Velvet Blue - A Bavarian Werewolf in London

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Description: Velvet Blue is having trouble with dogs in London when Konrad Sabrewulf shows up--giving him even more!

and all work?"

Some would say there's nothing quite like the night life you see in London. There is a certain exuberance to those that seem to grow more active well after the sun has set. Some spots boast a much greater nighttime population than others. It's probably no great surprise that Piccadilly has its fair share of night owls ready to enjoy those blessed after-twilight hours.

Footsteps from crisp new shoes clap against the sidewalk as a well-dressed figure makes his way along York Way. A line of people has formed out into the street for those waiting to enter the nearby nightclub conveniently located right where one the main bus stops is located for a few transport lines. Stepping to his right and allowing a couple to pass, this man adjusts the bag whose strap rests over his shoulder and casually slips a hand into his pocket to withdraw a shiny gold pocket watch. A single press causes the watch to flip open and the face within reveals the nature of the late hour. The man sighs.

"Lost track of time again, have you, Konrad?" he says to himself before closing the watch and replacing it with a tuck of his thumb back into the right pocket of his waistcoat. His gaze rises and he watches yet another handful of people pass by. One woman is in a hurry to catch a bus that seems to have arrived a bit early. "Scheisse," he breathes to himself. All of these people around; it's all a bit overwhelming, but he wouldn't have trusted any other clockmaker with his dear watch, and it's not like he has people to run errands for him anymore. But, the time. The time! It's far too late. He'll need to take his medicine soon, but...he can't out here. Not in the open. Looking over his shoulder, he turns and begins walking down a side street, Vale Royal, searching for an alleyway that might be dark enough to 'borrow'.

"You nefer learn. So irresponsible. All sese people around, and ofer a vatch?"

"Arf arf! Rrrrrr..." The noise of a dog begins to split the night as Konrad continues along the side of the street.

"Hey, quit it, get out of here--"

"Ruff, art! Grrr..." a voice of /someone/ sounding harassed and sighing joins the medly of barks--from somewhere along the side street ahead, what looks like a Jack Russel Terrier is pawing at the base of a tree whose branches overhang the sidewalk, occassionally jumping up to try and reach whatever it is it's after with it's jaws.

...Said 'thing' being a tail. Not a long slender furred tail, like that of a cat, or a bushier one of a squirrel, of some sort--no, this one was... long, blue... and scaly? It might be hard to read that from it in the street light, but it's even spaded, egags!

"Don't you got a home to go to, Jesus Christ--" Velvet Blue sighs as they hang from one of the larger boughs by their arms and legs, their tail however drooping occasionally enough to be within about a foot of the dog's jaws--each time drops low and the dog jumps--it's pulled back up. It's like a neverending struggle. The Darkstalker is clad in what looks like a long gray coat, leggings and long boots visible beneath it.

Someone's got dog trouble!

As usual, the impeccably-dressed man has little luck. His eyes dart downward to glance at the pocket his watch is in before walking forward to investigate the source of the noisiness. He still has time. He still has time...

Konrad doesn't expect to see what he sees when he sees it as draws close enough. And, indeed, the treed individual surely finds this fuzzy-cheeked upper class man coming across them and staring. However, as the situation lends, perhaps the man is so distracted with his own problems that he fails to notice the most -obvious- things and instead focuses on the, well, you can almost call it a dog, but the city has rats far larger, he'd wager.

Another sigh, stare locked onto the terrier, as the man nears. "Gehen Sie weg! Shoo!" states this man with a wave of the hand and a stern tone of voice. "Geh jetzt nach Hause. Jetzt! Shoo! Shoo!" With a grunt of annoyance, the man stalks over to deal with the dog hands-on, if required, with his jaw clenched. He needs to stay clam.

Stay calm, damn it.

The adrenaline of this simple confrontation is already enough to make the man feel a twinge in the back of his mind and his skin crawls as his heartbeat increases in tempo. Not thinking the most clear and just wanting to be rid of the situation so he can move on and find a quiet place to inject himself, he reaches over with a stoop forward to try picking up the dog. "Kleines Nagetier..!"

