(1506) Viv and David

A pensive look crosses the Mortician's face. Six decades of existence have given David quite the perspective on the holiday. “Like most holidays it's been buried by ambitious ad men but this one has the added hogwash of faux patriotism. There's fireworks and grilled meats, of course, but the motions have been done for so long, that I doubt how many really appreciate what the holiday is about. Instead, the irresponsible end up in the hospital because a poorly made firework blew up in their hands.”

Thin lips form a frown as David adds, “And the truly irresponsible end up on my tables, being embalmed, because they insisted on driving while intoxicated.”

“Whichever title you are most comfortable with, though, I think David is fine,” answers the Shadow. “I am different things to different people but, I think most people in the domain default to Priscus Regan.” The word strange on the tongue, “Which is fine, I suppose, I'm not a stickler.”

Vivian pursed her lips, the description from the Mekhet was exactly how she perceived it. “So, what do you think it should be about?” Considering where she came from, it would be an interesting perspective. “Your irritation with this holiday is slightly similar to mine with the Fifth of November.”

The Daeva shook her head. “A waste of good Vitae if you ask me. Kine can be inexplicably idiotic with spirits. Really, is it that difficult to call a taxi?”

“Okay, David. Perhaps just when you and I are speaking alone.” Nodding at her chosen preference. “Although in other company then Priscus.” Doubtful she’d ever get a title in this Domain, as she didn’t her previous location. She was content with that, even if she wanted to be of more help in some matters.

Never thought I would be thinking that.

Looking out into the court, David works out how to word his feelings on the subject, “The Revolutionary War was a violent reaction to the callousness of the 'Old World,' 18th century surveillance culture, and is a parting of identities.” This, from a man who declared a separate identity from the long-shadow cast by Martha Villiers. The thesis set, David continues briefly, “It, in a way, inspired others and was the model followed by them later.”

A glance is cast back to the thoroughly British Vivian York before David adds, “It should be celebrated as the birth of a people, rather than as a celebration of the war that followed. We should observe it by learning who we were, as well as appreciating who we are becoming.”

“As far as spirits,” David trails off as he looks pointedly to the bar, “I never had any until very recently. I don't really understand it myself. Perhaps the moment passed me by.”

Vivian's decision as to titles and formality and the dichotomy they form is merely accepted with a small inclination of his head.

Strange to be on the other end of the spectrum for the recant of history. Vivian had often heard the other side of the story. Like the tea party silliness and everything that followed. English didn’t hate America now of course but to read the history was quite interesting.

As interesting as David’s view of how it was.

“Surveillance culture. Fascinating that America broke away from that years ago, yet now the tide is coming back. At least that’s what I gathered from the media explosion last year.” The Daeva shook her head, dismayed at something America fought for, yet it circled about.

Lifting a finger to acknowledge something important the Shadow mentioned. “Inspiring others, the birth of a people and that the country was a model for freedom, yes that is the message that should be sent, I would think. I wonder how the present festivities came about? Surly even 50 years ago, it was not as you describe it currently.”

Vivian’s grin turned Cheshire at the mention of spirits. “If Kine have drank less than sub par spirits, the taste is rather good. A slight lightness of the head accompanies warm Vitae. I’m not certain one could get drunk off of it though.” Laughing gently, imagining how many humans it would take without killing them to experience that type of drunkenness.

“It's been a strange decade and a half,” David agrees with Vivian's assessment. “The Quartering Acts allowed the British to watch even the most intimate details of the lives of their Colonialists. Of course,” the Shadow notes, drawing allusions to the present, “it was painted as a way to keep their subjects safe. These days, in the name of safety, our governments no longer need to be quartered within our homes. They are in our homes in different ways.”

Considering how the festivities were in his youth, David remembers, “It was different fifty-years ago. My Father and I spent the day at a lake, fishing.” A simple and brief look into the insular life of David Regan, “Though, some of my neighbors used it as a time to show that they were more patriotic than someone else.”

David turns more squarely towards Vivian as she mentions blood-laced spirits. “I suppose you are right. Given how thin spirits make blood, I don't think we could get to that level of drunkenness.” At least, not without killing them.

