Big Trouble, Little Märmosia

[Vyncent Schwarz]

The following is a prequel, set 300 years before the present. ^_^

It was raining. Well. It was a little more than that, a storm was brewing overhead, a heavy, swirling mass of charcoal and black threatening to empty its contents of freezing rainwater over the city of Freren. A fine, misty shower had already made it difficult to see, let alone do anything productive, and although a little bad weather had never stopped a good day's work before, the cobblestoned streets seemed surprisingly empty. Some of the stones were smeared with ash. Some were cracked. A tense atmosphere rolled throughout the streets with the rain, slipping from the slate grey rooftops and drifting, suffocating itself around a nearby tavern.

The tavern was nestled between a blacksmiths and a tailors, but both of the adjacent buildings were eerily deserted. For good reason, too. If one was to look in close at the window panes of the tavern, one might catch a glint of rich scarlet, the elegant movement of a pale, long-fingered hand and the flash of ivory fangs in a self-satisfied grin.

There was a merry fire burning in the grate of the tavern. The flames shimmered and danced, tainted black like onyx. Something was - or had been - cooking on the wide hearth, but whatever it was had been knocked over, spilling onto the flagstones. The pub wasn't quite as desolate as the rest of the city seemingly was, but the lack of activity there was still strange to say the least. The reason for the apprehensive atmosphere which hung over the city, the cause of the barren streets and empty buildings, was sat comfortably in a chair near the windows, watching the rain begin to hammer down onto the ground.

Vyncent Schwarz hated the rain. It seemed to pursue him all over Märmosia, no matter where he went, but he had to admit, he was still in a rather good mood. A soft hum filled the otherwise silent pub as he ran a finger around the rim of his wine glass, half filled with rich red liquid. The tone was almost mournful, and Vyncent drew his gaze from the downpour at the sudden clink of glasses from behind the bar.

A nervous young barmaid, dirty and streaked with ashes stood cleaning glasses, her face turned down towards her work as though she was determined not to meet the gaze of the dangerous, unhinged stranger that had exploded onto the scene of Freren and had promptly unleashed hell onto anything he touched. She was shaking terribly, the glasses knocking against each other when she moved them, and there was a pool of blood at her feet. The corpse of her father lay nearby.

In fact, the tavern was filled with corpses. Either burned and blackened or slumped onto tables, drowning in their own bodily fluids, there wasn't a single living person left, discounting the barmaid and, of course, Vyncent.

He swept his silvery hair back from his face, letting his eyes roam over the girl for a moment or two, just long enough to make her squirm uncomfortably, before he turned his gaze back to the scene outside.

"Lovely day, isn't it." he commented in a low, velvety voice.

They girl emitted a strangled sort of squeak.

"You don't think so? Shame."

[FLICK]

It was far from a lovely day, at least by the standards of the elegant, golden-eyed man that stalked the streets. He hugged the overhang of the jutting balconies that protruded from the narrow, leaning houses, slinking back from the rain that licked the cobblestones. It was barely rain - more a heavy fog, fine particles that swirled upwards and around with the slightest gust of wind. The streets were empty of people, hiding indoors from the cold and damp that pervaded the evening... or from something else. There was a strange aura hanging over the town, and the scent of strange magic that Altair's fine senses could not quite identify; a kind of magic that he had never thought to meet anyone capable of. Here and there was soot, ash - on that wall cracks and broken glass, and the water that slicked the streets was in some places pink with blood. Something unusual was here.

Altair - not yet De Vaux - had received no answer from the houses he had payed visits to, and while he itched to break the doors down and bathe in the warmth that emanated from the still-hot grates, fires hastily snuffed, he had begun to develop the restraint that would characterise his later years. Certain... incidents.. had taught Altair the virtue of remaining unnoticed, or as close possible as that was for the enigmatic demon. His unusual features always seemed to draw unwanted attention - often to the regret of those prying.

Light flickering behind glazed, smoky windows caught the demon's gaze, and he was drawn like a moth towards it. He scowled as he crossed the street, the water settling on his exposed skin like a salamander's slime, and he slid quickly back undercover, examining the tavern from its own side of the narrow road. From inside he would have appeared little more than a pale face wrapped in a dark cloak, the glint of gold giving away his unabashed observation. For his own part, he saw little - little more than the pale figure in the window seat and the cheerful glow of the still-burning fire.