Velvet's griping quits when Konrad arrives on the scene, and shoos the dog away with a few yelps. It's probably more afraid by the presence of what feels like a much larger canine approaching than it is by a large human trying to shoo it away, even as small as it is. The dog gets the hell out of there, as Konrad becomes the top dog on the scene.

"Phew... thanks," Velvet Blue's long white wedge-heeled boots drop down from the bough of the tree, before the rest of the bat-eared darkstalker follows.

"I appreciate it, I didn't want to hurt the thing but it wouldn't leave me alone, it must have thought I'm a cat," which... wouldn't be very far from the truth, given the yellow cat-like eyes Velvet possessed, which were luminescent in the gloom, even. Velvet likely also hadn't picked up on the fact that Konrad was neither normal, nor unable to see his non-human appearance. Instead, the performer grinned and bowed his head, their long dark hair falling over their face for a moment, partially obscuring it.

"Is uh, something wrong there?" they grinned sheepishly and tilted their head, looking over at the wolf man.

The Bavarian man's gaze follows the dog as it leaves and only shifts his attention back to the other after it is has fled completely. Timed perfectly with the drop and landing, Konrad finds himself face to face with the one so valiantly (if mostly selfishly) rescued. There is a moment -- a nearly magical moment of time -- that lasts all of two very very long seconds before the snappy dresser inhales with a gasp and backpedals so quickly that he smacks into the wall of the building behind him with a significant amount of force.

The impact includes a blow to the back of the head, the smack audible despite the bass-driven beats filling the block from the nightclub not too far away, which doesn't help the man's attempts at keeping himself calm. In fact, this is the very opposite of calm. "Was bist du?" asks the perhaps perfectly human man in German while having a perfectly human response. He's not scared. It's not a response out of fear. It's a response of being faced with the absolute unexpected. "What- What are-" The light in Konrad's eyes seems to fade for a moment; there is a clear dim in conscious awareness as if he perhaps hit his head too hard against the brick and concrete wall, after all.

He comes to about as quickly as he left and, without taking his eyes off the one before him, scrambles to open the bag hanging at his side. He could be reaching for anything in there, really. However, he adds a sentence that might be puzzling to cloud the reaction as where dimness once darkened his eyes, a near desperation fills:

"I'm out of time. Mein Gott, I'm out of time."

"Jeez, I know I dress very loudly, but," Velvet blinks as Konrad scrambles back, gesturing down to the red qipao and black tights the performer happened to be wearing along with the boots beneath that jacket. Velvet for a moment assumed their attire and general appearance was the cause of the man's alarm or discomfort, not what he had /really/ seen, or was experiencing. 'Oh shit,', Velvet thought at once--did he see me?

"Are you okay there, Heinz?" Velvet uses the first German name that comes to mind as a nickname, that being the one on the front of ketchup bottles, probably the most recognizable German name to most from the west--and the man definitely sounded German... Or was it Romani?? It was a little queer--much like himself!

The light in the man's eyes is noticed, as Velvet creeps closer, his tail flicking.

"We're all out of time, at one point or another," Velvet mutters, sullenly, approaching the man till he's close enough to touch him.

"I want to help you--you hit your head there," Velvet gestures toward the man's head, seeing if he'll let him see how hurt he is.

"Nein," says the man as he slowly starts to slide down the wall, although it comes out more as an exhalation than a vocalization. "You don't understand. I'm out of time. You need to go away," this 'Heinz' advises before he inhales deeply, quickly, and lets it out in a shuddering breath.

Sitting on the ground finally, the Dog Scarer merely weakly waves an arm at the one drawing closer to emphasize the importance of his words, but not the hand digging into that bag. What it withdraws is not a pleasant looking thing. It's a syringe, but not just your typical disposable plastic syringe. This thing is made out of steel and glass, looks heavy duty and heavy, and the contents- Well, it's a green liquid.

Wait, is it glowing?

It seems to be something straight out of a science fiction movie very akin to the cinematic visualization of 'radioactive waste'. This injector is placed upon the man's lap and he turns his focus down to his left arm and wrist. In so doing, this other -- whatever he may be -- has a chance to see that the back of the man's head is fine. There is no blood. There is no immediate bruising. So, if the strange behavior isn't related to a head injury, then what could it be?

