Ishmael had never been very good at being summoned. It was not for nothing that Monty had always thought of him as a cat, slipping in and out of their London houses for years, demanding attention when he required it and only gracing people with his presence when he chose – whatever Ishmael did in his afterlife, he would damned well do it with a dash of independence.
But there was some saying about curiosity and cats not mixing well, he supposed, and unfortunately an owl from Gilbert (grand old Prusseneit, no less, a vampire with whom he had no choice but to be intertwined with, giving their shared ties and history) was simply too interesting to let it slip him by.
Of course it was Gil’s style to make one come to him. Eternally mixing the grandiose with the trivial – even this place was too fantastically imposing for its own good. (Compensating for something, to be sure.) “I’m flattered I’d be your first port of call in an emergency,” Ishmael purred back in answer – though he expected it was true, for all that he might profess not to care at all for Gilbert’s wellbeing (or bloody Azazel’s, for that matter). But Ishmael sometimes thought he was the only vampire walking the mortal earth with any sense in his head, so –
So here he was, doomed to be at everyone’s beck and call. “I see a couple hundred years haven’t taught you any patience yet,” Ishmael said with a smirk, and raised his eyebrows expectantly to express what’s the problem, then?
But there was some saying about curiosity and cats not mixing well, he supposed, and unfortunately an owl from Gilbert (grand old Prusseneit, no less, a vampire with whom he had no choice but to be intertwined with, giving their shared ties and history) was simply too interesting to let it slip him by.
Of course it was Gil’s style to make one come to him. Eternally mixing the grandiose with the trivial – even this place was too fantastically imposing for its own good. (Compensating for something, to be sure.) “I’m flattered I’d be your first port of call in an emergency,” Ishmael purred back in answer – though he expected it was true, for all that he might profess not to care at all for Gilbert’s wellbeing (or bloody Azazel’s, for that matter). But Ishmael sometimes thought he was the only vampire walking the mortal earth with any sense in his head, so –
So here he was, doomed to be at everyone’s beck and call. “I see a couple hundred years haven’t taught you any patience yet,” Ishmael said with a smirk, and raised his eyebrows expectantly to express what’s the problem, then?
