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(2013-03-21 - Now)
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Percival Why France?

He could already hear the taunting from Maximilien. He'd have to omit that detail, when he related the details of this encounter to the Twilight Detective Agency assuming he decided such.

The Old Kingdom was not without a sort of rustic charm that the old-fashioned Gargoyle could appreciate.

He'd started a low glide across the farmsteads and fields once the moon rose, so that the other Gargoyle would be able to easily pick him out. Soaring and banking, he'd survey the area for any landmarks that he'd imagine a Gargoyle fancying as a daytime perch. Smoke would waft from several chimneys, but he certainly wouldn't suspect that she'd be living in a small hamlet.

He didn't even know why he'd come. He knew already that her views were so /contradictory/ to his own that he didn't think the encounter would be an amicable one. He didn't feel like he owed her any of his clan secrets, for she'd certainly despise what the remnant of her clan had become.

But he felt an obligation to try and reason with one of his kind. It was an anathema to him to even entertain the idea of a Gargoyle that was willing to fight their kin.

After a time, he'd allow himself to descend upon a lone hilltop, with a single large oak as the sole landmark upon it. Crossing his arms, he'd try to get a different perspective from ground level. Talons rapped impatiently against his arm, while his tail twitched in obvious anxiety. He wasn't sure if his foolhardiness in coming here alone would result in his death, or worse.
Percival would not be alone for long, after all not many Gargoyles ventured out this far and very few were willing to glide over structures and then over hilly, open areas.

Soon behind him the gentle 'thump' of someone landing on the ground could be heard behind him, before the sound of wings cloaking around ones body. If he looked to see who it was, he would find Demona looking right back at him in the same shadows of the tree he stands under.

Yet no weapons were on her body this time and as such she places out her hands, palm up. "I am glad to see you took up my offer to come here. There are very few of our kind that even come to this place." She says with calmness in her voice before she lowers her arms. "Welcome to the world of the Old Kingdom. It carries within it that of Britian, France, and I believe-- China."
Percival He knew what the /thump/ meant without even looking. He didn't look behind him though at first. Instead he continued to survey the countryside.

After a short time, he'd actually manage a chuckle. His voice actually had a different accent within it than the phoney one he'd presented to her the other day. "All right, Lady Demona? It may contain Britain, but not /my/ Great Britain, and since that Great Britain is fallen unto darkness, then my clan is lost to me. There is beauty in this place, but it is a hollow comfort, I'm afraid."

Only then, would he turn around, his wings finally lapsing into a relaxed pose, as they furled and moved onto his shoulders, as a cloak. "Well, you asked me to come here. By all rights, I should be brassed off at you, still. So let's get on with it. I imagine you're curious and you'd like for me to satisfy that itch our encounter gave you."
"I would yes." Demona says keeping her eyes locked on him. "As from my knowledge when I returned, all of my clan was destroyed by Macbeth. I had no knowledge that any survived. I suppose that will be now twice I have seen the near destruction of now two clans." There was a hint of coldness then in her voice.

"How did you all survive and where did you all go too in order to live on before.. the Darkness came?" Demona asks, her hand coming to rest on her hip as her tail moves side to side lazily.
Percival The Gargoyle would bring a single talon up to his chin, tapping it lazily. "I don't feel like I'm obligated to tell you anything, M'lady. Not unless you're willing to reciprocate. Why don't you tell me exactly what happened on the night that Canmore attacked Castle Macbeth, and what those goblets you took from the Church of Glabados truly meant to you? If so, then I might be willing to give you some details of my clan's eventual fate."

His tail would now move in a smoother cadence, from side to side. He wasn't being coy with her, as he spoke, but he didn't feel like she deserved the information to be given to her freely, not after their little encounter last night.
Demona growls softly before she looks away. She inhales the air, before she looks back at him. "I feared that Macbeth would betray us, so in turn, I betrayed him to another human who wish to conquer his land before he could have that chance. To protect my clan. However little did I realize that in that betrayal, I would be knocked unconscious, left to die."

Demona then lowered her hand as she went to further explain. "I know Macbeth would eventually have betrayed us. That is the nature of mankind. They do not have our loyalties nor our honor. They do not understand what it truly means to have a clan, nor do they understand their place in the world." Though she almost gives a grim chuckle. "..though I suppose it is more like.. worlds now.."

The female gargoyle shakes her head. "No matter. I loved my clan and I was doing what I thought was best for our survival, yet I underestimated him and that is what cost us everything." She bows her head in silent shame. "For that I am sorry."
Percival The Russet Gargoyle would listen to her tale patiently, his expression stoic, and certainly not judgemental. Still, once she finished it, he found that he couldn't look her in the eyes any longer. Instead his eyes were focused searchingly on the dim light of distant celestial bodies. It was always a disquieting feeling for him. They always seemed darker, and more distant than they'd been on his world.

After a time, he'd finally speak, his voice pained. "The oral traditions of my clan stated that Macbeth /had/ betrayed us. Perhaps the tellers decided to put a different spin upon it, because the reality was harsher than a fanciful tale spun by spoony bards."

He'd shake his head. "I certainly can't vindicate you, M'lady. They /died/ for /you/. It was on your word alone that they perished. But neither can I judge you for it either, as I am a naught but a penitent sinner who is trying very hard to be able to look into the mirror once more, and see aught but a monster."

