Nafretiri stroked the cool glass beneath her fingers as she swished the 1896 Bordeaux in the intricately detailed wine glass that the Maitre D’ had been quick to bestow upon her. 1896… that had been a good year, she remembered, nodding once to her partner to prove that she was indeed listening, though she was, in fact, doing no such thing. In the dim atmosphere of the restaurant, the glass sparkled against the cascading candlelight. The wine within seemed almost to glow, reminding her of another liquid of almost the same colour. There was no need for it this night, but it was interesting that one of the most popular beverages of all ages shared the look of that which sustained both mortals and immortals. There were, of course, subtle differences, the viscosity for one.

Viscosity. The woman was quite pleased with herself for knowing such a word. She was not as far behind the times as one would believe were they to know her age. Adaptation was difficult, but necessary, and she seemed to be doing quite alright in that department.

“… Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Afrikaisi?” asked her partner across the table, various notes on yellowing paper scattered around the meal that he was consuming with all the politess of a starved tiger.

Not missing a beat, she nodded her head with a charming, seductive smile that she’d used far too many times in her long life to remember. “I would indeed, Dr. Potestio.” Her white teeth shone in the dimness, and she set down her wine, folding her hands neatly on the smooth white tablecloth where no plate of her own was situated. Her smooth, elegant grace was quite different from the man who sat across from her.

Pasquale Potestio was a man who seemed to be made up entirely of joints, and was far too tall for Nafretiri’s liking. His skin was a dark tan save for an area on his nose that was bright pink, presumably from having poked at an injury that he was not supposed to. Silly, silly man and in more ways than one! He was much too thin to be anything but a scholar, and Nafretiri mused that if he were to turn sideways, he would all but disappear. The front of his pinstripe shirt under the horrific olive green blazer was splattered with food that he’d missed while blabbering on about those ruins, or these scrolls that his team had uncovered. His hair looked like he’d attempted to style it, but had failed miserably, letting it fall whichever way, still sticky with gel.

Even through the dark skin, there was a visible blush on the man’s face as he stammered some sort of reply. “I-I’m glad Ms. Afrikaisi.” He avoided her eyes, the only part of this woman that he did not find appealing. Normal people just weren’t supposed to have eyes like that. They were the eyes of some kind of animal. Faintly, Dr. Potestio with all his doctorate in Egyptology wondered if she’d be similar to the animal’s whose eyes she had in bed, only to choke on his own spittle at the thought. Looking for something to cover the rather embarrassing lapse in propriety in terms of thoughts, he tried again. “Ms. Afrikaisi, are you quite certain you will have nothing to eat?”

“Pasquale,” she said gently, bringing her hands up and her head down to rest on them with a slight lilt to the side, “I have told you already that there is nothing on the menu that I truly must have, and therefore there is no need to fret over such things.” She gave him another dazzling smile, and could almost see his knees weaken. It was extremely easy to tell that the man was attracted to her, even without her less than ordinary talents. Sparring a glance at her diamond studded watch, she looked up, masking her face with false disappointment. “Unfortunately, I believe that you have only enough time to get to the airport. Time seems to have slipped away from us.”

The man looked at his own watch and seemed almost to jump. On one hand, he was eager to get back to the British Museum to look over the latest find. On the other, he did not want to leave this woman alone, especially not when he was only done half of what he needed to tell her. “Ms. – Nafretiri,” he said, taking initiative and calling her by her first name for the first time, “Will you not come and join me? Egypt is beautiful this time of year, as you well know. Come see the dig for yourself! You could set your sight on it rather than me telling you about it.”

The thought of returning to Egypt was indeed a compelling one, but no, Nafretiri had no desire to see crumbling ruins where there was once a grand temple. It would not do, and she wished not to ruin what memories of the place that she did have. The woman was beginning to think that funding this man’s expedition was a far worse idea than she had anticipated. It was clear to her that he wanted more from her, and it was this ‘more’ that she was unprepared to give.

Instead, the woman shook her head. “No, Dr. Potestio.” She said his name firmly, therefore bringing this once again into a matter of business only. “That is impossible. My driver will escort you to the airport, where I hope you will have a pleasant trip.” Standing up, she held out her hand and waited until he gave his in return, shook it, and sat back down.

The Egyptologist looked rather dejected, though he knew that he’s somehow piqued this woman’s mysterious side. He’d never heard of Ms. Nafretiri Afrikaisi being with any man in a romantic way, but he was certain that her affections did not lie in the other gender. Well, he thought, then I’ll just let her be a prune and waste the rest of her life. Picking up his papers in a mess, he gave her a curt nod. “Goodbye Ms. Afrikaisi. I will keep you informed.” His male ego had been shot and killed, and it appeared to have offended him. Swirling on the unusually gangly legs of his, he marched out of the restaurant.

Nafretiri couldn’t help the small chuckle and sigh of relief that escaped her. All night, the man had been spurting out his hypothesises, and she hadn’t – and couldn’t for obvious reasons – tell him that he was dreadfully wrong. Instead, she’d tuned him out, his words sounding more like an annoying locust than anything.

Picking up her wine glass, she once again sat and admired its sparkle.

(OOC: I hope that it is alright that I post here. Also, that was a very beautiful and well written post! Wow.)

IC:

Istar Indora sighed softly as he looked around the gray and white leather interior of Jun Ma Li’s expensive limousine, limos had never been his style and the excess and waste all about was really starting to annoy him. Istar let out another sigh and smiled as the limousine’s owner glared at him for such an impolite sound and spoke quickly.

“§Ú¦b¨Ï§A¹½­Â Indora ¥ý¥Í¡H” Istar blinked for a moment, then translated. “Am I boring you Mr. Indora?” he had asked.

Istar almost dared to say “Yes, to tears” but instead he shook his head to the negative and added in Chinese. “If you would excuse me, it has been a long night.”

The graying old Chinese man didn’t look pleased at the statement, but none the less he continued explaining security measures, the ones taken by his next target. For the average hitman, it may have been a good idea to listen, but Istar was anything but average and besides he really didn’t feel like indulging the pompous old wind bag tonight. The hit would go off without a hitch as they always did, tomorrow night and there wasn’t a damned thing that the target, or this old Chinatown reject could do about it. And they better have his money when all was said and done.

Istar consider reminding old Li, but rather quickly decided against it. He didn’t want to deal with the man’s you have insulted my honor bullshit and anyway it really didn’t matter, he would collect one way or the other. That was the thing about being what he was now, power had lots of perks.

Feeling the slow of the limo, Istar pulled open the door and took a deep breath of the still slightly blurred night and let it wash through him. Cleaning as it went, the stench of Scotch and Cigars.

When the car finally stopped, Istar leapt out and took another swig of the now steady night. It was good, despite the rolling stink that continued to filter from the shiny black limo and the scent of food that he could not eat. The smell of food didn’t bother Istar the way that had once upon a time and in fact some of it actually soothed the annoyance that was a universal constant ever since he had taken this job.

Waiting for Li, Istar straightened the lines of his suit. First he adjusted the he cuffs of his crisp white shirt and then turned his attention to the soft hunter green of his jacket. Dusting his cuff, he watched as the ash that had collected there during his journey fall away and the jacket was none the worst for wear. That was one of the reasons that he loved Armani so much, it was rather durable. Still tidying himself, his gaze fell down his hunter colored pant leg to the clean and well shone Italian leather upon his feet, then absently he ran his fingers through the straight ebony hair that his duel heritage afforded him. It felt right, not that he could ever remember it not feeling so since the change, but still old habits died hard.

Li joined Istar rather quickly after his self assessment, and together they walked into the restaurant. Li’s presence meant that they got to forgo all the entrance pop and circumstance and when they were seated, Istar felt his discomfort returning. He hated the ritzy places about town, it reminded him of the limo and so he was annoyed again as Li continued to talk at him as he ate. As was always the case, Istar ignored his client’s courtesy, but did order a glass of Champaign to avoid Li’s Honor-Wrath.

Holding the glass, Istar watched the liquid in it. It reminded him of sunlight, a soft shimmering sparkle of gold that seemed fizz and pop. That was nice, and why Istar liked Champaign.

Then suddenly it was over. Li and the two “boys” that had been following him, got up and Istar was left alone in silence and peace.

“Good.” He said, savoring the sound of his voice in English, then he realized that now had, probably always had since coming in, that feeling in his chest. That heavy feeling that one of his kind was about.

((OOC: Thank you very much! It’s most certainly alright for you to post. I would have specified otherwise if there was a specific person I wanted to reply.))

There was a faint pressure in her head that Nafretiri knew meant that another immortal such as she was had entered the expensive restaurant where she herself sat. Even without lifting her gaze from the wine of which she held in her hand, the layout of the place was already going through her mind, and she found that the pressure seemed to emanate from a being not to far from her… A man, as it were, but such things hardly bothered her. With great age came great few surprises left to be had. One had to find one’s own amusements, which was easier said than done. This may have been part of the reason that a few of the patrons were glancing at her rather oddly, as though she she’d grown the head of Hathor along with her own. The thought made her chuckle to herself in a way that seemed almost to be a giggle… but she did not giggle.

Usually.

Taking a dainty sip of a true connoisseur, she swirled the wine and savoured the taste in her mouth as she set down the chilled beverage. Once more setting her head upon her hands, she glanced around, looking at everything but not really seeing anything. Beneath the fresh white linen tablecloth, one leg slipped from the slit in her dress, revealing a long, tanned leg that would go unseen by everyone. With grace it slipped over the other, and she began to tap it to a beat of her own, for it followed not the beat of the lovely music that flowed around her.

