Scotsman and Irishman: The Right Way -- Jamie/Alex Rourke

Alex laughed, "I can understand the predicament. There's some information I'm going to need though. I need to know where I can find Durante Giovanni and where their holding in town are, and I'll need a list of your inner court members, and preferably their clans."

He smiled.

"Durante can be found on a boat. At th' docks. Ye canna miss it. It's ... th' boat."

He continued to grin.

"Th' Sheriff is goin' t' be changing, as is th' Scourge. Th' rest of my Court consists of th' Harpy, whom ye likely know, th' Primogen, an' my Seneschal. Th' Seneschal is Dalia Ramirez, me wife an' a Lasombra. Th' Primogen are as follows: Brujah - Tatiyanna, Gangrel - Grace, Nosferatu - Th' King in Yellow, Tremere - Stefan Engle, Ventrue - Benjamin Harding, Toreador - Malachi ... he's special, Malkavian - Peter Johnson ... scary bastard."

Alex's eyebrow raised, "Benjamin Harding? Last I heard he was in Romania. He and I didn't get on well back in Seattle."

He smiled.

"He's my family, so I doubt ye will have much issue wi' him here, aye?"

"Harding and I... Let's just say that when he left the Emerald city there was no love lost between us because there wasn't any to love. But he's your kin, so I'll try to be polite. But if he pushes me buttons there might be some issues."

He laughed again.

"Cellular phones, lad. Tha' be all I ask."

Alex laughed, "Understood. Was there anything else you need o' me, or should I lveave ya to yer readin'?"

He smiled.

"Tha' was all I needed. Though ye can stay a bit longer if ye like. It's comfortable here."

Alex grinned, "Well, it is comfortable. And we still do have that pint we' been waitin' on."

There was a light snapping of his fingers.

The young blonde woman reappeared, her head tilted with a smile.

"Yes, Mister Alexander."

He spoke to her in a tongue Alex was mostly familiar with. Gaelic, though the way he spoke it was decidedly Scottish.

"Bring us a pint, dear. You know how this goes, Kara love."

He turned back to Alex.

"Aye. An' she'll bring us a nice one, too."

Alex grinned, "You know, it's been so long since I've heard anyone speak the old tongue, so long since I've spoken it myself, that I can't even remember how any more. Least not without practice I'd wager."

He grinned as they waited.

"Aye, I tend t' keep it in practice, when I can, though."

"I've got to ask, d'ya ever miss the days before all o' this technology? Befor cameras an' cars and e-mail?" Alex idly fidgeted with the wedding band around his finger.

What Alex would notice then was that he wore two wedding bands. Both silver. The one on his right hand had a jacobian pattern of thistle blossoms, the one on his left hand was just a plain silver band in a celtic knotted pattern. He smiled as the ghoul came back carrying a pitcher ... with only one glass.

She sat down between them and poured a glass, beginning to drink quietly as the Prince looked up and answered.

"Aye. I miss it. Wha' I dinna miss is th' blood an' swords, fightin' an' constant worry of spies for th' English. How old are ye truly, Alex?"

Alex nodded, "I'm goin' on my third century and, God willin' I might actually see it. But as a vampire, I was born to violence and rage. I've always been a fighter. It's in the blood, I suppose."

He smirked and shook his head.

"Aye, I was too, lad. But tha' does nay mean I miss it. Even when it was bein' done, I was nay happy about it. But I did wha' was right."

Alex nodded, "None of us really likes it. None of us in our right minds, I s'pose. But it's in us, now, isn't it, and there's no undoin' that, not matter how much we wish we could. I try not to dwell on it, but when push comes to shove, I've no question about who I am an' what I stand for, much the same I think for you."

He watched the girl pour another glass and begin to drink, then he nodded.

"Aye. But I've seen wha' happens when someone does like it. It's nay pretty, an' nay something tha' be easy t' forget."

Alex nodded to the Scotsman, "Aye, I've seen it myself a time or two. Best option is usually a piece a wood in the chest for one o' us. For mortals, I'm partial to a small cell. Truth be told, I'm not big on killin' people until they've crossed a line. Murder's part o' crossin' that line."

He snorted.

"Aye. I'm a bit more fair-minded. Ye should see th' house I'm fillin' wi' shovelheads. Some of 'em come out o' th' ground all confused an' scared. An' I dinna have th' heart t' just kill 'em. So I train 'em up enough for survival, then send 'em off t' start new somewhere. Does tha' make me weak?"

Alex shook his head, "No, but you and I, we do things differently. Furthermore, murder's a choice. The monsters I fight, monsters worse than myself, they choose to kill. It's not a loss of control for them. Damek chose to kill Griselda, Deimos chose to kill all of his victims and Wetmore..." Alex suddenly stopped.

He nodded.

"Aye. I figure if they've nay done anything too horrible, I can have their minds checked, teach 'em a few things, an' one day they may be productive Camarilla members."

Then he smiled.

"Who is Wetmore? If ye can tell me."

For a long time, Alex's eyes seemed distant, focused on nothing in particular though he still idly turned the wedding band on his finger as memories, hundred upon thousands of memories played out in instants. Then Alex spoke and for a moment, it seemed that he struggled for his words, "He was... he was my best friend. We grew up together in Boston, he'd been my best man at my weddin'. Then a year and a half later, when it looked like the Revolution was failin', that we might lose and all of us be hanged for traitors, he turned coat. And then he killed me wife and son."

His eyes and face softened as the ghoul poured herself another glass of the thick brown liquid in the pitcher.

"Aye," he said, almost a whisper. "I see. Did they die quick, at least?" He said it with no small amount of compassion.

Alex shook his head, feeling the lump in his throat, "No... no they didn't. He was with the Brits when they cam to raze Boston. My wife and son were burnt alive. I remember crawlin' in amongst the wreckage o' my home, I remember how much pain I felt from the still hot remains of my home. And it was all I could do to be with 'em one last time. And the pain gave me focus and I simply laid there for days, almost wishing I could die again. But then I woke up, embers were cold and I had healed. And then all I wanted was revenge."