thatslayer:
“Gonna go out on a limb, here… not a vampire, right? Boy howdy, are you ever in the wrong place at the wrong damn time.“
There a cockiness about Matthew that few people are ignorant of, perhaps it’s owing to his age or the fact he possess the De Clermont name but it shines through even in those moments that could be considered less opportune. It’s slight but his eyes roll none the less, the faintest of smiles leave a trace upon his lips as he turns to look at the stranger. “And what leads you to your observation?” He was a scientist after all, a professor no less, why not question her conclusion.
thatslayer:
“Well, for starters your suit’s not fifty years outta date. Not like I pay a buck’s worth of attention, but vamps? Tend to be kinda behind.” The vampire she’s been tussling with notes her distraction with a gleeful grin packed with fangs that are just a bit too big for it’s mouth.
It goes in for a massive bite as Faith motions to the newbie with the butt of her stake, “Unless you’re broadcasting your vampiness? I mean, I wouldn’t-” she casually turns the stake in her hand and punches it through the breastbone of that yellow-eyed moron who doesn’t seem to realize he’s not the big draw, tonight. He starts to shake to dust and Faith wipes the stake’s point on her sleeve, “But, hey. Some guys get off on gettin’ smacked around.”
There are vampires that refuse to evolve with the times, refuse to embrace the countless things evolution brings with it, in Matthews opinion immortality is wasted on them, what reason is there to live an eternity if you aren’t going to change. But there’s that familiar sense of amusement given her words, he’s very versed in fashion, his family after all bears quite the position. “Astute observation.”
It’s deliberate the almost taunting like word choices.
There’s little surprise on his face as he leans against the building doing what it is he does these days, research well in this case observation. A singular brow ticks upwards as much like the fairytales of old the vampire dies at the hand of the stake, it surprises even him, a researching geneticist that so many of their species different in such ways. “Brute force has never been much of a draw.” In truth his father had used him as a weapon, his blood rage made brute force a way of life almost, well, that is before he’d learned to control it. But these days, not entirely interested. “Matthew De Clermont.” He offered his name as he looked at her.
