The intense feeling of a power carefully repressed--but not enough to block itself from the world entirely, from those that knew the truth of it--flooded his senses and he was instantly on the alert. Even from his position within the building he could tell the bearer of this force only crept closer. He braced himself for the meeting that would no doubt occur, since the being seemed intent on approaching him. Though Mael was tense, prepared for the worst, he could not deny the glimmer of familiarity he felt. It was another like him, born again with the same dark gift, trapped forever between life and death. And there existed another dimension to the familiarity, more than the base connection of vampirism. His heartbeat quickened, the blood pumping to it stolen and yet made his own.
The front door opened, shut. He shot a glance towards it, his blue eyes widening of their own accord as the individual stepped carefully through the threshold, moving amongst the lingering mortals with an easy grace. Long, dark hair framed a deceptively young face, while eyes black as night itself but burning with an undeniable intelligence fixated on him. She spoke softly, nothing but his name falling from her lips. How many centuries had it been since they'd last spoken, last enjoyed one another's company? The number of years spanning their separation, mutual in part though it'd been, were countless; he regarded them as insignificant for this one moment. The cheerful chattering and hushed tones of the room's other inhabitants were all but forgotten. Mael saw nothing but Zenobia's petit figure advancing, the unhidden delight playing across her face serving to brighten her countenance.
"Zenobia," came his response, voice muted as hers. He made no effort to conceal his happiness at her arrival. To think that here they were reunited, when he had only traveled the long way to York because of the oppressive need to quench his curiosity, to put to rest or further enlighten the internal, supernatural tug that'd brought him to the quiet town. As old as the two of them were in the blood, this meeting could be no great coincidence. Surely they had been led here by similar desires.
Mael stood out of respect, rather than seeking to make the minuscule Zenobia feel intimidated, as if she would ever permit such an injustice. She'd long since embraced her vampiric nature and learned to fully utilize her heightened abilities, innate and otherwise. There was no doubt in this, for she was in front of him looking as full of life and vigor as she had in the days of old Constantinople. Time had not halted her desire to continue living this existence, nor would it ever mar with lines of age her outward visage. If Zenobia were alive and well, could it not be possible that Avicus still lived?
"You're here," he continued, smiling in such a manner to conceal the fangs that would mark him as a non-human entity. There were always precautions to take when residing in more populated areas lest his true nature be discovered: sunglasses to hide the unnatural sheen of his eyes, gloves to cover fingernails too glossy to be human, mixtures of compounds designed to dim the lightness of his skin, to hide the marble-like quality it had acquired. It didn't hurt to be careful, but he had opted out of the first tonight, given the late hour and lack of mortals on the streets.
"There's much to be said." It was a gross understatement and he knew it. Mael gestured with one hand to the chair across from his, inviting her to sit.