He grinned when she suddenly avoided his eyes, the grin growing more patronising by the second and the stretch of the silence. If she had had a hundred years on her, or even fifty, it'd have been nothing to sniff at, but anything more than he'd guessed, and she would have said it without qualm.
1883, she admitted at last, no less controlled than before. Only five years then! Barely a blink of an eye. It was the second confession that interested him more - perhaps the first thing that had truly thrown him off about her - because he had been around in Britain at the time. Half here, and half in London, as was his life still, but... Lyra had been turned right under his nose. Ishmael couldn't pretend any memory of it was distinct in his mind - he was certain he would have remembered her if she had visited the caverns properly then - since he was often too embroiled in his own affairs to stop and care, but this meant that he could very well find out much more about her and about then, if he so chose. Unearthing copies of the Prophet or other such things from five years ago was hardly even digging!
"Hmm," Ishmael said, more intrigued than ever, if trying not to show it. "Do you know who did it? Who turned you?" Someone he knew? Someone still here? Whoever it had been, Ishmael was sure he'd remember if the culprit had gone public, if they'd gotten caught for it - whether that meant prosecution by the Ministry or merely outed among them here. His memory was perhaps not the sharpest, but things like that usually stuck.
Not that he could remember anything about the vampire who'd turned him, another lifetime ago in New York. Everything before the attack was smudged and muted in his mind, billowing confusion so easily shut out by the force of the bloodlust that had followed. But everyone was different, every set of circumstances different - perhaps she knew, would encounter the vampire responsible here after all.
1883, she admitted at last, no less controlled than before. Only five years then! Barely a blink of an eye. It was the second confession that interested him more - perhaps the first thing that had truly thrown him off about her - because he had been around in Britain at the time. Half here, and half in London, as was his life still, but... Lyra had been turned right under his nose. Ishmael couldn't pretend any memory of it was distinct in his mind - he was certain he would have remembered her if she had visited the caverns properly then - since he was often too embroiled in his own affairs to stop and care, but this meant that he could very well find out much more about her and about then, if he so chose. Unearthing copies of the Prophet or other such things from five years ago was hardly even digging!
"Hmm," Ishmael said, more intrigued than ever, if trying not to show it. "Do you know who did it? Who turned you?" Someone he knew? Someone still here? Whoever it had been, Ishmael was sure he'd remember if the culprit had gone public, if they'd gotten caught for it - whether that meant prosecution by the Ministry or merely outed among them here. His memory was perhaps not the sharpest, but things like that usually stuck.
Not that he could remember anything about the vampire who'd turned him, another lifetime ago in New York. Everything before the attack was smudged and muted in his mind, billowing confusion so easily shut out by the force of the bloodlust that had followed. But everyone was different, every set of circumstances different - perhaps she knew, would encounter the vampire responsible here after all.