A bell on the door tinkled merrily as he entered the pub, interrupting the sombre atmosphere that prevailed despite the warmth and light and the sad ringing of the thin man's glass. Altair was intensely interested by the creature's presence. Upon entering the cosy space the smell of him had filled his nostrils, a burnt, sweet smell that was indescribably different to the smell of burning flesh any mortal would have detected, seconds before his swift death. But despite his interest the demon spared scarcely a glance for what he suspected - or knew - to be one of his fellows, instead stepping towards the terrified girl whose fingers trembled over the glasses at the bar.

"Help me," she whispered frantically, as he moved his head closer to hers; it was soft enough to elude the ears of any human, but Altair doubted the thin man had overlooked the sound. She seemed desperate to speak again, but when he locked eyes with her, his pupils constricting to reveal a seemingly endless stretch of alien, unreadable gold iris, she fell silent. A glass slipped from her fingers, clattering, but not breaking, against the wooden floor.

"A glass of brandy," he requested quietly, fangs appearing momentarily from beneath his pale lips. She nodded her terrified assent, hastening to the bottles of liquor on the shelf behind her.

Moving away, Altair stepped towards the seated demon. His pale hand settled on the back of the chair opposite and he pulled it back, silently seating himself facing Vyncent Schwarz.

[Vyncent Schwarz]

Vyncent sensed the presence of the other demon before he even entered the pub. It was a familiar feeling, being watched, and it happened often. But this was something different, this sent a spark of gentle caution down the demon's spine, probing him to pay attention. He sat up a little more in his seat, but other than that nothing about him seemed to change. The tension in his muscles was unseen, the eerie song from the wine glass continued to ring throughout the tavern, but the reality was that fire now coursed through his veins so near to the surface that the air around him almost seemed to shimmer with heat. As he shifted, the engraved pommel of his rapier glinted in the firelight.

Vyncent wasn't cautious by nature. He was a brash, arrogant soul at best. But when a fellow demon strolled through the wreckage of his work and moved towards the pub where his presence would be painfully known, that was a sign to him to keep his guard up. As the bell rang, he lifted his gaze subtly, watching the new-comer sweep inside and to the bar, before it returned to the window. He felt a crackle of power, and the whisper of youth. Not that this stranger was some fledgling demon, of course, Vyncent could tell that much, but in comparison, most seemed young to him. A smirk lifted one corner of his mouth, the barmaid's whisper reaching his ears as clearly as if she'd screamed it at him.

She didn't know it yet, but she would pay for that.

He lifted his fingertips from the glass as the other demon moved over to him, plunging the tavern into almost silence, except for the crackling of the fireplace and the sound of the girl behind the bar. Some of the tension carefully drained out of his limbs. It should have been the opposite, but he had analysed his opponent for the most part, and he thought that no extra caution was needed. His gaze slid from the window and the fine rain to fix on Altair, taking in everything about him. A wanderer, clearly. Like himself. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair. Eyes of the richest gold. Oh. And he was wet.

Vyncent wrinkled his nose, settling back in his seat as he examined Altair's damp attire. He raised his left hand without a word. Chaos lashed through the vivid red of his eyes for a second or so, the air rippling around him with the increase in temperature. Then relatively gentle obsidian flames ignited around the creature opposite him, completely harmless of course, their heat quickly evaporating what was left of the rainwater on his clothes and skin.

"Much better." he purred in a quiet voice, drumming his fingers on the table habitually before lifting his wine glass, nursing the sweet liquid. "Rain really doesn't agree with me."

[FLICK]

Altair observed the suspected fellow demon from across the table, his impenetrable eyes drinking in the scene. He was slender and elegant, almost noble in appearance, his slender fingers playing around the rim of the glass with practiced ease. He stopped as he noticed Altair, and they made eye contact. His eyes were a deep, bloody red, nearly the same shade as the rich wine in his glass. Behind them he could see an unstoppable, animal savagery, a fire barely contained by cold cruelty and ironic false manners. His features were both strong and delicate, and the atmosphere of fear and danger he created was palpable.