He wastes no time with words as he busies trying to undo the cufflink securing the cuff of his shirt, but Konrad is having trouble and it's merely frustrating him. With a sudden sucking of air through his clenched teeth, he wrenches the cuff open and the gold cufflink pops out and lands a few feet away. Hurriedly, he tries his best to roll up that sleeve as far as it can go.

"Why are you still here?" he voices. Does it matter? It's the middle of London. There are people everywhere! "Not good. Not good at all," he coarsely whispers. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. dangerous.

"I'm not used to doing what I'm told," Velvet remarks. Blame the feline in him--which is arguably what got the dog's attention in the first place, or at least the animal's sense for the prenatural. Then the syringe comes out--if Velvet didn't know any better he'd have immediately thought drugs, but he already has the hint that it's a bit more than that.

"Christ, who're you, Herbert West: Reanimator??" Velvet leaned back just a little bit, wary of the syringe and it's contents. Why was it /glowing/? Was it Mutagen? Was he friends with 4 turtle guys and their rat humanoid sensei? Was it Ecto-cooler? What??

"Watching you shoot up, obviously--don't miss a vein now, this ain't Cali--those things aren't for free," Velvet snarks, taking out what looks to be a small metal mirror with an attached LED flashlight. Such things live in dollar stores, usually used for checking tires or other car parts--but are indispensable in other parts of life. Especially if you need to check your makeup or outfit in a dark room or alley. He uses the few lumens of light to assist in the injection.

"I don't know who sat is," breathes the man at being asked about Herbert West. It's not that this guy is being rude in ignoring this surprisingly helpful company, but he chalks it up to a matter of not knowing any better. Now, Konrad has questions of his own, absolutely! But it's not the time. He's out of time.

The man's upper left arm, with the sleeve pushed up all the way, reveals, sadly, many other points of injection and the vein, well, it's a bit impossible to miss with how swollen it seems to be. His left hand balls into a fist, but not to assist in exposing the obvious. The German-speaking man is mentally preparing himself for the extremely uncomfortable.

It's a well-practiced motion, placing needle to arm at an angle, just so, before pressing the plunger with some amount of force to empty ALL of the contents into his bloodstream. It doesn't seem to be that big of a deal, at least at first, up until the point where it is. Konrad jerks the needle away with a bit of a whimper and barely has the mind to drop it onto his opened bag before immediately clamping that free hand down over the injection site.

A keen eye may notice the violent twitching of the muscle fiber in that area, as if his body were reacting in extreme opposition to the substance, before that hand covers it and squeezes. Teeth clamped together, the Bavarian man can say no more; his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing intensifies, and bucks against the wall behind himself as if enduring a lot of pain. In fact, it would seem that a single tear is squeezed free from an eye, although whether from the pain or the humiliation of having somebody witness the occurrence is unclear. It's certainly quite a show, but, thankfully, a short-lived one.

Konrad's eyes open and his breathing slows, his face lifts, and his gaze peers up at the one standing there with the extra light. He wears a heavy apologetic frown. "Sis vas not for your eyes -- your strange...yellow eyes."

"Well, neither do most people, to be fair," Velvet sort of dodges the man's reply with some witticism, or at least their attempt at it. He winces as he notices all the track marks Konrad has on his arm--he either really needs his medicine, or he's some kind of hardcore lime-green heroin addict. He's not sure which, honestly.

Now, it's not everyday you get to see a werewolf shootup with a strange green glowing substance in an alley off Picadilly or wherever this is, but in this world, you do.

"Ahhh--shape shifter..." Velvet's voice is fearful but kept low, alarmed. He notices the strange writhing of the man's flesh as the stuff is injected, hesitantly taking a half-step backwards, but letting his booted foot hang in the air, not as if they aren't sure if they need to really step back or not. He watches with a weird mixture of concern and pain, realizing what that must feel like for the man.

"That's not all of me that's strange, hon," Velvet sighs a bit in relief and brushes his hair back along the long, conical bat-like ears he has, his blue spaded tail flicking. Plus the qipao, that would get eyebrows raised anywhere, likely--that was why the long full-length jacket, of course.

