As much as he would wish to accept Janos’ offer, he was also acutely aware that Janos had also been hard-pressed by his own duties of late, both as Reaver Guardian and as a sire-Vorador, especially, was not a particularly biddable creature. “I would not wish to disturb your solitude,” Raziel said with careful courtesy, his eyes drifting over the ebony sheen of those great folded wings, the deep azure lines of shoulder and thigh half-obscured by slow upward spirals of steam. reverence, perhaps, that was granted to no other-perhaps not even Kain.
The things that lay between them words yet unsaid, secrets and sacrifices as yet unrevealed to *this* Janos. “Raziel.” The word was warm Janos’ accent made the tones seem held in the front of the mouth. He paused at the scrape of cloven, hard-edged foot on stone, turned his head just slightly, his profile and the white at his temples now visible. The Ancient, his back to Raziel, was just stepping down into the water, leaving his robe puddled behind him on the tiles. Disappointing, perhaps, that another found them so, too. The quiet and repose of these heated pools at night was a welcome moment of peace. In any case, Raziel’s hours entirely to himself were few and far between, and frequently had to be be stolen, lest his guardians - both Razielim and Ancient - attempt to trail along after him. Sometimes, Raziel had to wonder if the winged vampires meddled purposefully, or merely by accident. None of them, however, were versed in dealing with the Ancients, whose customs and mores, attitudes and aptitudes, continued to surprise. The clan and its activities required care, of course, but for the most part those affairs ran quite smoothly, thanks to the centuries of experience of Anani and the other clan elders. Here, the requests for Raziel’s attention were constant and often of critical importance. The one thing Haven had offered, in unending abundance, was privacy - days might easily pass without contact from another real creature, and no activity was of pressing need. Raziel paused at the arched entrance, humidity and steam a pressure against him. That was unusual, for this time of the night - the Ancients tended to be active throughout the day, the early morning, and the evening, but during the deadest hours of darkness, when the stars were diamond-hard in clear summer skies, even Aptera’s great central temple stilled to quiet and its winged inhabitants slept. The Ancients’ bathing chamber was occupied. Description: A late night encounter in the baths.
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