Altair tilted his head back as the black flames flew forward to play over him, relishing in their toasty yet harmless warmth. There. Suspicion confirmed - he could imagine few other creatures who could do such a thing, and none of them matched the smell he could taste on the air. The black flames intrigued him. They were all different, then, or at least there were possibilities. The black was a much more sinister tint than his own rich gold, but shared the same touch of... class.

The water fled from the surface of Altair's skin and clothes, escaping into the air as a thin vapour that quickly dissipated, leaving him crisp and dry. Much beeter - how polite of his new friend. A nice courtesy, albeit one that would have badly burned a mortal.

"That's not unusual," Altair replied after brief consideration, "for one of our kind."

[Vyncent Schwarz]

"No," Vyncent agreed softly, "I don't suppose it is." he turned his attention briefly to his glass of wine, sipping at the red liquid before setting it back down on the table. He didn't even have to lift his hand to make the flames disappear - a brief crackle of chaos lanced across his eyes and then they were gone, as though they hadn't even been there in the first place. The girl behind the bar was white with fear, the heavy scent of it spiking through the air and drawing the demon's interest. He let his gaze slip from his new companion to settle fixedly on the girl, a fleeting sneer revealing his ivory fangs. No, that could come later.

"What is unusual," he began in a soft voice, returning his attention to Altair, "is that a demon would wander into the territory of one of his fellows and not expect a fight to emerge from it. Or are you expecting a fight?" he tilted his head in curiosity, as if expecting his companion to suddenly turn on him. It wasn't uncommon for that sort of thing to happen, particularly around someone as volatile as Vyncent Schwarz. "But then," he continued, "you may not have come here to look for a confrontation. But if you didn't come here to do that, then why are you here?" he asked, sounding rather amused.

A low rumble of thunder interrupted their conversation at that moment, the High Demon glancing to the window to watch as the fine rain turned into heavy droplets, the sky quickly blackening above them. Unconsciously, the air began to shimmer around him with heat. It didn't look as though they were going to be moving anywhere any time soon. So if this was going to come to blows, it had better stay within the tavern.

[FLICK]

The rain intensified outside the windows, sheets gushing from the tiled roof of the building and rivulets tracing parallel lines down the thin panes. As the wind picked up, the terrified, shaking woman who shared the room with them stumbled to the windows, hastening to close the shutters outside to protect the fragile glass against the storm. Interesting, how even in this unusual, dangerous situation her training and her instruction held firm. Her father was dead - did she really think that at the end of the evening anybody would be left living to look after the preserved inn? Yet even still she closed the shutters. The single window left unprotected was the one by which they were sitting; she knew better than to interrupt two demons in conversation. But, Altair thought with a faint smile, if their window broke and the rain came in, there would be hell to pay.

"Your territory?" Altair asked, raising an eyebrow. Despite the threat implicit in Vyncent's words, Altair did not feel particularly at risk. The rain was pouring down outside, and he would not normally risk a battle in such a situation. He doubted that the other demon, with so many more years of experience, would either. And even if he knew some technique for neat, petite destruction, Altair could always bring the roof - and its weight of water - down on both of them. "Come off it. Is all of Demia your territory? Surely you wouldn't spend all your time--" he gestured around them with faint distaste "--here. In which case I was born in your territory, and it is within your 'territory' that I intend to remain." There was a faint mocking tone to the word territory. Just sarcastic enough to show confidence, but not enough to enrage.

"No," Altair continued, "I've not come to fight: I'd lose, we both know that." He was not going to waste his words on false airs or subterfuge - that was a habit that would come later, with maturity. "I didn't even know you were here, until I was... and how could I pass up the chance to meet another like myself?" He shrugged the thick woolen cloak tighter around his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have never met one before. I presume the name on all the posters is correct, then: Vyncent."