He'd sigh now, his gaze now falling to look upon a distant hamlet, gesturing with a hand. "Only about eight survived the massacre. It seems folly, given that Canmore's British allies were fighting with him solely on moral grounds, to see our kind wiped from the face of this Earth, but they fled south, to Great Britain. Most say that the British wiped out our kind, but it isn't so."

He'd slowly turn his head to stare at her. "The eight that fled were captured, and they had a choice. They could bend their knees and serve the Crown, or they could die, as their kin did. What do you think they did, M'lady? All of their pride was stolen away from them by what happened in Scotland. They knelt, they swore an oath to serve. And at first, it was as you would have /feared/. They were but a grotesque jape of a power hungry monarch. In time, they became far more than that. And now, before it fell into darkness, my clan was sixty strong. And there is yet another of over two hundred of our kin that dwell in London. We /survived/. We /thrived/. And we found fulfillment in our role as guardians."
Demona listens to what Percival has to explain about the events that took place. Her mistake to defeat Macbeth led to this, nay, her choice in acting to soon led to this. If she had perhaps waited longer, she could found a better means to have handled Macbeth. Yet what if he did betray her when she thought he would.

His words from them echoed in her mind for only a moment: 'I would never have betrayed you.'

The passing thought causes her to growl in frustration before she swipes her claw at the tree in anger. The bark splinter off by the quick lash out, before she is calm just as quickly as she strikes.

"I see. So now you serve as Guardians to mankind." She closes her eyes. "I will keep that in mind from now on." Well, back to being alone again in this world.
Percival The Gargoyle would watch her reaction with a stoic expression. "Is that so very terrible, M'lady?"

After a moment, he'd look away, and Demona might notice that he's in fact a touch, flustered. He could never seem to look at her for long, and it certainly wasn't because he found her disgusting. "You don't have to be alone. This is a different world, that we live in. Humanity's fear of our kind has dissipated like dust in the wind."

He'd actually hold out a hand to her, look at her briefly, then look away. "I, uh. Look. I can't approve of what you're doing, but I don't want to fight my kind. It isn't in my nature. Can we perhaps just agree to speak amicably on occasion, see if we can't find /some/ common ground? Despite what you may think of me, I don't want to lead Macbeth to you. I don't want to watch the two of you kill each other. There are so few of us left..."

And now he'd be looking at the ground at her feet. Why couldn't he bring himself to look at her?
Demona watches Percival for a moment. Her tail gently moving side to side, before it stills. She studies him for a long moment. The wind plays with her red hair as it passes by in the silence between his words.

As Percival extends his hand out, Demona's eyes only look at it. A woman so scorned as she would never take such a kind gesture would she? Would she honestly take this kind gesture? She inhales deeply before she reaches out to take his hand into hers, then gently goes to rest her hand over the top of his as well.

"I do not wish to harm my own kind either, Percival. I did not mean to attack you, nor the other last night. There is much blood in my history and I watched our kind suffer, over, and over again. Your tolerance for man is still much more patient then my own, but I assure you. What I do, I always do for what I believe is best for our kind to live."

She then goes to move her hand away. "..and I thank you for keeping him away, though I am sure he will find me soon enough. We /always/ seem to find one another soon enough." There was almost a hint of frustration in those words.
Percival The Gargoyle would actually venture to look up at her briefly, the faintest of smiles appearing upon his lips before he'd look away again. His other hand would move to close in upon it.

It might have hit Demona that the other Gargoyle was feeling lonely himself, and that the presence of another Gargoyle was making him shy, awkward.

He would close his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "You've lived for far longer than I, M'lady. I can't blame you for your bitterness, as you lived through dark times for our kin. I.."

He looked up at her again. This time he didn't look away. "I know you're doing what you're doing because you truly believe it will protect our kind. I can't agree with you, but I understand your motivation all too well."

He'd shake his head. "I'll try to keep him away from you, and I would intervene to prevent the two of you from killing each other. I can't promise more than that."

After a while, he'd appear to be mulling over what to even say next, but eventually the words do come to him. "Why did you steal the goblets? How exactly has the act protected our kind? I.. I can't condone that you killed a man to obtain them, but at least, I need to know why you felt it was worth that."
As Percival takes his hand over hers, she stops trying to move them away. Her eyes stare at his hands, before her gaze meets his own as he at last finds the courage to look at her. Demona stares at him for a moment, that cold gaze only softens for a moment, before she turns her eyes away.

Her tail flicks gently in thought, before she closes her eyes, then breaths deeply in through her nose, before she lets out a soft sigh. There was no escape from the explanation it would see. "I plan to perform a ritual at which I will be able to summon forces powerful enough to fight for me. As such, I can use these minions in order to protect our kind from those who wish us harm."

Demona then looks at him directly once more. "I need several more items before I can complete this ritual, including I may have to work with a few I would rather now, but if it what I must do. Then I will do it." She honestly was no stranger to doing such things. After all, she did work with Xanatos.
Percival The Gargoyle would actually be biting his lower lip now. He didn't exactly know how to handle this situation. He liked to believe the best of his kin, he wanted to think that deep down Demona had some kernel of virtue, just awaiting the right conditions for it to grow. He was having difficulty believing it, but he didn't want to give up on her.

He'd eventually nod. "What forces could you summon that might protect us? I don't understand..."

Demona would obviously sense that this Gargoyle's contact with the Manhatten clan was next to non-existent. He didn't seem to know anything about her activities, other than her ancient history. He certainly hadn't even known she was capable of magic, given how she'd fought them the other day.

This scene contained 13 poses. The players who were present were: Percival, Demona