"Vait. Was hast du gesagt?"

'Heinz' keeps his hand on his exposed arm, although because it still hurts or just a matter of trying to keep the terrible image hidden from view or both is up for debate. He tries to shift his weight, to try to rise, but finds himself unable to just yet. "I mean, vasefer you are, I-" There's another exhalation, almost a sigh; this man must be dealing with a lot. "I haf nefer seen anysing like you before, ha! Nngh." The breathy laugh is cut off by a grunt as the man clenches his jaw once more.

"It vould figure sat after all sese years, se first to see me like sis isn't just... Ein einfacher Mensch." This statement is followed by a strong swallowing of saliva. "Perhaps I should be sankful. Instead, I feel- I feel fery sad."

The truth is, Konrad feels rude for not introducing himself to somebody that has taken an interest in his personal safety, but neither does he want to out his identity of one who knows enough to say the word 'shapeshifter' from witnessing his ordeal. For this reason, he does not ask a name of this person, this creature, that is his present company. That things did not get worse is a small mercy. Those are preciously few. "So. Vhat next? Heh."

The vest-wearing man sighs yet again while muttering the word 'scheisse' once more. So, this is what a social impasse feels like. He really doesn't get out much.

The injection would seem brutal to some, it was true--probably worse than the transformation that Konrad's body was desperately trying to avoid. Despite the strange writhing of Konrad's skin that was visible, Velvet is not affected by the effects of Lunacy, as he is part-Darkstalker. That's just how things work around here.

"Calm down there, Hanz," Velvet attempts to reassure the man, the nickname suddenly changing.

"Yeah well, right back at ya--so what do I call you, Kaiser Von Wilhelm?" Velvet smiles a little, after the wolf man appears to be... bored? or maybe he's just uncomfortable?

"Do you need to call anybody? Maybe for a ride, change of shorts--or a really big rubber dog bone? The kind that squeaks when you squeeze it?" Velvet Blue frowns a little, bending over to peer down at Konrad.

Were you to put this well-dressed man before a group of the social elite in charge of evening entertainment, he'd be fine. This, however, is a situation that emphasizes some of the social ineptitude of which the German man seems to be guilty. "Okay. Okay, let's go about sis logically," he says in response, but possibly more to himself that to the one standing nearby.

"You can call me Konrad," comes the less than stellar introduction as he finally begins to work back up to his feet. The hand covering his exposed left arm works to pull that sleeve back down. Nobody else needs bear witness to his shame. The emptied syringe sitting atop the open bag settles and falls deeper within and it merely takes a casual hand-motion to close to flap over the top. "I'm glad at least vone of us finds sis funny, but, I assure you, it is a fery serious matter indeed. Somesing..."

"Somesing tells me you know sat already, ja?"

The cufflink on the ground near Velvet's feet has gone overlooked and forgotten due to circumstances. For the moment, the middle-aged fellow seems to be trying to steady himself. Helpful or not, he can't just come out and say he's all alone, can he? "Perhaps-" Konrad begins with a grimace and a rub over the back of his head. He didn't seriously hurt himself, but he does have a headache now. "-sere is a better place for discussion. Surely you cannot go around looking like sat. Vhere I am from, sat vould get you lynched by an angry mob in a hurry."

"But sure, don't tell me your name, most men don't like to anyway--oohhh, is that who you are? Oohh," Velvet is apparently tickled that the werewolf is going to tell him their name, of course it could be fake--but who would fake 'Konrad' being their name? Gut-feeling attests that he's likely being honest.

"So now that you're done uh, self-medicating there--yes, if you can see me, then you're definitely not normal, see what I really look like, I mean--usually chi users can, darkstalkers, small children, lunatics, or people that have slept in the vicinity of a graveyard, or in a full moon, speaking of--I watched your flesh shift around there like someone was microwaving a slice of pizza, that kinda gave it away," Velvet sighed, offering a hand to help Konrad up.

"How about we go somewhere else--" the performer's boot slides a bit as they shifted their position from bending over like that--pushing the cufflink a bit further away. Velvet looks down and scoops it up, likely when Konrad is not looking.