“Its strange to think my ancestors did this so many years ago. Now, resurfacing in a new way. With all this new technology, these times are far more dangerous for us, than they have been through the course of time.”

Vivian’s eyes veered toward someone again, then back. “We should be quite thankful the Prince allows us to use this place as needed, secure from prying Kine.”

Puzzled and curious, the Daeva’s brows moved to curiosity. “Define, more patriotic. Fireworks I presume?” Fishing… Vivian had definitely never been fishing, unless you count dresses at Lavish & Squalor.

“I suppose one could try, given there were enough members of a Herd.” The safest way that came to mind, and even then, it would take many. The Daeva wondered if someone like Asa had enough around to try such an endeavor. Still, it would be getting drunk for probably five seconds. “Binge drinking is terrible. A Vampire binge drinking makes the news…”

“More like,” David says shifting in his seat, “who has the bigger flag hanging out on their porch. Or, who in the neighborhood makes the better flag cake. Some turn how much they care about the country into a competition and in so doing, reveal how little they care.” David's frown deepens, “When the Vietnam War hit, those people were no where to be found to help returning veterans.” No, they were left to their own devices and many of them ended their own lives by their hand. Too many had quiet services at his Father's funeral home.

At the second thread of conversation, a look of agreement crosses David's features. “And, on top of that is rather excessive and selfish,” disapproval for the theoretical lingers in the back of his throat as the Shadow speaks. “It speaks only of caring about themselves, right now. Forgetting that there are thousands of nights ahead of them.” That sort of thing would say a lot about the Kindred, even if it never made the news.

“Ah yes, I have observed that the American culture does the proverbial ‘keep up with the Joneses’ so to speak.” In a mocking male voice, Vivian made a few muscular gestures with her arms. “I must have a bigger house. I must have a bigger truck! My fireworks display far exceeds yours!”

But in a more solemn tone, shaking her head, the Daeva closed her eyes briefly. “I heard much about how those Veterans were treated upon their return. I also heard accounts of Hanoi Jane.” She really never cared for Jane Fonda as it were. “But, it seems like, and I could be mistaken, the veterans now are better cared for? Or at least not cast aside and blamed for their involvement I would presume.” A realm that she wasn’t familiar with, the news in Toronto only showed little of American soldiers involvement now days. It was more government issues that made the news.

“Indeed so true, David.” Her head tilted slightly. “But, isn’t that how any over indulgent person, Kine or Kindred should feel if they were to binge?”

David's left hand fans out on his lap, smoothing an imagined wrinkle. Vivian's question on today's veterans brings up one in particular. “I wish I could say we take better of them,” David states sadly, distantly. “As a people, I think we care more about ourselves and what one celebrity does, than about anything real. The thought that taking a stand or forming opinions, talking about politics in any way has deeply entrenched itself.”

A quiet shake of his head, “At least, I'm only on the outside, looking in.” Admitting, “I don't have all of the pieces. But, pure neglect is probably the most alienating.”

Taking in a breath, that moment that unconsciously signals the end of court passes. “Looks like some are getting ready to leave. Are you staying?” If he's honest, David expects that Vivian will mingle into the small hours.

Most would probably think David was being the coined phrase a ‘Debbie Downer’, but Vivian understood his sorrows. Well, some of them. He cared deeply for Kine and Kindred alike. Considering he was still upset over the death of his beloved Aileen, she didn’t take away his sympathy for the Veterans either. These were things he needed to get off of his chest. For her, she used sex as an outlet for getting through her Requiem. But for David, he found solace in his work, even if it was a reminder of how short human life was. He saw their last days before their burial or cremation.

“It only takes one person to care David. One person to make a difference. I think you know that already though.” Vivian’s hand reached to his knee, resting there for a moment. “Its people like you that may change their whole world. It’s not doing anything that is the problem, no matter how selfish people as a whole can be.”

After this whole time of reflection, the Daeva didn’t feel like staying. In fact, it inspired her to do a little more than just the usual. “Actually, I think I’m going to pay a visit to the truck stop. You’ve made me realize that I should do more than just eat breakfast while I’m there.” Patting his leg, then removing her hand with a swift nod.