Beasts Reading a Bestiary

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Kenneth slithered to and fro in the Caldarium wit two books and a notepad in his hands. Occasionally he would look down at one book illustrated and beautifully calligraphed. Then he'd check another, yellowish orange and small. Far too modern to match up with the tomb in his other hand. Then he'd write down a few notes; hiss in frustration and resume hi stalking from side to side of the caldarium.

He'd been at it for hours. He torturous task of translating entries from the tomb they had recovered was driving him crazy. This word meant that. Except in this case. Except what case was the word in? And did this word still have the same meaning after so many years!?

And worst of all he dared not ask his academic colleges. If Games was truely supernatural (and long established as a Kindred might be), could Kenneth trust that his questions wouldn't lead back to him and thus his family.

Gilroy sat down on one of concrete benches surrounding the glowing pools of the Necropolis. He knew who he had to ask. He just needed the wherewithal to do it.

[Cynthia Weiss]

Cynthia had the appearance of someone who just threw on whatever they had in the closet for the sake modesty. Faded, torn jeans. An old black hoodie that once advertised some band but the logo on the back had faded to nothing but an oddly darker patch and a pair of old Doc Martins. Even her makeup was simple. Clearly she did not expect to leave the Necropolis tonight.

It was not the sound of her boots against the concrete that announced her coming so much as the smell. Something that seemed weakened in the presence of the Caldarium. Or perhaps it was the relaxing quality of the place that pushed the curse out of ones mind. considering the annoyed look on her face she could use some relaxation.

She paused as she spotted a hunched figure. For a moment it gave her the impression of a large, filthy rodent gnawing on something. It took her a second to realise it was actually Kenneth. The goth approached him. "Evening Gilroy." She looked down, seeing the books spread out before the scholar. "Still wrestling with the journal?"

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Kenneth's mind seem couldn't seem to help but wander. From verb tenses it went to past and present. From that it went to reactions. And from that it went to chemistry. Which was more repellant (E )-2-butene-1-thiol or 3-methyl-1-butanethiol, he considered as he stared glassy eyed at the pages in incomprehension.

The Worm wriggled at the realization that these were not his thoughts but something brought about by the supernatural presence of another. He deliberately inhaled just to confirm. And it was at that point her heard her voice. Masked so far by the Caldarium.

"Miss Weiss," he hiss with a forced smile. He instinctively held the tomb closer as if fearing chemical contamination. "What a pleasure to see you," he lied.

Although.. considering...

"Yes," he admitted "I am still struggling." Gilroy eyed her over like a scavenger making sure its prey was dead. "I'm having trouble with the language. Perhaps you could help me?"

The snake reluctantly held forth the coil that contained the book. He'd rather not risk dissolving whatever information the ink contained but the walking chemical plant could hold the key to translation.

"You speak German correct? Maybe you could help me," he pleaded helplessly.

He squirmed.

[Cynthia Weiss]

Cynthia raised an eyebrow as she reflexively took a step back. The quivering, the twitching. The reactions were odd. Wrong. Some part of her thought he was about to have a heart attack or perhaps inexplicably explode in a horrific shower of bile and gore. The curse. She reminded herself. Only the now missing Longstreets manifestations had such an effect on her. A step forward and a brave face were put up. "Same."She managed to get out.

The goth nodded. "I used to visit Germany frequently when I was still breathing." She leaned down towards the pages. The toxic miasma came into sharper focus. Much of it now morphing to something that smells distressingly similar to Chlorine. "Anything in particular you are having trouble with? I've been staring at a blank canvas all evening and I'm feeling like I'm losing my mind." There was the distinct memory of offering Kenneth help back when they were getting the book.

She had to remember to restrain her habit of offering help. It was going to end her one day.

[Kenneth Gilroy]

She was lying about it being a pleasure to see him. He could tell. By the smell. It was only by reminding himself that the cuse affected all family family members that he kept his smile.False and predatory as a snake cut in half by a lawn mower.

“Any help you could offer would be appreciated,” he said, without expressing how he though the rot she emitted admitted she had no expertise near an ancient document.

“I understand the concept of gendered nouns well enough. However, the words diverge from what I know of common roots more often than I am used to.” In the scientific field your could depend on Latin. Or even Greek. But these Germanic roots he couldn’t place.

"If you have time," which God giving would be short with the fumes she was giving off "I'd like to see what you think of my translatons."

[Cynthia Weiss]

"It shouldn't be any trouble." The goth said with a nod to the Worm. It was going to take some time to get used to his presence. She was doing her at maintaining a polite facade at least. More than the majority of others would give them at any rate.

Cynthia shrugged a bit. She was educated though most of it had been forgotten over the years. Deep knowledge of language roots went by the wayside when one was occupied by thoughts of how one was going to find blood before going torpid befor the sun.

She looked around the Caldarium for a moment, frowning. "Could move this to my room though. Better lighting always helps." Her gaze fell on one of the candles burning. Despite the ambience created, the beast twitched none the less from such pinpricks of flame. Paranoid thoughts were starting to invade. She looked away and back to Gilroy. "Plus I've been burning incense. Should make the smell a bit more...Tolerable." She was not certain if it would actually help. Scents like hers do not follow natural laws.