"What, you mean this? I sure can, but if it makes you feel any better--" Velvet zips their coat up. "Drinks? You might have to buy, I'll be busy with the back of your head," he casually mentions off hand.

The rattled list of people and conditions for seeing such things means little to the man. It's not a pointless list -- he's able grasp the concept of what is implied -- but Konrad is certainly a recluse that doesn't get out much. Self-absorbed, many of the world's details and events only glance by his notice. Still, perhaps the chance encounter can afford a few answers along with the bevy of questions.

"Sere is nuhsing wrong vis se back of my head. Your concern is appreciated, but se last sing I need right now is, is eine Mutterhenne fussing ofer me." The bag is resettled in place, the strap adjusted, and this Konrad guy now takes a moment to look around in order to reestablish his location. He doesn't know the place that well and has been relegated to map-usage like a common tourist. "Sere should be pubs around, along sat street ofer sere. Uhh...York Vay. But not- Anysing but sat discotheque. All of sat oontz oontz and boom bomm is not somesing I need right now. Do you- Do you know of a place...Baumsteiger?"

The fancy-pants guy is capable of coming up with nicknames, too. He seems to avoid to topic of skin-crawling, though. It's not something he's comfortable discussing. At least -- at the very least -- it seems he managed to beat back his adrenaline-and-stress-fueled transformation. There is uncertainty that it will last, but this is something that Konrad keeps to himself. "I vould fery much like to hear more about, eh, 'was' are."

"You're in luck, it's a couple of blocks away--just promise not to chase any cars on the way there, okay," Velvet Blue waves off his reply about the back of the man's head. Velvet would wait till they got somewhere before he used any chi-energy to try and repair whatever contusion the man suffered when he bashed the back of his head off the brick wall. But for the moment neither seemed to think it was too pressing. Like the Wile E. Coyote, Darkstalkers seemed to shrug off being thrown headfirst into brick walls far more often than one would think.

"Baumsteiger? The heck is that, some kind of digestif?" it had sounded like something very German and liquor-ey to Velvet, like Jagermeister.

"Alright, you want booze, we'll get booze, keep your tail on," Velvet Blue scoffed, leading Konrad away from the site, his own blue spaded tail sticking out from beneath the hem of the long jacket and flicking.

20 minutes later.

"See, I told you this place was fine," they were now in a dark, smoky bar/club, the gloom pierced by the occasional neon light, with the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury playing in the background. In this club a lot of the patrons were garishly or oddly dressed, as well as several of the staff. Men were women and women were men. Not all, but a fair few that Konrad would likely feel a bit out of his comfort zone. If Velvet was aware of this, it was unclear--it might have been intentional.

Perched upon one of the stools of the bar next to Konrad, the darkstalker's tail hanging down beneath his booted feet, he looked over at Konrad, brushing hair out of his eyes.

"So, what's with the shots?"

"Baumsteiger. A sing sat lifs in se trees. How long vould you haf stayed in sat vone had I not come along, hmm?" There is a gesture with a single arm for Velvet Blue to lead the way forward before the clap of Konrad's shoes against the walkway mark his following. "I don't..." With a tug at the lower hem of his waistcoat, Konrad affirms, "I don't haf a tail. Vasefer you seek to imply-" Or is absolutely and very directly stated. "-is not somesing sat is necessarily true."

The arrival at this new location is accompanied by a thick layer of apprehension on Konrad's behalf. He already stood out amongst most of the modern public (although certain groups of the British upper class he would probably blend in well with, despite the national and cultural differences), so a place like this really makes him stand out. However, his anxiety is less about standing out and more about a lack of surety in his surroundings and the culture of people that populate the dimly-lit enclosed space. Losing control in an alleyway, despite the public on the streets, is still a lot safer for everyone than a place like here. If that happened.

Von Sabrewulf really shouldn't think about that.

He puts on his best upright posture and stands before the bar rather than sitting. There is something about keeping his feet on the floor that gives a better sense of security. His personal order, at least attempted, is a Bock Beer, a rather strong German lager, which isn't terribly uncommon to find in various corners of the globe.