Would it be vanity to admit that one enjoyed the more expensive things that this world had to offer? Nafretiri thought not, especially since she’d been living in such luxury as far as she could remember, with only slight breaks in between, breaks that were hardly worth noticing. One could tell this from the gold chain in which a diamond wedjet lay just above her bosom, the watch on her arm, and the chandelier diamond earrings dangling from her ears. Her makeup was few, but expertly done, leaving one to wonder if she even had professionals to do it for her. Her dress was an expensive Odette Christiane, one shouldered, and flowing to her mid calf in a steel blue colour. Despite her obvious grandeur, Nafretiri seemed not to notice any of it.

Instead she turned her attention to this mysterious other immortal whom entered. Not that she’d admit it, but besides those that lived within her estate, Nafretiri rarely conversed with other immortals, but enjoyed surveying their ways of dealing with their prolonged lives. That is what she decided to do with this one.

The scene in front of her reminded her very much of that which she’d dealt with only minutes before hand, but instead, this man had to deal with an aging old Chinese man of whom she could only understand every second word. Chinese was not a language that she knew well, and could only gleam small parts of the information that he was telling this immortal. Whatever it was, it was grave, and again, she needn’t use her unordinary talents to decipher this. The anxiety in the man was making her stomach knot up, she remarked with no little amount of annoyance. Had it been within the laws of propriety, and had not she expected the man to think she was being smart with him, she would have gone over and asked him to think of something more cheerful to get rid of the pains in his stomach. Such things could not be good for a man as close to death as he was.

When the decaying man left with two younger companions, Nafretiri let out her own sigh of relief, despite never having met any of the party. There was a reason that she did not go out much, and the fact that she felt what others felt was just this reason.

Silently, as the man didn’t seem to notice her, she lifted her glass and took a sip.

Istar watched as Jun Ma Li retreated, he knew that his attention probably should have been with identifying the mysterious other immortal that was about but, Li was a rather large pay off and that in itself made Indora worry about his well being. It made him worry for the time being at any rate, afterward…well that was simply a different story that would have to be written as it came.

With his current mind set, Istar mused, he might very well murder the old bastard himself. He could easily finish what Cancer had started, but then it occurred to him. Why should he even care? The old guy was gonna die either way.

Taking a sip of his Champagne, Istar decided against Li’s death.

It would have been messy and over the top anyway. The “young” vampire thought to himself. After all one can only go so far before the old fogies start getting uppity! It was this thought that brought Istar back to reality.

Glancing slowly about the restaurant he wondered whom the other immortal was, he cursed himself shortly for not better developing his mental abilities and senses when he had Alex to teach him, then he spotted her. It wasn’t as if she were hiding or anything, he just hadn’t expected her to be so close.

In fact she seemed to be doing just the opposite of hiding. Looking at her, Istar could tell that she was drunk. Drunk on the over all ambiance of the place, it was clear that she was a predator in her natural environment and in these kind of digs it was also clear that she was queen.

Istar didn’t try to meet her gaze, instead he simply took another sip of his liquid sun light and slowly considered the feeling that seemed to now course through his veins. It was her; all that he had learned from Alex and studied on his own told him that it was her that gave him this feeling. It wasn’t anything describable, but it seemed to mesh with his sensing of the unnatural within her and it felt like a monkey was now bounding up and down on his chest.

“Down, Cheetah.” He whispered to the invisible monkey. Then he chanced a glance at her and there was no doubt about it that she was the oldest he had ever come in contact with. Power seemed to roll of her and it was even harsher than the feeling he got from his own sire, Alexia.

Staring now at her, Istar realized that all his big talk of not being frightened of the elders was just that. Or at least it was as far as she was concerned, Istar could remember the two punks that attacked him outside of the library, they were older, but he had been stronger. He had no delusions here, anything he could do. She could do better, no question.

Still getting to his feet, Istar approached her table. He was oblivious to the looks that mortals all about him were giving, so seeing the quite awe in his eyes, others simply thinking him a fool preparing to proposition the most beautiful woman in the room. Regardless of their thoughts, Istar continued as if in a waking dream with solid yet dreamy steps. When he finally reached her table he smiled, a smile that wasn’t his usual closed lipped kind and his fangs peeked from under his lips. He noticed and quickly aborted the expression.

“May I join you?” he asked her, his voice surprisingly his own, jovial yet mischievous enticement.

It was easy to tell that she was being observed. When one got to be a certain age, one got used to such things. She needed no man to tell her that she was a great masterpiece of beauty. This was not arrogance on her part, merely the realization that she was indeed as beautiful as some would claim, and therefore there was no point or reason in denying such a fact. It may have been better than three thousand years since she’d seen her own reflection, but rest assured, never in all that time had she forgotten what she looked like.

There was a spark of fear, barely there but easy to distinguish for one as skilled at receiving such an emotion as she. With great age came great power, and with that came those that were not as such yet, and therefore fear and respect. Nafretiri did not think this was neither annoying nor bothersome save when a being took things far too seriously for her tastes. If she had wanted a slave of sorts, she would have asked it, but no, she had plenty of those at home, though she did not think of them as such. Handmaidens? Yes. Slaves? Never. The woman had never truly forgotten the feeling of being sold and could not wish it on any other creature.

Again, this was not arrogance, but pride. She was the Eye of Re, the Goddess of Pestilence, she who had lived various lives at once, and seduced great Emperors and Kings, though which would be a secret she retained until the sun shone upon her. It was pointless to pretend to be that which she was not, and she was most definitely not meek.

The fledgling (for he was had barely completed but one mortal life, and therefore appeared as such to her) approached her and spoke to her, something she might’ve expected from one of her race. Stopping mid sip, she set down her glass, folded her hands in her lap and looked up at him, observing him from the tip of his shoes to hair unabashedly.

She raised an eyebrow at him, the barest hint of a smile on her face as her hands smoothed out her dress. “If you should choose to sit down, I will not force you to leave.” All in all, a fancy was of saying, ‘If you want to’. Still, Nafretiri seemed to sit a little straighter, and swished some of her hair out of her face, looking up at him through her lashes; her expression either seductive or irritated, depending on how one chose to view it. Even she herself did not know how she felt about it, but such things mattered little to her.

Turning away, she raised her hand at a passing waiter who came to call on her. “Pardonnez-moi Monsieur. Pouvez-vous nous apporter ce qui reste du vin?” The young man dipped his head with a small ‘oui’ and shuttled off. Nafretiri gave a small nod of satisfaction and gestured to her second guest of the evening to sit down.

Istar looked at her for a long moment before he finally pulled out the chair that lay across from this mysterious enchantress, settling himself into it lightly. Then, looking down he realized that his glass of Champagne was still with him and being happy to see it, he took a soft sip allowing the feel of it to course through him, the way he did with blood. The feeling it roused in him however wasn't the same as with the crimson magic, as he sometimes called it. No, instead of the pure extinguishing of need that ichor provided him, the gold liquid raised a longing in his heart and he wondered what this city was like during the day.

Sometimes Istar would sit on roof tops and imagine just that, the city below him bathed in divine golden light, warm and inviting to skin that was more fragile than that which he wore now. When he closed his eyes, he found that he could see the gold as it was reflected by glass, steel, and even the soulful pools of mortal eyes. Yes, Istar enjoyed Champagne though he just as easily loathed it.

Opening his eyes, he didn't remember actually closing them; Istar found that he was once again looking at the other. As he observed before, she was gorgeous, but he couldn't help but imagine her standing in the center of the golden city with the sun high in the sky.

That is just silly... his common sense said she is just as dead as you are, more so because she's been in the dark much longer. This is your life now and besides you didn't use the last one so wisely anyway. Istar smiled softly at the realization, it was one that he thought he had come to the better part of fifty years ago, but still it seemed that sentiment lingered.

Sighing Istar let those thoughts go, after all he was sitting with one of the oldest vampires he had ever met. Istar didn't know her age as a number, instead he could feel it. It was wrapped up in that sense of power, besides he wasn't sure he would want to know it as a number. He wouldn't be foolish enough to ask, and anyway he might get an answer which might have been worst for him than asking the question.

He could remember asking Alex shortly after she turned him. The answer simply astounded him, and then she had proceeded to show him that as hard as he tried, he couldn't be the dominator with her. "With age comes experience and knowledge. And to quote the cliché, knowledge is power." She had said and he had replied with "Yeah I guess you're right."

What a fool he had been, and now he considered what kind of fool he was now. He had come over and sat down, now he hadn’t a clue as to what to say. What was he going to do, ask her how her day was? Or maybe he could ask the question that might annoy her enough for her to end his little jaunt at eternity right now.

Istar questioned his intelligence now, normally he was the aggressor, or at least on par with those he encountered. Right now he felt like the day old vampire that woke up in Alex’s arms with her smiling that damned unwaveringly confident smile.

Taking a breath Istar smiled at her.

Everybody dies…he thought. Then he spoke.

“So how are you tonight, pretty lady? Keeping all the wolves at bay?” He asked, with his usual careless swagger.

OOC: ((Sorry I didn't post before now! *bow bow* School and lack of inspiration. So... sorry!))

Nafretiri’s smile grew only a tad, but it made it evident enough that she was doing so. One eyebrow was slightly raised to give her an amused expression, and one could swear that her eyes were twinkling, though whether it was because of the situation which had presented itself to her or because of the candlelight, no one could know for certain. It was always interesting talking with her, because no one ever quite knew what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. She never told anyone either.

