Time still turns the pages (Open)

Warren walked through the park, clad in his usual eye-concealing shades and heavy trench coat. The January cold was nothing to scoff at, but he had other things on his mind at the moment. Thoughts of the future; of a long, bloody conflict against the monarch. The tyrant would fall one day, of this he was sure. He just wanted to have a hand in bringing about the monstrosity's ultimate demise. To that end, he was scouting out the town, learning its layout as best he could. Knowledge was the ultimate weapon, after all.

He strode up to the fountain, and stopped. He'd heard of this so-called monument before, but never had he actually seen it with his own two eyes. Now that he saw it... it utterly disgusted him. What right did these creatures think they had to put up a monument to their fallen? They had taken this world from its rightful owners, reduced their numbers to nearly nothing, and made them little better than cattle. The thought of the atrocities they had committed during the war made him grit his teeth in rage.

Continuing along, he found himself feeling the urge to have a seat; walking all the way into town from the depths of the woods was not short journey, and he was, after all, only human. He came upon a figure sitting on a bench, head tilted back and his eyes closed. The leather cuff he wore signified him as a 'pet'- a label he did not approve of when applied to a human. Still, a bench was a bench, and his feet demanded some respite.

"You wouldn't mind if I sat here, would you?" he inquired. Normally, he'd have just dropped himself onto the bench without even bothering to ask, but he always had it in the back of his mind that he should show his remaining human brethren at least a small modicum of courtesy.

Current Loadout:
CZ-75B in in-waistband holster (concealed)
6" Ka-bar in boot sheath (concealed)

Warren blinked, astonished that somebody had so quickly discerned what he was. For a few seconds, he had no response- it would be smart to walk away, he reasoned. What if pets had some motivation to betray free humans such as himself? What if- no, no. This man had no real reason to do something of the sort, beyond mindlessly inuring himself to the authorities. Even that sliver of reasoning was blown away when he had given him the warning. This man was something more than a mindless drone.

He grasped Dax's hand, and gave it a firm shake. "The name's Warren Trent." he responded, slowly setting himself down on the bench. His feet rewarded him immediately, feeling as if the weight of the world had been taken off of them. He'd been walking since late last night to get here- he wasn't exhausted, but a bit of rest couldn't hurt. "I can evade hunters like him if the need arises. Cities are rife with all sorts of ways to lose a pursuer. If one plays their hand correctly, perhaps the hunt could even be turned around."

Or so he hoped. Unless he was really, really unlucky, the basic design of a city block shouldn't have changed too much in the past decade or so. If the need arose, he always had a few nine millimeter arguments on him... though the noise of multiple gunshots would surely attract even more attention. "And no, I had no real desire to see this monument to this civilization's sins." he answered, glancing at the water-spewing structure. "No, I've come to begin something significantly less benign than that. In a few weeks time, it will all become clear."

Really, he had not the slightest clue when he would be able to actually set any of his plans into motion, but sounding clueless was never optimal. Besides, should this man turn out to be less loyal to the human cause than was preferable, the misinformation he sewed would serve Warren well, somewhat akin to the tale of the boy who cried wolf. The enemy's forces go on alert, only to wait weeks and weeks for nothing to happen. Their guard is dropped, and a sudden blow is dealt against them.

"Though I'd assume you weren't exactly drawn here by it either. You're longing for the old world, I'm guessing."

The green-eyed man shrugged. "I survived in the wilderness for over a decade. Between the constant hazards of nature and the occasional tracker, you learn to-" he begins, though he quickly falls silent and stares straight ahead as a vampire strolls leisurely by. He waits until she's clearly out of earshot to continue.

"...sorry about that. As I was saying, you learn to deal with such problems as they arise." he says, nervously glancing up and down the path to check for any other possible eavesdroppers. He didn't mind taking a moment to speak with Dax, but not getting captured was up there on his list of favored activities. You know, alongside things such as breathing and not being some blood-dependent abomination.

"As for the size of my group, I will say very little. I'll give you this tidbit, though: certain elements of our plans must be undertaken by singular agents. Any group larger than perhaps three of us would almost certainly attract unnecessary attention." he reveals, speaking slowly and deliberately. Considering there was nothing specific being said, Warren had no trouble telling him any of this.

His answer to Warren's last question came as a bit of a surprise. "Not... free? What do you mean? Unless my memory is failing me, France was not under the rule of a dictator. I'm going by your accent here, so forgive me if I've assumed your homeland incorrectly. And if you'll excuse my continued questioning, how do you live as a pet? The very notion seems abhorrent to me."

As he finished speaking, he took a glance over his shoulder. Nobody behind him, good. Leaning away from the bench, he found that the pathway they sat beside was similarly clear; few enjoyed being out and about in the harsh January cold. Still, you could never be too cautious. "Once again, sorry about that. Paranoia is a necessity to my day-to-day survival."

The rebel accepted the marker, placing it in one of his coat's inner pockets. Drawing such a mark in public would be rather unwise, he thought. "Only two sorts of people refuse to hear advice-" he responds, giving Dax the slightest of grins. "-the foolish and the dead. I would like to think I fall into neither of those categories, particularly the latter."

He found himself wondering what the man meant by 'complicated', though he supposed it was a justified answer. Warren himself had dodged a question or two he had been handed, so it was only fair. No matter the day and age, he figured, people still had secrets to keep, and he himself was no exception to the rule. "I have one final question for you, friend. I understand that it may not be my place to ask, so if you choose to ignore it... well, that will be that."

It was a question he asked all the pets he came across. He'd seen all manner of responses, from pained looks and silence to enthusiastic answers and smiles. It was a question that had determined the fate of a very small number of pet owners as well. He knew they were supposed to treat enslaved humans with at least some small degree of dignity, so he rarely had to act on the information he was given. When he did, though, the results were anything but subtle, leaving local law enforcement to wonder just how a body could be separated into so many bloody chunks. Yes, those were the days his case of sociopathy turned to borderline psychopathy. He would argue that he was justified in such an act, as he was defending those who could not defend themselves, even if his means were appreciably more grisly than were truly needed.

"I would like to know if you're treated well." he asks, adjusting his mildly-oversized sunglasses. "It is to my understanding that even by this society's standards, you're not to be unnecessarily harmed."

The wanderer nods. "That's good to hear... and to my surprise, it's not at all uncommon." he says, slowly rising to his feet. He pushes his shades higher up the bridge of his nose and turns to face Dax. He stared for a short moment, reading his facial expression and posture. Perhaps it was just the tone with which he had spoken to him, but it was apparent to Warren that he cared for his owner. After all, vampires were just humans with a severe mutation, at least from an anatomical perspective.

"You are worried but your caretaker." he states flatly. "You wish no harm to come to him or her."

And he saw why he'd be concerned; the rebels planned to upset the newly-established social order. Both the process and the aftermath would be dangerous to anyone involved, along with anyone who happened to be in the metaphorical blast radius. Simply putting the monarch down was likely to be a particularly violent operation, but what came afterward would be many times worse... assuming they succeeded. All manner of things would occur, ranging from complete anarchy to regional rulers fighting each other for control of more and more land in feudal conflicts.

"Believe me, Dax. What I have in mind will not cause excessive collateral damage." he says, hoping to reassure him. "If I have my way, he'll meet his end before the world beyond the citadel even realizes we've acted."

Of course, this assumed everything went according to plans. As even the most green strategist could tell you, no plan survived more than ten seconds of contact with the opposition. With that knowledge in hand, Warren was formulating multiple contingencies to keep himself a step ahead of any potential setbacks, though each one was more desperate and caused more carnage than the last. How many would he be forced to utilize, he wondered?