[Vyncent Schwarz]

Vyncent couldn't resist a rather mocking laugh at the assumption that all of Demia was his 'territory', shaking his head at the demon opposite. "You misunderstand me," he told him, settling back in his seat and lazily watching as the girl flitted about in a panic, gazing out of their single, un-shuttered with half distaste and half satisfaction. Altair was right in his thoughts. If that window shattered, things were going to get... interesting, to say the least. He turned his attention back to his new companion after tracking the girl, now soaking wet, back across the tavern to where she stood behind the bar once more. "When I said territory, I merely meant the scene of destruction. This town. Walking into a deserted town that reeks of demon is akin to walking into the lion's den, no?" he considered with a light smirk.

He caught the distaste in Altair's voice and gestures, gazing around the tavern as though seeing it for the first time. "When it rains, it doesn't usually occur to me that the shelter might be below me. I'd rather be here and dry than out there." he tapped the thin glass of the window, motioning to the raging storm outside. "However, it is an intriguing prospect. Demia, my territory indeed. Perhaps one day." he shrugged. He looked amused at the admission that his fellow demon would suffer a loss if they were to come to blows. Vyncent was more like the Altair of future times. Even if sorely out-ranked and over-powered, a verbal admission of this would never pass his lips.

"Never met one before? But you're no half demon. That much is obvious." he observed, the faintest expression of interest on his face as he took another sip of his wine. He laughed under his breath. "Well I might consider myself honoured to be the first of the kind you've met. I hope I do not disappoint." he smirked, revealing the tips of ivory fangs for a split second. When Altair mentioned his poster, amusement crept into his voice again. "You would be correct, yes," he nodded, any hints of a threat that were not a permanent part of his character draining out of him as he considered the demon in front of him. "And you are?"

[FLICK]

Altair turned to watch the rain, now blowing against the glass in spidery, spitting patterns. Water was... well, not pleasant, certainly, but it was tolerable if one needed to. "I have nothing against your choice of tavern," Altair informed him. "I do question the taste in claiming this little Märmosian dump as your 'territory', if only for a brief period of time." Altair's face was supremely indifferent as he passed judgement. The lion's den? With due respect to the older demon, hardly. Not while it was raining outside. And above anything else, he trusted in the novelty of his presence to preserve him: that and his ability to run. Even now, barely one hundred years old, Altair was cautious. He had weighed up the stakes in this situation, and ultimately decided that the risk to his being was tolerable - negligible, even.

"No half demon, no, but sentimentality is perhaps not our strong suit." Altair's parents, whoever they had been, had certainly not waited around to see their newborn mature safely. His first memory was of fire, and it was fire of his own making not of theirs: from the outset he had developed alone, building his careful, towering identity from the ground without support. "And like you say, there are certain... taboos... to our crossing paths." Vyncent's prattle about 'territory' and the 'lion's den' was enough to attest to that. Perhaps this was why he had, instinctively, waited so long before he sought out another - and then found him only accidentally. Maybe their reticence and solicitude was inbuilt.

Altair surveyed Vyncent intensely, now furnished with a name under which to classify him - and the information under that name he had obtained prior to their meeting. There was something enthralling about the demon. A touch of class, certainly, which Altair admired... and would later subconsciously emulate. It was interesting that Vyncent's preferred drink, from their first meeting at least, seemed to be a red wine, where as Altair would go on to enjoy the the gold of whiskey far more. But the dominant characteristic - and the one Altair admired most - was power. It was evidenced not merely in the destruction of the tavern and the town around it, but in the very way he held himself, in the leashed animal that snarled and twisted just behind his blood red eyes and sinister, elegant smile.

"You certainly don't disappoint," Altair acknowledged truthfully. His fangs protruded in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I am Altair."

[Vyncent Schwarz]

"Well, I certainly am glad. I do try to live up to my reputation." he smirked to the demon opposite him, setting the wine glass back down onto the uneven wooden table, a hint of mocking to his voice. He didn't try to live up to his reputation in reality, it was his reputation that had to try to live up to him. He laughed rather cheerfully at Altair's remark about sentimentality. "On the contrary," he shook his head, "Demons are incredibly sentimental about their offspring, normally. Well, a mix of fierce over-protectiveness and an urge to throttle their spawn, if I must be truthful." he smirked to himself, before shaking his head. "That is, most demons, in any case. Each to his own, correct?"