He seemed to be fidgeting, but her standards of fidgeting were far different from that of humans. She could tell without being telepathic that his thoughts were floating all over the place, and his emotions were jumbled. She couldn’t get a clear reading off of him, but it hardly mattered at this point. Relaxing slightly, she was determined to let him make the first move, just for curiosity’s sake. He smiled at her.

“There was a man earlier who spoke at me. It was trivial nonsense and he spoke of things far beyond his comprehension, before trying to seduce me.” She folded her hands on the table, her voice soft but rich like honey. “He sought to enlighten me about things that he cannot grasp with his mortal spirit. Those who disappear in the blowing sands of time cannot understand the wisdom of the gods.” Was she speaking partially in riddles? Yes. Did she do this often? Most definitely.

She got some ounce of joy in being cryptic. Besides using it to display the fact that she knew more than those she spoke with, and most probably always would, she also used it to let others come to their own conclusions. Never could they say that’s she’d spoken wrongly, for there were always double entendres, and if one read into it the wrong way, they could believe her to have given advice that she never had. Of course, the woman hoped that they would be intelligent enough to realize when it wouldn’t work, but some were not, and it was a fact she’d come to accept over the course of her very long life.

Taking this opportunity to observe him, she wondered how long it’d been since she’d interacted with one this young. A few centuries, to be certain. All her handmaidens were over four centuries old, and she’d not sired anyone in about that long. Humans these days, in her opinion, were simply not worthy. It was an age of science, and they dismissed the gods as pure mythology. Nafretiri supposed it was that more than anything else that caused her to be angry.

Yes, this Catholic religion in particular infuriated her. Exactly why, she did not know. She supposed it was simply because she could not fathom a man creating the entire world without a woman. That and women were given such a negative view, especially with childbirth, something that – speaking as a mother – was one of the most sacred things on earth. She would not be upset if there was an uprising against it.

But she did not say these things out loud. She did not wish to offend this vampire that was seated across from her, not because she feared him, for to her, he was but an ant, and she, the sun. No, it was not that, for she could kill him quite painfully with the barest of touches. What was it then? Nafretiri liked to call it courtesy. Those as old as she was were either extremely rude, or extremely polite. She preferred to think of herself as the latter.

(OOC: I understand! I'm rather busy with classes myself.)

Istar blinked, twice. He couldn't think of a better response to the ancient vampire. Actually it wasn't so much a response as it was the simple result of thought, a bit unpracticed and very undisciplined, much like a student that isn’t paying attention and get singled out to answer a question because of it.

He blinked several more times, in thoughtful silence as he pondered her words, still looking as if he had been asked to divulge the secrets of the universe.

To tell the truth, Istar Indora wasn't one for riddles, enigmas, or cryptic speeches. Being a mobster most of his natural life, he had a rather short attention span and when one combined that with over all anti-social behavior, well it was easy to see his problem. However, with the words that came from this woman's mouth, he tried at least to give them some thought. That was more than Alex had thought him capable of in personal conversation, despite his love of the arts.

Smiling, he gave his best interpretation.

"So what you're saying is that some human, male, whom I can tell was sitting in this chair." he wrinkled his nose a bit, not only at that statement, but at the scent he could still catch off of the chair. He realized he had smelt it the moment he had sat down, but up until now had not noticed it because of his nervousness. Istar couldn't say he enjoyed the scent of human, males, but rather than dwell on it, he continued.

"Anyway, this guy whoever he may be...was telling you something. He was telling someone about things that are lost in time to everyone but the likes of you right? Probably something about ancient civilization! Am I warm on that one?" Istar paused in continuing his response long enough to flash his elder a smile, again one of the ones that he couldn't use on humans, the pearly and fanged kind.

"And if I'm anywhere near close, you were none to happy about the seduction aspect of his proposal either. Myself, I love a good seduction, but then I don't necessarily know how I might feel about it in another thousand or so years...so it is better not to get into that." his voice was an amused drawl as he said this, and it was apparent that he was at least semi-joking.

With that said Istar smiled again and wondered if he had done an adequate job translating. Well, not really, instead he wondered if he had annoyed her enough that she might murder him, even here in front of a least two dozen witnesses. Istar knew the older crew survived by staying low, but he didn't for a moment think that should she want to kill him that any of that would matter. But then for the first time since meeting this strange vampire, he found he didn't care really.

Life tended to bring what it brought and he wasn't exactly the groveling type, so once again, fearlessness and probably in the same vein recklessness returned to him.

Everybody dies…he thought again, repeating it like a mantra in his mind. Then he pondered on how old the woman in front of him much be, because he was pretty sure that he had heard her say "the gods."

He wasn't exactly a holy roller but he was sure that his religion had at one time at least been Christianity. Maybe when he was a kid and his dad took him to church, his mother had never gone. Istar knew nothing of her religion, and when he really thought of all the good that any church had ever given him, he couldn't say he gave a damn about any of them. But then he considered, that with his mouth...it might be a good idea to at least consider prayer.

While the other vampire was working his way through her ramblings, the waiter appeared with the bottle of wine she’d ordered and placed it on the table. She gave him a small nod of thanks and he scurried off, leaving her to pour her own wine, but that mattered not. Even as she watched the liquid fill her glass, her eyes trailed up to his face again, twinkling as she watched him work it out part by part. He was indeed smarter than some she’d come along in her days, and that from her was a compliment. When he smiled at her, she offered her own small, slightly encouraging one as well, discarding manners and propping her elbows on the table while nursing her drink.

He amused her. She wasn’t sure yet if what he displayed was cockiness that he truly felt or used to cover insecurities, but to her, the result was the same. He was not unpleasant to her eyes, that was certainly true, and she could see why he would have developed such an attitude around women. His half-gests made her chuckle internally, particularly the one about seduction.

Nafretiri too enjoyed a good seduction, just not from the likes of mortals like Pasquale Potestio. No, that was not entirely true either. Mortals in general did nothing for her most of the time. There were odd ones she found companionship in, like those of her handmaidens, but never had she dared love a mortal with all she had. They had neither the concept of time nor wisdom of the true order of things. It would cause only much heartache if she were to let herself go to one like that. No, loving those with less than one mortal life completed was folly, but there were few that were her age, hence the reason that she was alone. The only other that was her age, she could not conceive of loving in a physical sense for one simple reason.

He was her son.

There was a pinprick of regret and sadness in her, but she quickly shoved it away. It would not do to show weakness in front of others. Never did she even show it in front of her handmaidens and companions save Amandine. Weakness was for the bitter watches of the night when you were all alone with only the shadows of the past for company. He was the reason she’s come here in the first place, the reason she’d done everything, including secure her investments over the centuries.

She looked at him, with a kind of pride that one can have for those one doesn’t know. “There are few in this world that can understand my meanings at my vaguest. While I was not as vague as I can be, you excelled. I commend you.” Her voice was laced with the ever present amusement as she looked at him from under her lashes, drinking a sip of whine. “I am called Nafretiri.” Where there had been no discernable accent before, there was suddenly a thick Arabic sounding one when she pronounced her name, making it seem exotic and exalted. “As reward for this, I shall answer any questions that may be stirring in your mind, and I know they are there. They always are when those as you are meet one like I am.”

Istar took in the woman's smile and instantly he found himself pondering, how it was that she could have such a beautiful expression and not use it more often. But then, Istar considered whom it was that he was sitting across from. At the age of eighty, he had had more than a few things happen to him that had threatened to permanently wipe the smile off his face, so he couldn't even imagine what life was like for her.

It was a moment later that she spoke once again and Istar found himself again enjoying the sound of her voice. He wondered briefly over the accent that it suddenly took on when she identified herself, and it reminded him a bit of his mother's accent. She had been from the Gaza Strip, but her voice was not as nice as that of this Nafretiri. The accent in her voice had seemed almost measured, as if it was intentional. But intentional or no, it left Istar a bit short of breath.

"I'm Istar, Istar Indora." he said still catching his breath. Then he smiled again, thinking over her offer.

Istar had lots of questions, he always did. He had had a lot for Alex after she had turned him, and though he knew this was not the same, he found himself regarding the woman before him as he had his sire. His voice was without its swagger when he said.

"Who are you, really? I mean I have your name, but I guess I wanna know more. I don't mean to be nosey, but it isn't often that I meet someone like you."

Nafretiri pretended not to notice that the man in front of her was silent and staring for a moment. She was used to such things, and felt a surge of pride for maintaining it through all the years. Had she still been mortal, she would have been naught but dust now. She would never have met her son once again, and… countless other things that she did not wish to think of at the present time. It would not do to live in the past while the present continued on. Many of those her age did such a thing with horrible consequences.

Nodding her head so the black hair created shadows on her face, she said, “It is very nice to gain your acquaintance Istar Indora.” She sat back up with a posture that most of this time lacked. It was straight-backed and to those of today, would appear to be painful, but she held it with little to no thought. One finger rested upon her chin daintily, giving her the appearance of though, but her eyes seemed all too aware for that, leaving one confused. All at once, the look was gone, and her handbag was on her lap. She pulled out a package of cigarettes and one of the holders that were so common in the early 1900s.

Smoking was something she’d picked up just then. It wasn’t a habit to her, for she didn’t need it, but it helped calm her, especially when she was about to have a conversation like this one. The warm tobacco entered her lungs, already black with death, and held no effect on her, save that she gave another small smile that held a hint of flirtation and mystery.

“I don’t believe you’re intruding,” replied Nafretiri. “It was I who offered to tell you what you wished to know.” Taking a small drag, she exhaled, the light being illuminated by the candle on the table. “You wish to know who I really am? I was born in the rule of Pharaoh II. The dates elude me, but you can find it in any book I assume. I was born to a family, where I married my brother. I had two sons, when I was abducted. I was sold, and my buyer turned me into a vampire. He did not wish to, but I convinced him. I then found my youngest son. I never found the elder.