"Ein Bockbier zum starten, bitte." At the very least 'bock beer' is easy to understand, and most everyone probably knows the German word for 'please'. "Mmh. It is...complicated. Suffice to say sey help vis my 'condition'." The usual excuses and lies probably won't work on those whom have actually witnessed such writhing pain in the man. Konrad puts a hand to his face to brush down his mustache and sideburns with a hand. "A condition sat, for obvious reasons, I am not comfortable saying much about, ja? Was about you? You haf some rahser obfious sings about you. I'm not sure I fully understand vhy you said, before... Erm. You mean to say sat not eferybody can see you like sat? How is sat possible?" There is a beat, then, "Was do you see looking at me?" The last statement is less out of curiosity and more about morbid concern.

"I could have left anytime I wanted to--I just didn't want to kick the dog," Velvet looked over at Konrad, tolerating that due to the fact that the wolfman is probably in a low-level state of perpetual horror given where they are at the moment.

"Don't worry, you fit right in with that moustache," Velvet gestured to Konrad, then shrugged a little bit. If their faces were a little different, Konrad /might/ look a fair bit like Freddie if he wasn't so gloomy all the time. It was a fairly leather man-esque 'stache, to be fair, the Von Kaiser-type one that Konrad had.

"Sorry, it sounded like you were saying 'Bumstinger', and I mean, hey, who am I to judge," Velvet was in the process of re-applying a coat of indigo lipstick with that little tire-mirror/flashlight he'd used to illuminate Konrad an hour or so earlier, it felt like. Had it been that long.

"Yeah, not everyone can see that I'm a darkstalker, babe," Velvet pouted and smacked their lips in the mirror, making sure the makeup was on straight before casually tossing the mirror back in their coat.

"They usually see me as normal, or well, as normal as I can be, anyway, but there ar exceptions."

There is some measure of leniency to be offered from those so tucked away and relatively unaware of many foreign subcultures that allows one such as Konrad to be ambivalent to the radical styles of dress and style that he witnesses. He's by no means a bigot, which is fairly uncommon for those of his still-unspoken nobility, but his life has proven to him that there are things far more important and much more far-reaching than those ultra-inclusive attitudes. His desire to stick to himself, after all, is built upon a very different foundation. This type of exposure is not handled dismissively; Konrad simply views it as a sample of modern rebellion through radical self-style.

"How is sat possible?" For all Konrad knows, maybe it has something to do with the history of his bloodline as werewolf hunters. Perhaps they had a gift beyond the library of knowledge and tools left behind. "Sat doesn't make me, mm, vone of sose sings. Darkstalker." This is a word he knows, but for different reasons. It's something that has had no tangible application in his life up until this point. Having a beer will help wash down the unpleasant details. Having another beer will help wash down the first, too.

"Forgif me if I seem rude in assuming so, but you seem rahser casual in somebody seeing you like sat. I vould find sat more san a little vorrying."

"Because I'm different than normal people, see, I'm magical," Velvet replies with a minor loss of patience with Konrad's line of questioning, he does take a deep breath afterwards and relents almost immediately, hoewver.

"I'm a darkstalker babe, I can protect myself so I don't get too much attention, so humans just see what they wanna see--what I'd look like normally without--" he gestures to his large bat-like ears and tail, "All of this," he finished, taking a moment to take a heavy pull from the glass of stuff he'd ordered. His face momentarily frowns at the bitter taste of the English beer, likely something cheap. It does however serve to be refreshing.

"I don't know, what are you?" he asked in a questioning manner, as if he was really curious, looking back at Konrad.

"See me like... what?" he was genuinely unsure of what the werewolf meant, this time.

It's easy to ask questions. It's much harder to answer them. Rather than overextend his reach for explanations, Konrad withdraws and finds himself staring down into the glass before him. Both of his hands rest on either side of the pint with a faint toying of the vessel to make it slowly spin a few degrees one way and then the other all so lubricated by the dripping condensation off its sides. He's very reluctant to answer personal questions. Clearly.

"It is best to sink of it as... I am a man who has a disease sat must be cured. It is not contagious or anysing, at least as far as I know. But, ah, it makes public excursions a bit more of an adfenture san I vould prefer. As you saw."

