Re: Log: Miles W + Damian W
It was fortunate for Damian that he could not (and would not) hear the voices of specters. The manor could very well be full of them, ancestors wondering how far their lineage had fallen, however, Damian could not say if it was so, as he did not know. He did not normally consider the possibility, even. Facts, data, science, these were the foundation of his knowledge; yet, too, Grandfather was thousands of years old and Damian himself had been born of a womb not attached to a body. Thus, we will allow for an unusual extensibility to such normally rigid words. This did not change the fact, however, that Damian did not hear the ghost's utterances. And, as the man who had emerged from his car did not so much as grimace, he was unaware of his invisible companion.
The kittens, perhaps, noticed, as they mewed and stared into what appeared to be empty space. Damian untethered himself from one razor claw in his suit coat. If the clothing was expensive (it was), it clearly did not matter to him. Nor, for that matter, did the man Miles' appearance in comparison. It certainly offered clues as to who he was, socioeconomically—or, sartorially—both of which informed who a person was. But, it was of no more important than a source of information, yes? Damian, who was not unused to being called 'sir,' watched the man Miles levelly with eyes far too wide, a far too green for the shade of his skin. His gaze turned to the carrier.
"They do not experience sadness as we do," he said. His voice was deep and his words seemed to catch idly on the ridges of his teeth as he spoke. He had no accent, truly, to speak of, yet the words still came off of his tongue sharply. Damian took the female kitten he held as she wriggled and he indicated that Miles ought open the carrier. "It will be good for them. To be with you." Damian glanced at the much taller man, ignoring the claws that bit into his hands as the kitten sought purchase upon his palm. "What is your reason for taking on this responsibility?"