“My son became prominent, but had many enemies. I turned him as well, and nursed him until he was well. As I went to get someone for him to feed upon, I heard that my sire had been killed. I became a goddess. Sekhmet in fact.” To anyone who knew this name, it would be a frightening concept, but she stated it like she were stating she’d found a cockroach in her toilet. “I killed, and I killed, and I enjoyed it, until I came to my senses. Then, I fell into the shadows of the world until I seduced an Emperor, and kept my estates and investments alive until this day.”

Sipping her wine, she added, “There isn’t really anything other than that.” She turned her head as if to look away, but was really looking at him through the corner of her eye. “Do you wish to continue our discussion, or… would you rather not?”

Istar Indora’s mouth hung open, he recovered rather quickly from this infirmity, but it had happened and he barely noticed. Istar wasn’t one for over reacting, but since will had nothing to do with the scene; he hoped that he could be excused. This however was after thought; the bulk of the “young” man’s intellect was still trying to contemplate what had just been said to him so casually that it was frightening.

“Wait a second,” he said getting her attention “did you just say that you were born in ancient Egypt? Oh wait, I guess that’s not surprising really…but you became a goddess? Again, not to pry, but how do you become a goddess?”

Istar thought on that one, thought on it long and hard. He thought even harder on the name Sekhmet though. He didn’t know a lot about Egyptian mythology, but the name was familiar. He thought again, and then remembered a portrait he had seen in one of the many volumes that Alex had forced him to toil over. The portrait was of a woman, she had the head of a lion and there was a fierce snarl on the lion’s muzzle. She was the goddess of… He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment and taking a sip of the dwindling liquid in his glass. It was then, in mid swallow that he remembered.

Nearly choking, but forcing the beverage down regardless to save at least some respect of mannerly behavior, Istar looked at the woman across from him with a slow analytical scan. After it was over he felt confident enough once again to speak.

“So, you were the goddess of divine retribution? How did that work out for you?” As soon as Istar uttered these words, he regretted them. His first regret was interrupting, for he did, but when he fell silent his second regret was that he had seemed to shrug off the part of her story about her sons.

“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly, not completely sure why. Then it seemed to come to him of its own accord. “I’m sorry about your sons. And I’m sorry for asking you all these questions…though…yeah; I guess I would like to continue this discussion. I’m curious, regardless of what happened to the cat.”

With that, Istar motioned to his glass at a passing waiter. The man replied with an indignant glare, but when they made eye contact, the snooty man with dark brown hair that was graying softly on the sides and a mustache that looked like a reject from a French movie stereotype, smiled and headed toward he back where Istar guessed they kept the spirits.

Looking down at his glass again, Istar smiled. The stuff was helping him think. Had to be, he could never get himself to be this polite with anyone else. Heck, not even Alex.

Maybe I will survive this one yet… he thought with a mental laugh.

Nafretiri saw her companion’s mouth fall open and couldn’t help the slightly smug, slightly bitter smile that formed on her face. It was hard for those of this century to envision coming from a time so long past. No doubt he would never look at her the exact same way, but this didn’t much bother her. The chances that they’d meet again after this night… They were slim. She was not looking for friends. She had her own companions at her estate. She was not looking for lovers, especially not one as young as this. There was little else that she could gain from this one. It was a rude thought, but Nafretiri had learned long ago only to keep ties with those that offered you something in return. This one did not.

“I was born in Egypt, plain and simple,” she said somewhat sternly. “The whole world is ancient. It was ancient long before I was born, and shall be long after, but I did not know this when I was alive. Therefore, it was only Egypt.

“As for the matter of becoming a goddess…” Her eyes turned downcast, and clouded over with something that could have been regret, but was more likely simply remembrance. “I had been quite young then.” Her gaze flitted up to his for a moment. “Younger than yourself even. Rage clouded me, and my abilities grew much over a short expanse of time.” Someone opened the door, and a brisk wind blew in, snuffing out the candles on their table. Putting a hand around the wick to shield it, the woman’s eyes stared at Istar as a new flame suddenly took its place, the white wax not even cool.

Picking up her wine glass, she grasped it in a hugging fashion with her hands like many do with their coffee. There was a slight impish look about her as she took a delicate sip. The tip of her mouth twitched as he scanned over her. The temptation to seduce him was a compelling one, though she doubted that after such a revelation, he would wish to accompany her. He might for the simple reason of fear, but that would not do. Dismissing these thoughts, she looked at him with her odd eyes, a strand of wavy hair in her face that she didn’t seem to notice.

“Do not apologize for things you had no hand in,” said Nafretiri waving his comments away. Eyes downcast, she continued, “I only remained Sekhmet for less than a year… but so many people were killed. They littered the streets, which had become little less than rivers of blood.” Her voice had gone somewhat hollow. “I regret my feelings of satisfaction that came with the corpses every night that I see.” Despite the fact that her face seemed to remain perfect, one slow tear rolled down her cheeks before she hastily dabbed it away with her napkin.

There was a sound of a heated argument from behind them, and Nafretiri closed her eyes weakly, her hands clenched. Anger that was not her own was bubbling up in her stomach. A man grabbed his wife roughly and started to pull her towards the door. As they passed, her had snatched his arm perhaps faster than most could see. She looked up at him with cold, calculating eyes. His anger was far too strong, and not at all normal.

“I would suggest that you leave your wife be,” she said calmly, sounding like she was discussing the weather. There was a slight sizzling sound and the man pulled away. His suit had been somewhat burned, and he looked at Nafretiri like she was the devil himself. He started to walk away, letting go of his wife’s arm. Despite this, she followed him concerned.

Nafretiri sighed. “I can do nothing for her if she refuses to stay away from a bad man. At least now, he may not kill her this night.” In a complete lack of propriety, she took her wine glass and downed all the contents.

Istar looked at Nafretiri long and hard, he wished that he could say that it was all captivation at her rapt words, but he was honest with himself most of the time and had to be so now. Istar looked at her, because she was beautiful, because as she moved, muscle moved in a way under her dark completion that set the need and hunger in him ablaze. But also, he found himself looking at her as he was sure the prey looked at the lion, he was transfixed by the majestic predator and he knew now how the women he had fed upon during his rather extended life felt.

Still, transfixed or not, he listened to her. He heard the anger in her voice, despite the fact that it didn't exist at least not in her voice. Istar wasn't a telepath, he just wasn't very good at the skill, at least not yet, but still he felt her emotion a bit as he did with humans when he focused the talent, though now he though the feat was merely because of projection. He feelings were so raw, and like her powerful, that they simply seemed to cut their way into him. She was like an emblazoned sword and he was less than butter.

When Istar felt the gust, it brought back the sense of the physical world. He hadn't remembered retreating into his mind, but he must have, because with the movement of air across his skin, it was as if waking from a dream. A dream that had been formless, yet some how managed to allow him to remember all that she had said, and the expressions that crisscrossed her face as she had done so. It was then, watching her expression, once again, that Istar noted the candle and how she lit it.

Istar felt the force that came from her, and the blazing flame. He felt it as keenly as if it had caught upon him. Then he watched her in rapt silence.

It was after her last words that a smile came to his face. It wasn't a pleasant smile, but it was a mirror of the emotions that played under his surface.

"You don't need me to tell you this, but dear lady...you truly are a wonder." With that he removed a cigarette from his pocket. He held the piece of tobacco and paper tightly and glared at it, imaging the world beyond human sight and then with a slight flicker it burned softly, adding a little more light to the world. He then put it in his mouth, taking a slow savoring drag. Not bothering to exhale, he smiled and spoke.

"Despite myself, I still must say I'm sorry. Not simply for being an idiot, but because the world is full those like me."

As he exhaled, he found that he could suddenly see how people could make her a goddess. She was pretty close already.

She smelt his lust towards her. It was a smell she’d come to know many times over the course of her existence, but the smell itself never became any less awkward for her to deal with. Yes, she hid it deep down within her bosom, showing nothing of it on her face save a small smirk and the twinkling of her eyes. Her anger, though still present, took its place as her secondary emotion. There was a small knot of fire in her stomach that surprised her, although she didn’t know why it would. Perhaps because the evening was mainly supposed to be spent with Pasquale Potestio, a man that did nothing for her, and instead she had discovered someone a bit more interesting.

In retrospect, Nafretiri realized it was not that uncalled for. How long had it been since she’d taken a man into her bed? Five years? Ten? She couldn’t remember at this point. Amandine had been telling her for quite some time that she should go out and find a man to bring home for the night. She had waved these away, but felt that they had perhaps not been unfounded on Amandine’s part. A reward may be in order.

Nafretiri had always been wilful.

The prickles of a familiar power danced upon her skin, and her brows frowned slightly, her head cocking to the side. Her eyes were curious and somewhat suspicious as she watched his cigarette light itself. “You have the ability to bear fire as well.” It could have been a question. The slight inclination at the sentence would suggest as much, but it wasn’t. It was an observation, an awed one. “I have never met another with the same power as I.” She leaned forward, observing him with new eyes, her forearms on the table.

“It appears, Mr. Indora, that I am not the only wonder at this table,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. It was the closest thing to a compliment that he was likely to receive from her. It wasn’t often she gave out praise.