The faintest of frowns knotted his silvery brows together as he was given a name by which to call his new acquaintance. Even by first name only, if Altair had made himself recognisable in Demia, or indeed in Marmosia, then Vyncent should have come across it. As it was, no recognition flashed across his eyes. "Altair," he repeated, tilting his head and committing it to memory. "So, Altair. If this small patch of Marmosia is such a dump, then what brought you through here in the first place? Surely my presence alone couldn't have sparked your attention?" he asked curiously.

There was a shattering of glass from the bar. The girl had finally lost her nerve, it seemed, and had dropped one of the glasses in her fright. She looked across at them, whimpering, and Vyncent met her gaze evenly. A cat-like smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. Silence fell upon the tavern, interrupted only by the 'tink' of rainwater on the glass. She broke the stare first, fleeing the bar and stumbling towards the doors of the tavern. Although the high demon didn't move sharply; his hand moved from the table to rest on the glittering pommel of his rapier, that was all, the gesture was enough to signal that something was going to happen.

There was a roar of heat, barely recognisable to a mortal, although Altair would feel it whisper past his ear. Then black fire exploded around the door, blocking the girl's exit.

[FLICK]

Altair seemed disgusted by Vyncent's revelation. Incredibly sentimental? His mouth curled in obvious distaste at the thought. "Well then. Apparently my case is a mildly unusual one. Each to his own indeed - I could never tolerate such... emotional dependence." He was almost queasy at the thought of it. What nonsense it would be to have feelings for someone, beyond the shallow boundaries of faint affection and uncontrollable hate. Throttling would clearly be the best option and in that moment he resolved to do it, if ever he was unfortunate enough to produce and offspring.

It was clear to Altair that Vyncent did not recognise his name, but he was undisturbed by it. He did not put as much stock in making himself known as Vyncent did: he viewed it as a regrettable eventuality, not something bring on with flames and bloodshed. Surely such pleasures were heightened when they became clandestine, hidden, secretive affairs... surely they increased in sweetness the more the appetite grew. Growing up among humans, as he had, Altair's crimes had always taken place behind a veil of innocence and indemnity.

"I spent the first nineteen years of my life locked in an Ecritretrean foundling house," he explained bluntly. "I enjoy wandering, at least for now - and it is advantageous, when you do what we do. Perhaps one day I will find somewhere to settle."

But the last words of his sentence were cut short by the crash of glass and the roar of fire, a rush of heat he could hear past his head. So the girl had snapped; the facade that had ensured her momentary survival was broken. Vyncent had moved to his blade, and she was cowering now, between the bar and the wall of supernatural black fire that held her enthralled. The breath caught in Altair's throat, anticipatory, but he knew better than to interfere

[Vyncent Schwarz]

The grip on the hilt of Vyncent's blade grew that little bit tighter as the girl flinched away from the flames. The smirk stayed on his face, and he let his gaze flicker to Altair for a brief moment, as if to assure him that he would be but a moment. No human eye would be able to track him as he moved; he would just appear to flicker away into nothingness, only to appear again behind the petrified barmaid. Doubtlessly Altair would be able to track him, though, moving elegantly out of his seat and almost seeming to stroll across the tavern. None the less, the girl withered under his ruby-eyed stare, a strangled whimper escaping her throat. Penned in between the flames and the gentleman death, there was nowhere for her to run.

Vyncent drew Amor from her sheath with all of the reverence and respect that you would expect from someone unveiling a holy object. The rapier, however, was far from holy. The obsidian blade hummed in anticipation as Vyncent held her to the light, the girl taking a step towards the ebony flames, as if she would prefer to burn to death than face the abomination of a sword. The high demon smirked. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this," he apologised in a velvety voice, "But at the same time, I'm almost glad that it did."

He smiled again at the girl, who had barely a second to figure out what was going on, before Vyncent's wrist flicked towards her, Amor flashing like lightning. There was a choked sound as the rapier speared through her stomach, a moment of silence, and then the slow, mournful song began to rise up from the black-bladed sword as it stole the very soul from its victim.

When everything was over, he pulled the blade out with a flourish and allowed the girl to crumple gracelessly to the ground, blood beginning to pool around her. Vyncent cleaned the red from Amor with a lace handkerchief as he returned, the rapier's song quieting after a while. He sheathed her once more before sitting, inclining his head to Altair as if to apologise for his absence.

