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"Ice has that effect. Persistent, aggravating, and ******** powerful."

She raised a hand to her bloodied cheek, the small slice across it persistently oozing, but it was nothing major.

"He's the reason FOR the basement and I am once again thankful for your aide, and apologetic for everything that happened. With luck... nothing of the sort will again. Though if he DOES show his face around you again, I wouldn't wind him up too much - I would prefer if he didn't shift his attentions to you so you end up in a similar state."

Clearly, she was somewhat concerned at the interest the creature had taken in Dagoth, not least of which because he'd identified with him as Atlantean a little too easily and readily. With Ice, it was hard to know what was puppetry and deception, and what was genuine and amusing to him. Trying to work out purpose had long since fallen by the wayside, as both Bailey and Ice were known to do things just for the sake of doing it.
That said, there was one discrepancy she felt she should mention...

"IF you have any issues with him... despite the bluster, he really doesn't like fire. Just saying."

"Persistent, aggravating, ******** powerful. And OLD.

Ice is Tzimisce. And old enough that factions didn't exist in his day, nor do I think he gives a crap today either, and merely plays at Camarilla sympathies because it suits him.

If you look back through history, there are many stories that seem to fit Ice's methods and favoured physical forms, but no one knows how old he actually is except his brother. And I wouldn't trust Fear any more than I do Deceit.

The chances are he knew either because he's been keeping closer tabs on the house than usual, or because he could smell it on you. Just like you can smell MY blood now. That's not to say though that he didn't visit the city in person. I genuinely don't know."

She stood still as he came closer, frowning slightly as he shook his head at her, then laid his hands on his head.

"You ok?"

She turned towards him and placed her hands on his shoulders, not noticing blood from her wound was on her hands, and thus staining his clothing.

"If it was me doing it, I would. But its not. You're trying to remember, and you've stayed because you choose to, not because I'm forcing you. I bet you've questioned yourself, and why you have done so, but for now... you're still here. Something inside you DOES want to know. And maybe deal with the past. That might not be a bad thing."

The sadness she saw was what made her speak. She didn't let go of his shoulders, and impulsively hugged him gently, before stepping back.

"You have ties to my kind, of a sort beyond just the bits you do recall. Stay and merely learn our weaknesses if that is what suits you. But accept your own thoughts, and your memories. For good OR bad. Its the only way to make sure you don't make the same mistakes again, and put things right where you can.


For my part... I will find a way to put right what you saw the other day. Somehow."

"Whether you have or not, that doesn't excuse allowing myself to be forced into a situation where I HAD to kill, and did not CHOOSE to kill."

She sought smokes from her pockets, finally locating and sparking one up.

"As for my past, it's been with me a long time, and I'm used to facing up to it. One day, I hope to be strong enough to stab it in its smug face. Freedom, after all, is always the goal.

Good evening, Dagoth."

Smiling, she inclined her head to him, then headed out the door.

.: My mouth agape, rejects the solid air and lungs hold... :.

A voice. Distant, quiet, hard to place. It would like as not break the wan concerntration of the ex-pirate from the poetry, no doubt in time to see a dark shadow sprint across the bottom of the lawn and disappear into the woodland.

Close behind it, though slower and slowing ever more, a lithe female figure, with an unusual silhouette to her back.
Stopping in the middle of the bottom of the lawn, a beam of emerging moonlight showed a single wing briefly, before it was gone and cursing in a strange foreign tongue could be heard in its place.

The Lady of the house.

The figure started at the sound of the voice, then turned and walked towards Dagoth, eyebrow quirked as light from the house reflected off her face.

"Dagoth. Good evening. Don't worry - it was only a young Garou. Fled with his tail between his legs, before I could catch up to him, mores' the woe."

Clearly, the Lady assumed his tone was aimed at the figure that had scurried into the woodlands ahead of her.
Stopping short of where the Atlantean stood, she sought and lit a smoke, exhaling slowly as she savoured the particular tobacco blend in tonight's pack. She also noted the half eaten food, and indicated it with her smoking hand.

"Not hungry tonight?"

"Werewolves. Garou is their name for themselves, just like we prefer Kindred to Vampire.
Stupid tree hugging idiots that most of them are, with a berserkers fury, some of them are worth grudging respect and their true name."

She took a seat beside him, nodded approval at his choice in book, not realising he was a tad embarrassed about it, then prodded the food on his plate. Without further ado, she came straight out with a question she knew could likely get her injured, and that she shouldn;t ask if she wanted to stay on the pirate good side. It was, however, a question she felt needed asking.

"The woman from your past. The Cainite. Did she ever get you to drink her blood?"

She smirked, and leant back, spreading her arms across the back of the bench, crossing her left leg over her right.

"That'd be a yes then, I think..."

Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, almost mischievious though she hadn't asked purely out of spite or amusement.

"Learn already Dagoth. You know you can't beat me, so stop the posturing and use your grey cells instead of your foreskin to think. I always have a purpose, and knowing the answer will help me help you.

She did, didn't she? And I'm going to bet it was more than 3 times, on 3 nights."