His expression confused her. Why… she wasn’t exactly certain. It was not happy as a smile should be, but her own had never all been happy. Had she given him a reason to have such emotions as these? They caused yet another, different type of knot in her stomach, this one causing some physical discomfort, but she ignored it. Over the centuries, she’d become good at it. What were her emotions and what weren’t was not terribly simple to distinguish. This not was not of her own making.

Masking this, she raised an eyebrow. “And what is this supposed to signify?” One finger twirled a lock of hair, making her seem almost the age that her appearance depicted. “From what I have seen… You are not like that man. You may kill, yes, but that does not make you bad.” Her accent was back again, full force. “I have killed more than anyone else on this planet, I suspect. If we were to use that to gauge evil… I would be the incarnate.”

Istar almost beamed in her praise, but rather quickly got a hold of his emotion and pushed it aside. Still he could not hold off the grin that moved, slowly, savoringly across his features and in truth he didn't try very hard. Istar liked smiling; it was something that he hadn't done very much as a child, but it was an indulgence that he had taken to rather quickly with his induction into the Brown Belt Families of his youth. It had been since those times that Istar Indora had learned to love life, though his smiles had never been the same since his failed hit on Alexia "Alex" Rose.

Istar smiled his fanged smile, without the guilt Alexia had instilled within him at the expression and as he did so he found he was enjoying himself more than usual. Maybe it was the praise, or maybe it was her beauty, but Istar considered that maybe he was wrong about himself...maybe he did have that thing for older women that he had always denied. Still, his enjoyment seemed to fade when he heard her speak again.

Well his enjoyment didn't fade, but it was taken down a few notches. Istar looked at her carefully, his smile still on his face, but not quite reaching his eyes anymore. His gaze held hers for a moment, and then a sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not that, at least not really. I mean sure, you've no doubt got me in the body count department...and coming from the cradle of civilization…the originality of death methods, but you’re not evil incarnate and you know it. I don’t mean to be presumptuous but from talking to you, I can tell that you’re a good person. Can’t say I know anything else about you, but I know that.” Istar paused with this, unsure of how to go on, but a moment later he found himself speaking despite his inability to summon the elegant words he wished to use.

“I agree with you, killing doesn’t make you evil, but what kind of person kills without remorse and enjoys every minute of it? I mean you just said that you regret what you felt, killing people, but me…I’ve done a lot of things, but I don’t think I’ll be regretting anything anytime soon.” Istar took another drag of his cigarette, a slow draw, slower than his first and this time he exhaled with a few rings of white-gray smoke.

Deciding to change the subject, he looked at the ash and slight red light that emanated from his cigarette.

“You know, that whole fire starting thing…well my sire told me that she thought it was possible. She couldn’t do it, and she hadn’t met anyone that could, but she taught me everything that she could and told me to work on developing it and all the other abilities that she had and knew existed. She told me that I probably would have those abilities similar to hers, but told me to try out anything that I found out about, just in case. She would always say that the change affects everyone differently and that the best way to discover what I could do was by guessing and practicing with her and by myself. She was a good teacher, and well after she went our separate ways, I ended up in a rather bad spot in Japan, working for some Yakuza guys.” Istar looked thoughtful as he said this, it wasn’t one of his better memories, or particularly flattering considering that he had almost died. But in the end, he guessed that he would rather tell the story and see how she reacted.

“I had my throat slashed almost to the point of beheading and was thrown into a river. I was reckless and a Japanese man with a katana had made me pay for it. I thought I was dead, I had lost so much blood, and my body wasn’t healing all that well without it. I think I floated for about fifteen minutes and was nearly bone dry when I reached shore." He paused, rather it was dramatic or otherwise wasn't apparent, but as quickly as he paused he resumed his tale.

"But as luck would have it, I washed up under a bridge where a few homeless men were living. That was not my finest hour but I was tough enough to hang in there until I had fed. The only thing was that I was frozen, it was winter and I think the little blood I had in my veins actually had frozen, no body heat and all. The new blood was good, but it was being cooled by the old and I knew I needed heat. I can’t say I remember saying so, but I really wanted a fire, I could smell it, taste it. Then suddenly I found myself having this really weird vision…I was seeing molecules, or at least I visualized them some how, just the way they were in all the books I had studied with Alex. I wanted them to speed up, they did and I got my fire. That was all there was to it for me, desperation and I guess overactive imagination.”

She was quite aware at how she had made him feel. There was a definite curse to being an empath, and it showed itself quite readily in all situations. Feeling the emotions of others sometimes made her feel drained to the point where she’d drain an entire mortal of their lifeblood and sleep all through the night, as well as the subsequent day, but it was rare that she’d erect her mental shields. Over the millennia, Nafretiri had become accustomed to having a slight advantage over those that were in contact with her. It even enabled her to sense if they were lying or no, but she did not think that that particular talent would have any standing this evening.

“You are wise,” remarked the woman, and again, it might’ve been taken as praise, though she meant it as more of a statement than anything. “It is true that I am not evil, but neither am I good.” She paused, a finger stroking her chin. “Many things these eyes have witness, until the line between the light and the darkness has become blurred… I long for the light at times, and yet I am confined to darkness. Still, there is light, even in the darkness, so I do not believe that either actually exist, and are only in the confines of one’s mind.” Nafretiri could lapse into vague and cryptic speeches with double entendres hidden everywhere without the bat of an eye, leaving one to wonder if she even noticed that she was doing such a thing.

“And I do not regret the death of all people. You must kill in order to advance, be it in wealth, power or status. I have no qualms in admitting that I am manipulative, and selfish, only seeking to further my own power. It has been as such almost since I was created. Before… my brother and my husband gave me no say, but after, I gained a voice that could climb mountains, and I learned to sing.” She shook her head with a small smile. “Everything in nature kills, but humans – and subsequently, our kind as well – often think ourselves better than them, when, though our objectives may be somewhat different, it is all survival and hierarchy.”

This was a philosophy that Nafretiri had been a great deal of time mulling over during her years as a vampire. It had been much easier for her to accept than those of today, as there were ideas and beliefs planted in their minds from the beginning they were born about how they were superior to all other creatures. Nafretiri did not see it so and never hesitated to tell others as such. One of her companions and servants had been a devout Catholic child when Nafretiri had turned her. Nikolai (the child) had almost wasted away when told she had to feed on live humans because her body rejected dead blood. It pained Nafretiri, and she’d been cautious since about whom she turned.

Leaning forward, head cocked to the side, listening intently, the Egyptian woman absorbed his story. “That was a great deal less exciting than my first bearing of fire,” remembered Nafretiri. “It was a complete accident. Another vampire was trying to gain control of me. He is dead now.” She didn’t elaborate, but considering the topic, figured it was obvious enough what had happened.

“I have never worked for mortals. I have seduced them – and many immortals as well – for my own purposes. Some of the mortals are now well known, but it makes little difference. It is how I can live in such wealth in this era. After owning properties in all the oldest countries and establishing trades on all of them, they have supplied me with a great deal of income… especially after I sold them.” There was a wisp of regret on her face. “I kept the one in Rome, though the old villa is nothing more than rubble now. I built a house similar. I could not sell it.” There was now a definite impish grin. “It was from the Emperor.”

She turned her attention back to him. “And you, Mr. Indora? Have you a consort?”

Istar wasn't gifted when it came to the mental gifts; or rather he wasn't very talented at those that did not change the outside world. He could move things, set things ablaze, and amend these abilities to specialization for certain tasks, but when it came to reading thoughts, or even feelings, he was weak.

Humans, they were the best he could do, he could be empathic toward them, but other immortals were a blank slate to him though he wished this wasn't so as he sat entranced by the beautiful sage that was Nafretiri. Ah, to see what was going on behind that gaze.

Istar watched her, it could be said almost unblinkingly so, but if that was a problem for her she showed no signs of it. Instead she returned his gaze and he was a careful study of the emotions that moved almost phantasmal across her supple features. Istar was a child compared to her, he knew this and felt it keenly as they spoke and he was forced to ponder the things she said, but child or not he was drawn to her like the moth and his beloved flame, and like that insect the "young" vampire didn't care if he was burned. In fact his blood already seemed to dance with the rising fire, a fire that seemed to get hotter as she spoke in that oh so sexy voice of hers and brought up a few more entries into his catalog of her expressions.

As she continued speaking, listened to her praise, or rather what he chose to take as praise. It filled him with a slight pride, but as quickly as this came, he snuffed it out.

With this lady of the millennia, he would not let his lust, or the black hunger that seemed to intermingle with it, get the better of him. Istar Indora had once been a man of instinct alone, but losing his life had taught him better of blind instinct and Alexia, dear Alexia had taught him better of the world. She had taught him more than any other he had met thus far and he kept her lessons of caution at hand.

Alex's lessons repeated themselves again, as he listened to her tale about the ill fated vampire, but without being bidden as smile caught on his features none the less with the casualness of her story and he smiled again when she spoke of her involvement with humans. His smile widened when she spoke of the Emperor.

"Which one? Julius Cesar maybe? Mark Anthony? I mean, your name...Beautiful Creation, that is what it means? Am I correct? But at any rate I may be grasping at straws and invisible possibilities here, but they say Cleopatra was the most beautiful woman of Egypt and well...I guess I'm making a foolish guess, but one never knows. I was after all sired by a woman that claims the myth of Guinevere was based upon her and from the little I know history is a strange force. Things are rarely recorded as they happened, if ever."

Istar laughed, he knew that he was simply making assumptions, but then as he had said "One never knows" and he had been truthful about his sire's claim. He didn't know if it was true, but that had been the claim. He though about that for a moment, then suddenly he wasn't as she asked him if he had a consort.

