“Hmm... interesting. Sometimes I forget myself, you know? That I ever had a childhood, that is; memories can be funny things – always running afoul of one another, getting mixed up and lost somewhere in the strange little back corners and alleys of one's mind...” Nestor pauses here, raises his hand toward the moonlight – clenches his fist, peers at the palm as though inspecting it – not that there is anything strange to see. Just a hand. Giving a surreptitious cough, the Demonspawn seems to stiffen ever so slightly; his attention is distracted by the next question, some moments following before his eventual response:

“Names, Lady Wilde – you do seem so very interested in names; perhaps there is a greater power in the absence of one. A lack of identity. Who might we be, could one choose to live a life bereft of a name entirely? Would it make us... something less than human?” I laugh suddenly here – lightly, catching the irony of the comment: turning to glance toward my new chance companion, I offer a bemused sort of smile before adding: “Imagine namelessness to be a gift! The gift of no expectations, no preconceived notions. To simply exist, and to be to others precisely what we are... it is the whole lie – the whole lie of personality, you know? The absurd idea that any one being – man, woman, natural or supernatural – is infallible in nature. To be 'true to oneself' when 'oneself' is nothing more than a coincidental concoction of experiences which lead to memories which lead to expectations.”

The words halt then – I rein myself back a bit, before I go to far. Not that my words are harsh, or in anyway meant poorly... just spoken as thoughts would chance to take me. I glance again at the dog. The dog stares at me; stares with the same baleful blue of its questioning eyes. Shifting from one foot to the next, I politely do my best to keep my gaze and attention well-averted from the Vampiress and her toy as they part ways. There was something strange, striking – disturbing, almost, in the way she looked as she turned and made her way back to where I stood. It was then that I realised in something akin to a panic that she not only intended to come within a hairsbreadth of me, but to touch me – the sensation was jarring. (Though Nestor shows little of his sudden awkwardness outwardly – perhaps the faintest flinch, quickly hidden.)

My nerves tingled at the intrusion, and it was everything I could do to keep my manners – it was not as if her proximity would kill me. Not even that it truly bothered me... just... 

“Just what, Nestor dear? Hmm?” The voice tickled in the back of my head – goading, chiding. Scraping against the back of my spine like an unexpected blade; I did not respond – rather, I offered a smile, put one foot before the other, and began to stroll off into the night – Vampiress at my side – whilst remarking:

“It is a place only a little ways from here – a curious place, and curious people... though perhaps others might find them as dull as I do interesting... tell me, Lady Wilde: do you often pause to ponder the passage of -time-? A strange thing, maybe ( here I paused for a moment... I had to admit, the nature of Vampires at once confused and intrigued me, and for that instant I could not help but wonder if I were about to tread on sacred ground, so to speak – but I blundered on anyway): you were not always in the past who you are now, and even in the past, no doubt, you noted the ever-shifting movement of time. Speeding, speeding – faster and faster as weeks become days and days become hours and hours minutes....” Nestor tilts his head a little to the side, staring more pointedly at the woman before continuing: 

“And then so suddenly – like that!(he snaps his fingers)-- it ends; you go hurtling off into the unknown, and wake to find yourself a creature who has managed to take a few steps beyond the whims of time entirely. Or... perhaps... just as much a slave to the concept as ever – worse now, even, since in death the human escapes and death for you – well – it could very well never come unless you choose it. Nestor halts here, pausing before an unassuming door in an equally unremarkable street. The windows beyond are dark; glazing gleams dully in the dim light, empty eyes leading to seeming nothing beyond. The dog gives a soft whine, settles back on its haunches and thumps a miserable tail several times against the dirty cobbles. 

“I find this place... refreshing...” The Demonspawn remarks, before pushing open the door and leading Jerusha into the strange expanse of the room beyond. Ticking – the constant ticking and buzzing of winding gears and clacking cogs; the steady rhythm of a few dozen clocks all chanting away the time in harmony – and upon hearing the sound, Nestor might be seen to smile...