Beady eyes

Mountainside Planetarium - Clutch Only 
#1
Beauregard had tried in the past to read in bird form. There was something charming about the idea of a little mockingbird turning pages.

But it was difficult to get the angle right, and the distance, and once he was far enough away to properly read, he was too far to turn a page. That task in itself was frequently difficult, and the fragility of paper became clearer with the relative clumsiness of a beak.

And so, unfortunately, he was forced to read the ordinary way. Slouched slightly in an arm chair, legs outstretched to rest on an ottoman before him. But after some hour or so, he found his eyes needed a moment away from text in a somewhat dimly lit space.

Placing the book on his chest, he tilted his head back a tad and let his eyelids close.

Not napping, of course. Vampires did not nap.

But to say that he eventually drifted close enough to it to lose track of his surroundings?

That was very possible.



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#2
Entering the Planetariums common room, he hadn't truly expected to see anyone, not instantly at least, and certainly not the Dominus. Eyes widening just the slightest, he was both surprised to see that Beauregard was both simply lounging, and that there was a book about Chinchillas resting upon his chest. A smile immediately made its way to his lips as he made his way closer, curiosity keeping him from just letting the man rest.

"Are you planning on getting a pet, Mr. Beauregard?' Voice cheery as the smile on his face.
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#3
He wasn't napping. Truly, again, a vampire could not nap.

But he was startled, jolting up with a sharp breath, an old habit.

Forrest was not the vampire he expected to see, but it was not an unpleasant surprise. Blinking himself into awareness again, he realized the book had fallen into his lap.

"Adopted one, actually," he said, looking the boy over. "Have any pets of your own?"
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#4
Forrest had to swallow down the cue that tried to escape his throat at the mention of the man actually already owning one of the cute fuzzy creatures, his eyes however, were unable to hide the awe he felt. Shaking his head, Forrest waved his hand as if swatting the question away, a slight laugh escaping his lips.

"Ah no, while I love to look at them, I don't have near the amount of patience needed to care for one properly." Even a goldfish required some sort of effort and cleaning on his part that he wasn't quite sure that he could manage. "I think I'll stick to my antiques. Did you name them yet?" He asked, easily moving the topic along, sorta wishing that the furry baby was right in front of him as he spoke.
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#5
The amusement had him smiling. There was joy in defying expectations. He nodded toward one of the other seats, inviting the vampire to sit.

"Her name is Annabel, though I cannot claim to have named her. It felt rude to change it after the adoption."

There was something comical about adoring the look of a little beast so utterly dopey. Beauregard found it a pitiful sort of charming, he would admit.

"Antiques, you said?"
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#6
Annabel?

Forrests eyes glittered at the sound, having met quite a few girls with the same name in his life time. It was cute, almost like what he would see some of the grandmothers of this time have. "It was kind of you to consider her feelings then." He answered genuinely, believing fiercely in the fact that all things, even plants, had some sort of feelings within them.

"Yeah, I suppose most of them would be from around the time I was born, but sometimes I find a few good knickknacks that were before even that time." He wasn't the oldest vampire out there, but artifacts were harder and harder to find the older they got, especially when they weren't around the great wars.
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#7
He chuckled. Such sincere words from Forrest. Apparently the way to the heart of every vampire was kindness to animals. Beauregard recalled the report of Samuel's thoughts on the matter.

"When was it you were born?" he asked, tucking some scrap of paper he'd left on the chair into the book to save his place.

There was much to learn about the bizarre creature Beauregard had brought into his home.
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#8
It was strange, almost like some sort of hellish entity had taken over his thoughts for a brief moment, but he was back now. Moving towards the offered seat, Forrest swiftly sat his butt down, hands naturally folding into his lap as he made to answer the question asked of him. "Born in the year 1914, transition during the second world war." Eyes shadowing just the slightest as he remembered the time he had spent there, it was only a brief moment, eyes returning to their original chipperness.

"It feels like yesterday to be honest." Strange how time seemed to still speed by, even as a vampire. "How about you, Mr. Beauregard?"
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#9
Beauregard had heard many tales of soldier turnings. He could only imagine how quickly they would have to desert it all, permanently nocturnal. A story for another day, given by the brief dip in the boy's demeanor.

The question was politely turned back on him, but a correction had to be made first. "Mr. Beauregard" had been forgivable once. It was nearly cloying a second time.

"Just Beauregard. Mr. Bertrand or Dominus, if you insist."

He smiled gently, a softening of the blow of a direct fix.

"Born in 1866. Died... some years later."

His tone was light, a man not entirely driven to reveal his exact age before death. He accompanied it with a wave of his hand.

"We're both rather youthful in the scheme of it all."
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#10
Oops, Forrest took no offense to the correction, simply taking a mental note so that he might not make the same mistake towards Beauregard again later. Returning the smile, Forrest ran a single hand through his hair offering a chuckle at the statement that was made. "Still strange to think that over 100 years is still youthful to us." He doubted it was something he would ever get used to, watching the world continue to age, as he stayed exactly where he was now.

"It is nice to find other though, makes it a bit easier the handle." And by it, he meant vampires, because honestly it wasn't something he'd really wish on anyone. Immortality was not as fun as they made it out to be in the movies.
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#11
It was strange, perhaps. But Beauregard had always felt youthful, and he assumed he always would. He was an energetic man, lively in most moods.

"I have spent very little time away from the company of other vampires," he said. "Turned by a clutch, myself. I think you'll find you grow stronger, faster here. What power was it that you had again?"

They all blurred together, save for a few notable ones that worried him.
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#12
Forrest hadn't joined for any sort of power, but the knowledge that strength would come from his joining was relieving. He had honestly been feeling a bit useless since his encounter with the cheetah man, having little to no power in stopping him, and even allowing for his bloodlust to get the better of him. It was quite embarrassing to recall, and he was a bit grateful when Beauregard came with another question.

"Ah, I can create and manipulate ice." Forrest answered easily, holding out a hand as he formed a small chunk of it within his palm for demonstration. "I can create much more than this, but it does tend to get a bit messy when it melts." Crushing the bit in his hands, Forrest wiped away the lingering moisture on his jeans.

"What kind do you have?" He asked, looking up once more, thoroughly intrigued to find out what power this man held to hold such a position of power. It, no doubt, had to be something pretty strong.
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#13
Ice. Beauregard couldn't claim he'd have been particularly thrilled to have such an ability. But certainly there had to be uses for it.

Could the liquid in someone's veins be frozen, perhaps?

"Very curious," he said, already full of questions but needing to take his turn.

Though did he, truly?

"I have a thousand questions for you first," he said, teasing but ultimately focused. "What sorts of uses have you found for it?"

Could he sculpt from ice with his... mind, essentially, or was he limited to natural formations?
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