Istar though of the women that were in his life. Would he consider any a consort, the answer came quickly and he didn't have to think on it and he answered in the same fashion.

"No. I would say that I'm rather alone."

((OOC: My goodness, I’m sorry! *bows repeatedly* I’ve been having a less than inspirational week, and have been being all insomniac. This post will most likely uh… be less than previous, and I apologize, but Naffie doesn’t seem to want to talk to me at this moment.))

Nafretiri could not read other’s thoughts, though she did not know that Istar Indora was thinking these thoughts within moments of herself. Had she been able to, rest assured, she would have been finding out the deepest, darkest tales within her companion’s psyche to use at a later date. For money, profit or power, perhaps, but more to understand how those of this age thought. She could explain very well how they felt, but what inspired these feelings, what experiences contributed to them remained a mystery to her. Nafretiri did not enjoy mysteries.

She raised her eyebrows at his questions, and allowed herself a small laugh. “I have said before that I will not speak of him until the day I choose to walk in the light of Re once more, and to that I owe. However, I will tell you that it is neither of the men you have mentioned. Julius Caesar, though he accomplished much, was a sickly man, and a man that already had both wife and mistress. Marc Anthony, though courageous, was a bit too much of drunkard for my tastes. That and he was completely devoted to Cleopatra, a woman I never particularly liked.” She made a small sound of disproval in her throat before taking another sip. “I was never particularly fond of the fact that the throne of Egypt went to a family that was not Egyptian.”

To tell the truth, she hadn’t been in Egypt when she’d learned that Ptolemy had taken the throne of Egypt, but it had angered her. She’d accepted that there was nothing she could do, but that had not meant that she had liked them. Cleopatra, in her opinion, had gotten far more popularity that she should be credited for. Nafretiri had seen her once. She was not the thin, raven haired beauty that most of this day’s culture described her to be. Indeed, she was rather fat (though having curves was something that Nafretiri did not dislike) with a long nose and a rather spoilt complexion. The last queen had thought herself a goddess.

She had had no idea what a true goddess was. The true nature of power was beyond the mortal comprehension, and beyond that of a lot of her kind. Very few had witness the awesome power that lay dormant within every vampire. Nafretiri was one of the few who had, and she’d slaughtered half of Egypt while she was at it. Not with swords or fangs, but with pestilence, so like that which the Christian’s bible described, if Nafretiri had believed in any of that whatsoever.

Smiling brilliantly, she said, “Yes, my name does mean ‘Beautiful Creation’, though it was not the name I was born with, and hardly my first name. The same with that which those these days call my surname. It is merely a pretty word, for I have no real last name. It functions, and is better than being without. One cannot survive in this age without one.” Her eyes glazed over for a moment, before snapping into focus.

“Guinevere?” inquired Nafretiri, her interest piqued. She ran a hand through her hair, fingers fiddling with the strands. “I have heard the tales of wizards and spirits of waters, but… you are correct. Things rarely happen as they are told. People instigate tales woven with their opinions, and they pass down until there is all but a single thread of truth within a delicately woven tapestry of myth.” Cocking her head to the side, she examined his eyes, wanting to see his reaction to her next question. “And where is this woman now?”

Waving a hand, she said, “As for consorts, there is plenty of time for those. I’m sure you will have many before your endless night is finished.” There was a secretive smile as she looked at him, her eyes half-lidded.

(OOC: These things happen. *Insert Additional Cliché* Seriously though, I understand and I'm happy I got a reply.)

Istar's gaze fell and he had to admit that he felt a bit foolish for jumping to conclusions, he had rather well taken a theory and played the fool, but as bad as he felt about it, this too reminded him of Alex. With Alex he had always played the fool, the semi-high school educated street thug, while she was the brilliant and savvy mistress of the night.

A rather Byronic couple they had made and Istar found himself laughing at the fact that now he could think of them as a Byronic couple.

What had he known of Byron when they'd met? Nothing! What had he known of Keats, Wordsworth, or Shelly? Nothing! And what a crime that was, to know nothing of the great poets and worst to know nothing of the great authors or the magnificent playwrights. Istar now could not comprehend the world with things such as these. He could no longer imagine a world devoid of appreciating art, of listening to melodies that brought tears, or the weaving of tales that he also learned of his beautiful sire.

Alexia Rose, that had been the name she had gone by both before and after they had met and it was if she was to be believed her true name, not the sir name, but the name Alexia. She had claimed it to be her own. Istar had heard her story whenever he could, first simply because he could not believe it, then over and over again looking for some detail that did not add up, but despite his best efforts this did not happen. As far as he knew, Alexia had been completely honest with him. Even now he couldn't put a hole in her story especially with how she described Lucius Artorius Castus and her love of him.

Istar smiled a bit at the remembered tale, but then he realized his silence and gave Nafretiri a fain nod of apology.

"I'm sorry I got distracted." he said quickly, obviously distracted, but still he continued with the answer to her question.

"Really I don't know. One day she left and I haven't seen her since, originally I was angry at her, hell I guess I still am, but I owe her and love her more than I'm angry so...I guess it just about balances out." With this he sighed and actually looked down cast, but as was always the case with him, this did not last and he was smiling again.

First this smile was at Nafretiri, but it blossomed with her comment about consorts and he hoped to God or the gods, anyone that would listen, that the end of her comment had been the allusion that he wished it to be.

The mind of the man before her was clouded by thoughts and memories. Nafretiri did not need the mental ability of telepathy to deduce as much. It was incredibly easy to see simply by looking at his face. She’d live thirty-five mortal lifetimes. During this time, it was almost impossible not to learn to read the thoughts and emotions of others by looking at their faces. Most times, she was hardly even required to use her empathy to know what others were feeling, she need only look into their faces and examine the hidden messages that were already there.

Istar Indora’s eyes clouded over in a way that she’d seen many times before, and it was easily distinguished as a sort of nostalgia. The Egyptian woman was certain that from time to time, she too had this expression, though her reflection had long since disappeared, much to her regret. However much she enjoyed the company of her handmaidens and however empty and quiet the house would be without them, she secretly resented the fact that she could no longer even apply her own makeup.

Yes, through great age came great power, and such power set her at a level higher than most other of her kind, but there was a great price for such a power.

Nafretiri wondered if Istar, who had only recently passed the age where most mortals die, knew this. If his maker was as he described, she was certain that she’d given him some excellent advice. From what little he had told about her, and what little she’d gleamed about him, the woman who’d turned Istar seemed knowledgeable enough.

Holding up her hand, palm forward, Nafretiri said with a shake of her head, “You do not need to apologize. The mind is by its definition a wandering thing. Remembrance too, is natural for all living things. It is what compels us to strive for something or helps us to survive. There is no shame in it.” She folded her hands delicately into her lap. “Indeed, I often find that some recollections come at the most inopportune times, although I certainly have far more to remember than the average person.” There was a soft chuckle following this, though what exactly she found amusing was up for debate.

After his remarks about his sire, there was a strange stillness to Nafretiri. It felt almost like a dense smog of reminiscence upon the air, making it heavier. At the same time, she herself resembled a lizard, perfectly still, trying to remain camouflaged into its surroundings. There seemed not to be a flicker of movement in her body, and even her eyes remained gazing forwards, unmoving and almost unseeing.

“I knew love once,” she whispered, her voice as dead and cold as the body it came from. There was a pause and both the unnerving stillness and the tone of her voice dissipated. “Not with my mortal husband of course,” she continued, like she was a woman chatting about old flames over tea at an expensive country club. “Not love like how I meant it. One finds it difficult to become romantically inclined towards one’s own brother… No, it was as it is with you now, with the man that helped birth the woman you see before you today.”

Benipé. His name caused a painful lurch I her stomach. The first and last man she’d allowed herself to love completely. Lovers, yes, but love…? No, that had yet to happen a second time. Nafretiri was even beginning to doubt that there was a chance to attempt it again. No vampire had sufficiently impressed her, and most mortals were but children in her eyes. It was dangerous to become attached to them.

Her thoughts snapped back to the words of her companion. “Pardon my intrusion, but have you searched for this woman who has won your affections? Love is not something you should give up on easily. We live much too long to deal with regret of that sort.”

Istar nodded solemnly. Yes, he had looked for Alexia. Soon after she had left, he began searching for her, he had traveled all over the world searching for the fetching "young" rich woman that was eccentric in the fact that she only traveled at night, yet more than wealthy enough to affect this eccentricy as well as being wealthy enough that it was eccentricy and not thought of as lunacy.

Istar almost laughed out loud at that though, it was funny how when you were filthy rich it was eccentricy and being poor you were just damned crazy, but that laugh did not come. Instead he was still thinking more of Alexia than he was of any vagrant thought that came to him.

"Yes, I looked for her for quite a time. I took jobs from 'Families' all over the world as I chased after her, but I never got any closer and all the mob contacts I had couldn't even find a trace of her. I'm not one for asking anyone for help, let alone humans, but I did in this point because I wanted to find her and it never did any good. I followed for a while, then she decided to disappear for real, no more games of follow the leader and I've not seen her since." As Istar had said these things, he found himself reliving that year and a half of his life and despite himself he felt a sadness in his core. If Alex didn't want to be found by him, she wouldn't and that was that.

Still smiling he addressed Nafretiri, ignoring the feeling in his stomach that wanted again to shed tears for "lost" Alexia.

Instead, he listened silently to Nafretiri as she spoke and again he wished he could read her mind. She seemed so sad sometimes, he didn't want to imagine what she had gone through in her life, yet he found himself wishing he could help. He wished he could touch the sadness that seemed to flow from her like a river sometimes, but then wishes have never made anything happen have they? And like with Alex, he was the fool and the child here.