Konrad turns partially to face this Darkstalker with a bit more forwardness after having a good solid drain from his font of beer. He inhales enough to make his chest puff out a bit. He does not immediately speak, but his right hand fidgets amongst its fingers as he tries to work up the courage to say anything personal.

"By any chance do you know anysing about..." Lycanthropy? "Alchemical sciences und se restoratif properties or formulae serein sat are able to combat or cure-" Lycanthropy? "Sings like...magical curses und afflictions?"

The question of 'seeing like what' goes unanswered for the time being.

"And how do we know? You might not be able to give it to me, or other darkstalkers--but what about a random person on the street? You were lucky I came by," Velvet ignores the fact it was still Konrad that helped him out of the tree at the start--but the performer /had/ assisted the man when he started having his... seizure there.

"Not really," Velvet took another long drink from the beer, already getting it down and starting to order more. This would likely continue throughout the night till one or both of them was tipsy.

"There isn't really a cure for what I have," Velvet's eyes flick down at himself, his jacket was open again now that they were in the queer-friendly club. "In either case, sometimes you just gotta learn to be yourself," Velvet offers, it's not the clue or lead he might need--but it's still helpful advice.

"But you're afaid, I know that feeling well--I was too after I escaped the Makai," he looked over, yellow eyes more compassionate now, as they had been when they first ran into Konrad.

"It's understandable, to be afraid--about what you are, or what you might do--but I think there is always a worse possibility out there..."

The alchemy scholar runs a hand down over the front of his vest with the faintest of sighs. He picks up his glass from the countertop without turning back and drinks from it while studying the stool-perched company before him. He has a lot of experience drinking. Too much, some might argue. While he knows his limits, he doesn't always respect them.

"Under normal circumstances such adfice is admirable. But one does not simply choose to accept somesing like cancer if it can be treated. A vorse possibility? Naturlich! But my condition can be treated, ja? My vork, as you saw, is testament to sat. I am not a terminal case just yet." The last statement is spoken with a bit of vigor, as if the exerted confidence needs to be spoken rather than simply being a line added for clarification or punctuation. Hopefully not with too much vigor, however.

"From my personal studies, mein Freund, I can say sat my curse does not, at least under normal circumstances, seem to pass along" That's a polite way of saying what he -really- would rather not have to spell out or admit. The past holds mistakes for all people.

"Well, maybe we'll have to test that theory sometime," Velvet, who after having a few drinks in him, is bound to get a bit more flirty and out of line. For the moment though, they're mostly lucid. Still.

"I'm pretty sure what I got is terminal, being fabulous~" Velvet Blue grins a little dopily and gestures at themselves, leaning back on the stool almost a bit too much--wavering a little as they catch themselves before it's too late.

"You got the tab, right? good, I think it's time for me to head back to my room," the performer stretches out as they get up, hopping down from the stool and sliding over a bottle of liquor to the werewolf.

"I know it can be hard sometimes, but you're not the only person like this out there--and if you get nocturnal seizures again I'll try to be around, okay?" he smiles again, before beginning to saunter off, tail lashing behind them gently.

The sheer disgust Konrad has for what ails himself is so strong that it completely drowns out any perception of flirtatiousness and the compliments those involve, even with the help of alcohol. He would comment 'I hope not' in response to such tests, but it proves to be too negative a thing to say, he judges, and thus keeps it to himself. "Ja. Ich werde die Rechnung bezahlen," he says with his own fuzzy-headedness regarding paying the bill. It's not the smartest option, but the departure of the Darkstalker will certainly discourage the would-be wolf tamer from drinking too much more.

It's an amusing sentiment, although a flirtation with the macabre, to mention the matter of 'being around' regarding this Konrad fellow. "Goodbye und gute Nacht." After all, neither of the two know that much about the other aside from surface details, and, since Konrad doesn't live in London (perhaps more than obviously) and the location of his abode has remained unspoken, there is little chance of them meeting again in the future.

Or so Konrad thinks.

That absent cufflink bearing his Clan Symbol will be discovered missing soon, yet still far too late to recover.

Log created on 01:47:53 10/13/2018 by Velvet Blue, and last modified on 14:55:03 10/14/2018.