the elf's direction. "I have a freind, one friend. And it has recently occured to me that I am going to watch that friend grow old and die because i would never curse him with this...desease that i'm cursed with."

Jex had been holding him while he'd bitten himself, had been attacked and nearly died, he'd been there to run to each time that he and his sire fought with eachother. And he realized the last time they were togather that Jex was going to be taken from him and he would keep on living.

Jex would be taken like Zach was taken. Just add another thing to the list to be miserable about.

"You have no freinds among your own kind?" the elf asked. That sounded very depressing. Galen doesn't have many friends. He's like the wind, always moving on without looking back.

"How did this happen then. You were unwillingly made. I thought Vampires had some sort of unspoken covenant about that." Galen said.

"I have very few friends. I've my mortal. And I've been trying to keep a delicate friendship between myself and my sire." How delicate that friendship was, how hard it was to be so very careful. Anything could ruin it, break what little foundation they'd formed.

"I would not know of any unspoken vampire covenant. I was made unwillingly. But what's done can't be undone and I must learn to cope until I don't have to any longer."

"Well it has been a while, there were rules once though, about who could be made a vampire, at least in come cities. The elders used to enforce such things. It wasn't kosher to make someone a vampire unwillingly, or to embrace children, or to feed on other vampires, kill your sire, there was a whole list of things, I can't remember all of them. Seemed like a lot to remember to me, but Demetrius always seemed to manage.

The vampires of a city used to sort of organize themselves. They had regents, sherriffs, I forget all the titles, they were never important to me, simply something a friend once spoke of. I guess like everything else though, times change, even among the immortal." Galen said softly.

"Then the laws must be gone because I see them." He frowned. He's still so young that it's understandable that Morose would continue to use such human features, but will he ever actually stop?

"My sire was made unwillingly," which he had argued 'if you hadn't wanted to be made then what makes you think I wanted to be made.' Enyo hadn't actually thought about what Morose wanted that night, only that she wanted company or the lonliness was going to drive her mad.

"And I've seen a child. I doubt that I would very much like these old vampires of the city." Would they make him an outcast for having been religious and maybe still being so? Would they force him to feed? Would they forbid him to live with and take care of Jex? Would they make him kill?

But then...if those old laws had still been, he wouldn't have been made. And maybe Enyo wouldn't have either.

"Whose Demetrius?" Simple question.

"A vampire I knew once, He lived in a monastary until it burned down, then he traveled with me, until he died. He called me friend." Which was still strangely flattering to Galen, an unseelie elf was hardly the sort that most would call friend. Perhaps it was because Galen had helped Demitri save an old monk. Galen couldn't even recall why he'd done so now.

"It was a while ago, as people reckon things. I'd have to think about how long ago truth be known." he said almost absently.

If such laws were still kept then perhaps Morose and Enyo would not have been made, or perhaps at least there would be retribution against those who created them. Galen however didn't spare a moment to ponder the matter.

He called me friend.

He turned his head just slightly to the side, still looking straight but in this position, the entire side of his face showed to the other, and he could see the other from the very corner of his eye. It was almost like the guesture that a blind man would make to turn his ear towards the speaker to hear them rather then uselessly try to see them.

"And you did not call him friend?"

"Oh, yes, he was mine too, but very few creatues in my life have called me friend." Galen said with a chuckle. "Some misunderstand my friendliness. I am but a misunderstood soul." He grinned as he said it. He rather liked being misunderstood it sometimes let him get away with more mischief.

"So you don't do anything for fun?" he asked. "Did you ever?"

"Few understand me as well." He didn't sound as if he had any personal oppinion about being misunderstood either.

"No." he replied. And honestly, he didn't. He never played games as a child, never made more then the single friend that he'd had. The only fun he'd ever had in his childhood had consitsted of mischeif and his friend. The only sex he'd ever had, yes he's had sex, he isn't the virgin that Enyo would probably guess he was, had not been called fun. Rather, they were probably some of the most serious times in his life. As an adult human he'd never been drunk, he'd never partied. And as a vampire he'd never allowed himself to indulge in the plessure of feeding, save for the three times that that woman, Vivienne, had angered him enough to do so.

Galen made a face, half pout, and half twist of lips. He wasn't sure what to say. It didn't sound like there was much feeling about it either way, like he was glad he'd never really had fun, or dismal over it. It was possible that he was simply hard to read though. Galen shrugged. "Have you ever thought about trying to now?" he asked.

The elf still held hope he might wreak some havoc or mischief still this night, and it might be fun to have an accomplice.

Morose was silent for a moment, not because he had to pause to think that question over but for no particular reason. Maybe he was choosing words to say his answer with, though, probably not since he already knew what he would answer.

"Not particuarily. I've responsibilities now but neither deems I have fun." Besides, the only thing that gave him pleasure before was his friend, and then Jex, but now, the only thing that truely gave him any feeling of peace was draining blood. And that, he didn't want to do.