"I'm sorry." he uttered once again, though again he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for or that such a meager gathering of words was even note worthy.

Nafretiri allowed herself a curt nod to him, showing satisfaction. While she wasn’t pleased to hear that he had not found the woman that had captured his emotions in such a way, she was pleased to know that he was wise in the area of love and would not easily give up on it. He was not as she had been, and was much wiser in this area, though that was something that her pride would not allow her to say out loud at the present time.

“My sympathies to you for not finding your lady,” she said, reaching over the table, past the candlesticks and wineglasses, and patting his hand lightly in a friendly gesture. “I know much how you feel, though I have never been in a situation that is exactly identical to the one you find yourself in presently. Indeed, it was usually I who disappeared when my time in one locale has been completed.” She waved her hand impatiently. “But I do have some idea of what you must feel. I have been searching for Kashta – my son – for over two millennia. I have realized how large the world can become when searching for someone without the faintest idea of where to begin… for our kind especially. Most of them keep to themselves in the dark places of the world.”

Had it really been so long? Had she really been searching for two thousand years? Perhaps when one began to count one’s life in centuries rather than decades or simple years, one had lived too long in this life. Was the time for her next upon her? Was it time to abandon the life she held presently and join her people?

The idea was a tempting one to be sure, but Nafretiri felt that her time here was not yet finished. She simply needed something to give her meaning in this laboured existence. For the longest time, it had been merely the thought of being reunited with Kashta, but a part of her wasn’t entirely certain that that was enough to sustain her anymore.

Could it be that her future lay within the children of this era; those of her kin much like Istar Indora who sat next to her? The idea of abandoning her present persona much like a butterfly did not suit her at all. It had taken many moons for her to become who she was now, and it was not something that she would give up effortlessly. She could choose to associate with one or two of her kind, more than she’d done in the past five centuries to be certain (other than her handmaidens, who she rarely thought of in such a manner).

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself an amused smile. “Istar Indora, if I have need of your apology, I will tell you as much. You need not be sorry for that which you cannot control. You were not at fault for that which happened many centuries ago, and therefore you should feel no guilt or sadness for me. That which is done is done. You may understand that it was not right, and feel remorse for it, but you must view it as a learning experience.”

Nafretiri took a sip of her wine. “There is much I feel now I should not have done, but there is little I can do for things that were done three thousand years before.” Setting down her wineglass, she ran a hand through her hair without much thought. “For one who has the potential to live for eternity, it is vital to your survival that you learn not to regret. If you do not… you will wish to join your ancestors in the next life far sooner than those who have.”

Yes, it had been over three thousand years since she was turned, and for roughly the last thousand of those, Egyptian mythology had been reduced to fairy tales. That being said, Nafretiri’s devotion to the old religion didn’t waver a bit.

Istar nodded, in his own understanding of her words. He would never say he really understood, after all he was used to taking things at face value and charging in. Recklessness was what Alex had called it, and said that it was what she loved most about him and the "children of his era". Istar had never exactly like being called a child, but this was a word that Alexia had used a lot, mostly to describe herself and so it was a word that he grew to respect. And conceded, that he was indeed a child compared too many.

For a long moment, Istar had no response, for as stated he did understand to his ability. But after a stark silence, he spoke.

"You're right. I mean when I was human...I never had regrets, hell I did what I wanted and dared anybody to down me. I was angry, angry at the times and the people. I was pissed off at everything about the world, but Alex changed that and I'll always be grateful for that, but I guess it did fill me up with the old regret. It made me wish I'd made more out of my life; you know when I had it."

Istar laughed a bit at that. He was talking like he was six feet under, but he was alive, potentially for as long as he wanted to live. But still he knew he was kidding himself, life had changed since he became a vampire and it was changed for as long as he wished to dwell on the World's drama stage.

Yeah, you're different, he conceded mentally but you've just started to live and now's no time for that crazy suicidal thinking.

After all what was a difference in the end? Just something that set him apart from the pack and that was what Istar wanted more than anything.

Well almost anything. he thought, glancing at Nafretiri

Pulling himself, and his thoughts together. He looked at her clearly, worrying her features with attentive eyes and other senses just as keen, maybe even more so with the immortal blood flowing in his veins. Being inhuman had its perks, lots of em actually and it was with a slow grace that he studied her using all the arts he could muster.

The silence was thick, but it didn’t bother Nafretiri. In this day and age of machines and technology, it was more difficult than ever to find the silence places of the world. There was always the commotion of automobiles on the road, or planes in the sky, filling the night with their horrible sounds. Half her estates were deep in the county for that very reason. The second she’d found that her estate in Turkey was on an airline route, she’d sold it. That was not her idea of a pleasant time.

Something quiet, like this evening, was pleasant.

His words invoked memories of her own mortal life. “When I was mortal, I was at the mercy first of my father, and then of my brother and husband. I could not even name my son the name I had chosen in my dreams. My husband would not allow.” Here she paused to scowl deeply, simply from the memory of it. “I was there to breed children, nothing more. The second I could do that, I was married. I never thought beyond a single day, for I knew exactly what awaited me in life.” She lowered her head and sipped at her wine. “I would not allow myself to dot hat in my new existence. I would think ahead.”

Throughout her life as a vampire, she’d always done just that. She’d started planning for her future only three centuries after her transformation. She’d gotten money from her weaving of silks and fine linens until she had enough to buy a piece of property in what is now Greece. The land was turned into a vineyard that flourished wonderfully, and that provided prominent Grecian families with wine. After that, she traveled to Rome, and bought land there, transforming it into much the same thing. Her business flourished until she seduced the Emperor, and was given more land and monetary wealth in secrecy. She then sold her land in Greece for a handsome price, and continued on like that.

In this age, she could be considered more than a tad wealthy. It seemed that one put a large amount of money in the bank for extended periods of time, one got quite a bit of revenue, and when one took into account several objects from her past that fetched a handsome price at auction… she would be well off for as long as she lived.

“Yes,” she continued, “there are many things that have changed since I was mortal, things that I made certain to change. For one, I will let no man dominate me as my husband once did.” And she hadn’t. Men had tried, but none had ever dominated her again, not even Benipé. They’d thought they had, thought they’d tamed her, but that had simply been good acting on her part, and a soft compliment here or there. Having lived as long as she had, she’d learned that a carefully placed double entendre that led the person to believe what they wished more often than not let her sway a person easily.

The lust was renewed in her evening companion, and again, Nafretiri wondered if she should have him home and fine some manner of comfort in a man’s touch. At the same time, the logical part of her mind said that she should not, for to do so would lead him on, perhaps into believing she wanted more from him, or perhaps that she could offer something that was beyond her capabilities to give.

Lust? Well, yes it would have been a fool's errand to deny that Istar Indora found Nafretiri most attractive. And it would have been likewise to deny, that if she had been human; seduction, a splendid hotel room, and a lethargic though light feeding would have been in her future. But she was not human and the lust that hounded all men was not enough to interrupt the intellectual interest he had in her, one so ancient, yet so now and up to date in her thinking.

She marveled him in ways that he had not though of, let alone, sought to be marveled in. She was unique. That was hardly news, all were unique, but he found himself thinking of her in a way that he never though of other immortals. He was beginning to think of her in at least one of the dimensions that he though of Alex, as a possible friend. Oh he wasn't so trusting that he would say such a thing, but then he had never said so of Alex, but they had both known. She had been his friend as much as his maker, or his lover.

As for the inspection that the younger vampire was giving her, it was hardly lascivious. In fact Istar's current, almost blank expression spoke of comprehension, of deep though, and so his thoughts were, pondering over her as one does an exquisite work of art. His mind also worked at the tales she had only mentioned in passing, things that would turn the world upside down if ever revealed. Wow. Istar knew he could not understand her, no not really being the kid from Chicago that grew up and dropped out of school to be a professional thug, but still that child’s compulsion for learning, that had been reawakened by a beautiful vampiress would not lose him and he knew now how a fly felt as it wandered into the jaws of Venus.

He was in possible peril and without a doubt at her mercy, but the “tough guy” in him wasn't bothered either way by that. He wasn’t prideful, he wasn’t the sometimes over confident creature of the night, or the cold blooded murder. And no he was not afraid. Instead, he was Istar Indora and he found himself content where he should not be so.

“So,” he began looking at her with an unreadable expression. “Your husband, what became of him? Is he, well you know, one of us? Should little old me, be watching my back sitting here all unprotected and hitting on his wife?” Istar’s unreadable expression instantly degraded into a self-mocking smile, knowing that whatever her answer, he was far from unprotected or helpless. He just hoped she at least found the joke semi-amusing.

Nafretiri laughed, and it was loud, joyous sound that sounded almost like a crystal bell being rung in the dead of night. Her dark eyes were alight with amusement, and the light of the candle only added to the illusion. Her smile was wide now, revealing white teeth, and she seemed to have lost whatever had been keeping her from showing her real self. That was not to say that whatever it was wouldn't return... but for that moment, it was simply her, without the intrigues, without the age. Simply the woman.

"I am pleased you have nothing to fear from him," replied Nafretiri, one hand fiddling with a pendant she was wearing that fell low on her chest. It was old, as she'd received it a few centuries prior, and it was one of her favourite pieces. "I did not love my husband, and were he one of us, I either would have seen to his death long before now, or I would not be sitting here with you in such a fashion." Which was entirely true. Had her brother-husband still been alive, she would've been kept under lock and key, never to experience her second life.