"Where were we," he continued as though nothing had happened, "...Settling down, I believe. I never saw the logic behind it, personally. Why settle down when the entire world can be your estate," he smirked and shook his head.

[FLICK]

Vyncent's attack was elegant, seamless, even breathtaking. A mortal's eyes could not have kept up with his supernatural speed, but Altair was no mortal. Under his hawklike gaze, the scene unfolded with delicious slowness. His companion's movements were like a dance as he spun up from his seat, feet gently striking the floor one, two, three times as he approached his target. The black sword slipped from her scabbard like an extension of his limb, and Vyncent Schwarz came to a halt. Altair could feel something - he could not be quite sure what it was - emanating from the blade. Vyncent bent his head closer to the girl, whispered seductively, but Altair had little time for the words. The knuckles on the back of his clean hands were standing out white against the already pale skin. The anticipation was like a physical high - and then, with a movement so fast it escaped even Altair's gaze, the sword cut through its victim, and with the first spurt of blood Altair relaxed, luxuriating in its metallic smell.

And then the song began - unlike anything Altair had ever heard before, it seemed to be coming from the glittering black blade, now protruding from the unlucky barmaid's back. It was the first time Altair de Vaux would hear Amor's song, and he was instantly enthralled, seduced by her dark potential. She was beautiful - there was nothing more that could be said. A hungry look appeared in his eyes, and his nails dug into the wood of the table, but he took pains to conceal his desire as Vyncent pulled the sword from the girl, his expression languid and passive when his fellow demon returned.

Altair took the nod, almost an apology, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Nobody can control the entire world," Altair answered bluntly. "And an estate must be well kept if one is to call it truly his." The idea of possession delighted Altair. It was a step beyond the crude control that Vyncent exercised - it was a true mastery, almost unshakeable power over the thing. "To try to hold the world can only be self-deception. To live as master of a place - respected, feared, all-controlling - is ultimately more preferable than as a fugitive, however indestructible." His golden eyes mapped the lines of the wooden table. "Though the idea of total power is... appealing."

"But you, Vyncent. You will never settle? Never stop running?"

[Vyncent Schwarz]

If Vyncent noticed the change in Altair's posture, the glitter of desire that ignited in his eyes as Amor's music filled the tavern, it didn't show in his face. Indeed, it was as though the incident with the barmaid had never happened. He took his seat once more, Amor sheathed in her scabbard and banging harmlessly against Vyncent's hip as he reached forward and lifted his glass of red wine to his lips once more. When Altair spoke he smiled crookedly over the rim of the glass, lowering it slowly. "Nobody indeed. But I am no nobody," he retorted in a soft voice. Not that Vyncent had any intentions of controlling the entire world, not right now. But the thought of such control was an appealing one, even if only fleetingly.

"Self-deception or not, dismissing an idea before attempting it will get you nothing, no matter how unobtainable it may seem."

A surprisingly optimistic sentiment for someone like Vyncent, but the very same philosophy had been at the core of many of the seemingly impossible things he had attempted - and achieved. He smiled again and set his glass back down on the table. "Me?" he tilted his head at Altair, amusement lancing through his scarlet eyes. "I've settled more times than you can count. The concept bores me now..." he rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. "To be a master of some little estate, in some pointless part of Demia..." he sighed, as if tired of even thinking about it. "Aristocratic control is so easy to exert over mortals. There's no sport in it. I couldn't settle again," he wrinkled his nose.

He lifted his eyes to Altair's face. "Running? Forgive me, but hardly. I wander, I destroy, I move on. Running suggests I don't have a choice in the matter. But that's enough of that. You, Altair, who spent the first nineteen years of your life locked in an Ecritretrean foundling house. What do you plan to do now?"

[FLICK]

Altair's posture relaxed subtly as Amor slithered out of sight. Vyncent, eyes in his wine glass, was unlikely to have noticed the almost imperceptible change - as if a single muscle, that had been tense, relaxed. No mortal could have noticed it. A demon? Possible, but doubtful.