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Gilroy smiled in a way that almost seemed like he was wincing.

“Of course,” he said. Her logic after all was right on point. More light would help the process. Though the thought of being in smaller quarters with Weiss did not make for the best working environment either. Not just because of the stench but the little niggling paranoia that she might be taking this opportunity to kill him. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t even have to worry about a body. All she had to do was stand close by and the flesh would dissolve.

The smile remained fixed as he pushed down the cursed thoughts she evoked.

“Shall we?” he asked pitifully. Ignorant Worm that he was, he didn’t know where she’d set up sepulcher. And like a mangy dog latching on to whoever gave it food, he stood ready to follow.

“I am curious though,” he broaches “If you don't mind answering. Does your curse actually allow you to produce and emit chemical compounds or is purely mental?” It was admittedly a bit of a private question to ask. Maybe a little rude. Most times Haunts avoided addressing each other's undead manifestations. However, Kenneth was intensely interested in the answer.

[Cynthia Weiss]

Cynthia nodded and gestured for him to follow her. She ducked out of the soothing light of the Caldarium and into the dimly lit passageway.

Her jaw clenched when the question asked about her curse. A cold, stabbing stare was shot right at the worm. It softened after a moment before the audible sound of air escaping through her nose could be heard. "No, I can't do anything like that." She finally said. "Don't think I would be allowed anywhere if I could actually do that." She slowly started to relax as she let the subject drop until it was like nothing was said.

After a few moments they came before a collapsed wall near the catacombs with a thick black drape concealing a faint ray of light. Cynthia pulled it back and entered. Christmas lights and electric camping lanterns strung up by the pipes illuminated the Sepulchre. The wall on the opposite side of the room was dotted with paints in various styles. Landscapes, abstract pieces that were a riot of colour and portraits of various people. Evidently the goth dabbled in a few styles over the years. From the twisted and disturbing appearances of some of the subjects, It was obvious that some pieces were portraits of other Nosferatu. There was a blank canvas surrounded by brushes and paints to the left. There was a steel door opened a crack flashing faded warning signs. Whatever this room and the adjoining one were once used for, it was claimed by her now.

Cynthia dragged two fold out chairs into the centre of the room. "Congratulations, you are the first visitor I've had." The artist announced as she took a seat. "Now, what have you got so far?"

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Kenneth strangely enough held the Waste’s gaze. Like a rat held in thrall by a cobra’s hypnotism.

“Fascinating,” he commented “In either case it truly is a unique ability.” He really would like to actually confirm whether it was a physically manifest curse. Cross’ smell was only a recombination of carbon, Cynthia’s did so much more. Yet even as a psychic illusion, he couldn’t help but wonder how she induced even the undead mind to “smell” all the variety of toxic and volatile chemicals he had detected coming off of her. He wanted to question further of how she knew it wasn’t real. An unfortunate encounter with airport security perhaps? But he sensed he might have already pushed the boundaries she was willing to explore.

He followed behind her as she led through the catacombs. He almost mistook the curtain for a shadowed wall before she easily pulled it aside. His head twitched around the room quickly, taking in the various styles and colors. If he had to hazard a guess, nothing early than post-impressionism. Which would place her age at no more than 120. Though that was assuming a great many things about her upbringing, her artistic studies, and how willing or able she was to adopt modern stylistic methods (past or present).

“I’m honored,” he replied when she mentioned he was the first to see her haven. His eyes still fervently searching the room for potential clues. “Are these recent works?” The Worm extending a careful fang back into her past before her next question brought him back to the present.

“I’ve been focusing on ‘Revenants’ entry, since it pertains to the Kindred and their weaknesses. Which allows me to at least have some basis for ensuring translation since it has high fidelity regarding our kind. My current translation source,” He held up the modern German to English translation guide “does not take into account several hundred years of linguistic drift. But it does provide a starting point using intuitive assumptions.”

"This sentence here for example," he opened the tomb and flipped to the correct page "translates from what I could tell as "a crafted beam should through the heart be driven". Which I assume is supposed to actually refer to a wooden stake.

[Cynthia Weiss]

Cynthia hunched slightly as Gilroy talked more about her curse. She did not hold the same fascination with how the Blood manifested in her.

There were a few more belongings Gilroy could spot. On a rather rickety looking table in a corner was a few cassettes with a CD/tape player nearby, some rather battered books and dog-eared novels, a smouldering incense burner and a portable power supply tucked underneath feeding electricity into everything. Most of her personal effects seemed modern, if slightly dated as far as one could tell. Cynthia shook her head. "They are some of the ones I kept over the years. Burned a few old favours to have them moved here." The logistics alone of that task made her regret leaving them in San Francisco for so long. "Still working through a bit of a creative slump at the moment."

As she leaned in closer, it became obvious the burning incense did not seem to help as much as the Haunt would have liked. The smell of lavender intermingled with the goth, creating something sickly sweet just beneath it. Eyes scanned the pages of the tome, not really paying much mind to the Guide beyond the cover. She frowned slightly and looked baffled for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that seems to be close." She finally said as she leaned away from the Priest. "Earlier forms of German are different from modern German. I can get the gist of it at least."