"But no, he is dead and lost to the sands of time. Not even the heiroglyphics in the temple where he served record his name. I cannot say that I grieve this fact." There was no bitterness, merely neutrality on the subject of her sibling-spouse. He had not cared for her, and she had not cared for him. It was as simple as that. "He died by natural causes. I was stolen away before I became what I am. I never once returned, not even to see my children. Had I returned... I do not believe he would have shown me leniency." She sighed here. "But the past is the past."

Her thoughts turned to Benipé once again this evening. He was the only man she had ever loved, and it was her who had caused him to die. Oh, not directly, no, but it had never sat well with him, turning her into what she had become, encasing her in eternal darkness. Nafretiri hadn't minded, but he had. He'd become distant, and taken on more perilous routes, which had inevitably lead to his downfall...

Why did all her thoughts constantly return to him? Nafretiri did not know, and she did not wish to at the moment. She would better analyze it later on, when alone.

Istar could not help but be rather please with himself, oh he knew he should have a lot of humility, especially faced with someone like Nafretiri. Still it was because of who, and perhaps what she was, that he felt a bit of pride. After all he had long ago promised himself that he would liven up the undead scene at least a little.

Istar Indora was a guy of problems; he fixed them, made them, and had a hell of a lot of em. That in fact was one of the reasons that he promised that he would never ever even go close to a shrink, sometimes knowing you have problems is enough, ya don't wanna look at em too close.

Still, despite all the problems, Istar was also a guy of smiles, he always had one, loved putting them on other folks. That was that really, and was his promise as well.

Immortals were too much angst, depression, and regret. Damn it, he would get smiles out of all of them before he was done. Or perhaps die trying, not a good thought, but hell even he couldn’t make his thoughts all smiles, at least not and be intelligent at the same time. That thought made him laugh, and with that so too did his pride swell all over again.

It was moments later that Istar took another breath; he hadn’t realized that he wasn’t breathing until Nafretiri finished her tale, and he found that the stating of his curiosity was no longer in effect. It was very rarely that Istar forgot to breath, he wasn’t so old that he tended to look as un-alive as some did, but hell; he had been too interested to pretend he was human.

Wow. That had been quite a story, mostly because of the source.

Still, her answer made Istar want to ask more questions. He didn’t want to be rude, but he thought, When am I ever gonna get another chance like this? So he took it.

“Not to be like the cat or anything, but I’m curious…” he paused. “What I mean to say is, I don’t want to grill you or anything, but how did, do you do it? I mean live as long as you have, see the kind of things that I’m sure you’ve seen?”

With this Istar glanced down at his hands, those big chocolate-caramel skinned appendages, those hands that now could crush stone. He looked at those hands, their long tapered nails that were shiny and see through like glass. Nails that could cut flesh, that is what they were, but just as quickly his gaze moved from the tell tale signs of a monster, to the most human of features.

The scars, they were on both the centers of each hand, round and ragged. Istar had a matching set on his feet and a switchblade scar on his side. Christ like, you bet. That had been the idea, it was his crucifixion. This had been one of the worst injuries of his life, and one given to him by guys that he had at least thought of as his friends. Well associates anyway, a lot of them guys that he had saved their lives, and them his.

In that moment, Istar’s smile faded. It faded from his eyes too. Instead he looked as if he might simply run, flee away from a monster that others could not see. Or perhaps they could see it, after all the saw him well enough.

Now, Istar though that perhaps he could forgive the others a little angst.

Perhaps unbeknownst to her companion, Nafretiri’s thoughts closely mirrored his own. She had fallen into somewhat of a slum lately, and she rather detested it. She had once been considered a goddess, and had more power now than she had had then. She felt no real shortage of anything, except perhaps company, but she had her handmaidens Amandine, Gretel, Nicola, and many others. She enjoyed sitting within her expensively decorated parlour beside a fire and watching them converse with each other and herself. Really, she had no reason to be so glum.

And yet, this was the first time she had laughed in such a manner in quite a long time. Interesting.

Nafretiri was determined not to become one of those immortals like in the books that mortals loved. She would not wallow in her self-pity for the whole of her existence. There was little about her to feel sorry for. She had more funds than most average people, was forever beautiful, and could find good company without even trying it seemed. To all those around her, she appeared as almost perfection, and perhaps she was. Nafretiri did not assume to be a connoisseur on what perfection was and what it was not. The only thing she knew for certain was wine. She had devoted centuries to it.

She sipped her wine silently as he asked his questions, her eyes slightly distant. Considering his question, she set down the sparkling crystal, and folded her hands on the table before her, looking at him, but not really seeing him.

“Master Indora, that is a very good question. I have asked myself that many times,” she said, and there was something wistful in her voice. “Others will tell you that they slept for centuries at a time to pass the time, but I found that I could never do that. The idea of waking up in a world not as I left it simply frightened me.” She looked away with a slight frown. It was not often she admitted her fears to anyone.

“I suppose, you must think only of now and what’s to come, but not to such an extent that you cause yourself to panic. You cannot regret the past. To do so is suicide. No amount of wishing shall change what happened. To dwell on it is to watch the world around you disappear.” She nodded, mostly to herself. “Keep informed – that is important. You must know at least a bit of what is going on at any given time. If you go to a dinner, and find you are speaking of things that had happened fifty years prior, you shall be dubbed eccentric at the very least.”

She shook a finger at him, a slight frown on her face. “But yes, looking to the future is most important. There are some that never do that. They drift and create new personas from scratch every time, no funds, no clothes, no lodgings. I would not be able to do that.” She paused for a moment. “And save all you can. Even things that seem useless at this point, like dolls, books, anything like that. One day they may fetch a pretty price…

“I suppose though, the most important thing, is not to grow too attached to any one way of thinking.” Nafretiri turned away. “The perception of reality changes within an instant.”

Istar smiled at her softly, it was not one of his smirks, nor was there any message in the look as he was so fond of doing with looks. No, instead there was only genuine gratitude and a soft pondering, a whole world of thought that seemed to carefully search the weave of Nafretiri’s words, memorizing the grand contours and construction.

It was a moment later that Istar nodded his thanks. “Sounds like good advice. Thanks for it…I guess I should listen to my elders more often. It’s not all Charley Brown, blah blah, after all.” The last was a joke, not a particularly good one, but hey Istar was a hit man, not a comedian, and he’d said so himself many times.

Still Istar laughed at his own joke, the sign of a desperate man some say, and lifted his glass in a toasting gesture. With that, he brought it back and took another, longer, sip.

Glancing for a split second at his hands, he nodded again.

“Yeah, I’d say my reality changed rather quickly and will continue to shift. Past, present, and for all I know future.” He glanced down again. “And I agree with you, sleep is not on my list of things to do with immortality, however long it may really last. And I’d rather simply know what has become of the world, instead of being a stranger in the Land of the Lost. Its creepy really that someone would do that kind of stuff…its like giving up on life…” Istar stopped there, he didn’t need to go on, and anyway he had probably already embarrassed himself enough already.

Nafretiri’s hands cradled her cup as she took a sip, watching him through her eyelashes. He appeared to be considering her words. That was good. She was usually right about things like this. It was not arrogance, though she supposed she did possess some, it was the simple truth. She had seen much, and learned much. She was not about to deny that she was smarter than the average mortal or vampire, or not to herself. A certain amount of humility was required in public. It was imperative that she not drive certain social contacts away. They tended to make life easier.

This… Charlie Brown. Nafretiri couldn’t claim to know who he was. A motivational speaker perhaps? This, of course, did not mean she was going to ask. It was probably some pop culture reference that she’d feel foolish for not knowing. Still, she smiled at him, her face depicting none of her confusion as to the reference. Roman philosophers she would know. This Charlie Brown she did not. With a mental shrug, she replied.

“I have found that one’s elders can often have some very good advice. There are times when you don’t agree with this advice, but it is merely because it is tainted with their personal experiences, situations, and views on the world.” There was a sudden flashback to her mother, who told her sternly that dreams did not belong among nobility, and that she must be a dutiful wife to her brother-husband at all times. “However, you would find that if you were put in these situations with the same outlook, it proves to be rather good advice.” Or, in her case, you were stolen as a slave, thus relieving yourself of imprisonment to a husband you held no affection for at all.

Toasting her own glass, Nafretiri took another dainty sip.

“My reality has shifted much as well,” she commented. “Once, I lived in a kingdom that worshiped gods, and credited them with everything. I was in charge of dutifully taking care of worship, and I did so. Now, I look at what’s around me,” she gestured with her hand, “and I see it is very much a world of science, and that there is no place for gods, save in the history books entitled ‘mythology’.”

What she did not say was that she still fully believed in these gods, despite what science told her.

Istar didn't reply, nope now was a time to listen, and a time to think. And he did both of these things, both while and after Nafretiri was speaking, in fact it seemed as if he were lost in though.

But as the silence seemed to stretch, after Nafretiri, and with his own thoughts running rampant, Istar finally found the words he though he was searching for. He asked the question that was suddenly on his lips.

"So, what do you think of this world of science? I mean I can't imagine it is anything like you could ever have guessed it would be...what I mean to say is, how does the 'new' world strike you?"

Asking this question made Istar remember something his sire had once said.

"All things are transient, they pass away. Nothing is eternal, even you aren't not really. Oh, your body might stay the same, but nothing else will. With every day that you live and thing that you learn, you'll change and the old you will pass away. Don't be afraid of the future, just live it. Live it like you mean it."

Istar remember Alex's words, and it almost made him laugh, he had though he hadn't been paying attention when she said stuff like that, but suddenly, here it was in his head.

He guessed he had learned something after all... Ha.ha.