But Altair leaned forward slightly across the table in response to Vyncent's optimistic adage. "But even you, Vyncent, could not. Not with power alone. One day you could burn it all, perhaps, but that's not the same thing. Not at all. To properly control..." Altair's voice tailed off, but the monologue continued inside his head. To properly control... that required more. That needed subtlety, patience, careful planning. Was Vyncent even capable of those things? Altair glanced towards the table as if he thought his eyes would reveal his almost insulting thoughts. Whether or not they did, they certainly showed one thing - a ravenous glitter, a hunger for power and dominance. Ambition, that was a trait Altair possessed in droves.

Altair considered Vyncent's next words carefully: To be master of some little estate, some pointless part of Demia... Maybe that would grate. But it would be endurable, certainly - the power of it would be like a drug, at first. And if it were not happening for itself, but as part of something greater... Altair saw hierarchies as ladders, stairwells to be climbed. With his lifespan, no rank or status need ever be fixed. If it were part of a greater plan... Their conversation locked into itself like matching pieces of a puzzle, the beginnings of an idea that would be squirreled away for later.

"The first nineteen in a foundling house." Altair spoke the words as though they amused him. "To be sure - but then another 90 in the world." Altair shrugged - Vyncent was right. His lifetime was longer than a humans, but still little more than the blink of an eye. It had taken him a long time to properly master his power. The incidents in his youth, while brutal, had little to do with his demonic fire and innate capacity for magic - they were bloody affairs, conducted through his brute strength and his demonic bloodthirstiness. As a full demon, with true understanding of his capacity, he had lived barely fifty years. A heartbeat.

He blew air out through his mouth, considering. "I will seek knowledge," he decided matter-of-factly, "and experience. Necessary, wouldn't you say? And then... I don't know." Altair glanced directly into Vyncent's blood-red irises. "Power and destruction, I suppose," he concluded thoughtfully. Laid out in such terms, it seemed almost mundane.

[Vyncent Schwarz]

"Ah, this is where we differ, you see..." Vyncent smiled languidly, resting his elbows on the tabletop and steepling his fingers, gently resting his chin on the arch that was made. His expression was faintly distant, as if he was looking into some imaginary future. "I'm temperamental. My mind changes so often even I find it difficult to keep up. General control is all well and good in small doses, I'm not denying that. Indeed, you could even say that to have power is to have perfect control. But I'm not interested in what it is to 'properly control' the world, using your term. Oh, no. Deep down, I just want to see it burn," he shrugged a shoulder. "And that, regrettably, is where we run into a dead end. Your ambitions differ from my own, at least in the long run. You want control. I want chaos. Ultimately we are different sides of the same coin," he batted the idea away at last, as if tired of talking about it. He and Altair could drag this concept in pointless circles for years if they wished - and it was a real possibility that they would, in fact, depending on whether they parted ways or not when the storm was over.

Vyncent sat up, interest kindling to life in his eyes when Altair began to talk about himself. "Barely over a hundred with thoughts such as yours," he smirked crookedly. "If I were to say I wasn't impressed I'd be lying. I've met demons your age who are still too consumed by savagery and carnal rage to even string a sentence together," he murmured, watching the younger demon in front of him with unhidden fascination. "Knowledge and experience are logical choices. But those will only come with time," he agreed, looking pensive. "And, of course, those things will lead to power and destruction. Connect the dots - knowledge is power is control. But Altair, you speak of these things as if they are on some check-list, as if they are words and nothing more than that," he shook his head.

Perhaps he was a little too composed for someone so young.

"I see potential in you. As your power grows you'll leave your mark on this world, whether you wish to be recognised for it or not. Knowledge will open new gateways for your talents; gateways you didn't think you possessed," Vyncent lifted a hand; with a whispered word the air began to shimmer with cold - the High Demon didn't look comfortable, but delicate icicles began to form around his hand nonetheless. "You'll surprise yourself over and over," he slammed his near-frozen hand to the table - the spidery patterns of ice hardened to stone in less than a second, falling harmlessly from his hand and leaving it pale and perfect once more.

"Then, perhaps, power and destruction will seem more appealing. You can step all over this world. You can grab it by the throat, and slowly throttle the life out of it," he smiled and fell quiet again, looking lost in thought. Thunder rolled across the sky overhead.