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“If you were to ask me,” Beckett mused, “I’d say no. Theoretically I would love to say yes; kindred, like their sapien forefathers, are communal creatures. But we both know our kind is much too volatile for that. Though I suppose kine are equally as destructive as us.”
Jack clacked his teeth together, leaning forward on his elbows, gazing out past the twisted iron fence. “I dunno. Kine seem smarter than that -- or at least, they know they aren’t durable enough to let their fists do all the talking.” His eyes followed Beckett as the man kicked ash and debris aside, side-stepping burnt entrails. “Honestly, I’m no saint, either. I rip jaws out and break bones for fun, but-”
“So demure,” Beckett remarked sarcastically.
“Lemme speak. All I’m saying is, I don’t think kine are all violent sociopaths. They got art, language, most of the inventions us dumbasses use today -- I mean, hell, if we ever invented our own languages, I’d love to know. Maybe we’re God’s attempt at bringing them back to their roots.”
“So you do think kindred are animals?”
“Well-” Jack chuckled, a smile cracking at the edges of his lips. “I can’t answer that with a yes or a no, you know that. Look at us versus the Toreadors or the Ventrue. Not really a consistent pattern , if you get what I’m saying -- we’ve come too far to all be animals.”
Beckett picked a tome from a splintered bookshelf. Psychology-related -- unsurprising. “The more civilized of our kind were, should I say, bred that way. Ventrue especially are an unliving, manufactured conspiracy.” He flicked through a couple charred pages, noticed most of the pages were scribbled on in blue ink, and dropped it like a stone. The impact cast dust in all directions, coating his boots. “I don’t believe we’re mindless beasts, no, but our very inception is antithetical to that of human society. From an anthropological standpoint, at least, our vampirism seems more like an erroneously-executed defect than an emerging species.”
“What, like population control? Down’s syndrome of bloodborne diseases?” Jack laughed.
The other man cast him an unserious glare. “An unwise understanding of both of those conditions, but no. What I mean is, our kind is scattered across the globe, washed up in oceans, buried in Roman ruins, so on. But it’s not consistent. Until the Dark Ages, moreso leading into the Renaissance, any evidence of kindred communities in Europe was extraordinarily scarce.
No villages, no towns, no gathering places. Hardly a relic of artistic merit anywhere. If it weren’t for our communities today, you would think we were simply animals, picking kine from their huts like so many wolves and sheep.” Beckett kicked a metal locker on its side so he could break the lock with his hands. “How unusual it is, then, for us to ‘come together’ like we have. Our most prominent resurgence is seen, obviously, in the Renaissance, where we seemed to establish societies in the wake of human creatives. Once again an unusual occurrence. European horizons did broaden significantly, yes, but so did European individualism.”
Jack leaned back in the tarnished office chair he’d salvaged. An ominous creak sounded from one of the wooden legs, but he ignored it. “Yeah. I already lived through this song and dance. Kine made themselves new toys and kindred started building their eerie secret societies or whatever. I hardly noticed a difference.”
Beckett snorted. “You were a pirate. In that time period, you wouldn’t be educated enough to read a shop sign. I would be surprised if you noticed a difference at all.”
“Come on, I can’t choose my origins, can I? I’ve seen more than you , and that’s gotta count for something. But-- anyway, even if we were forced to, we did end up building pretty damn intricate societies for a bunch of ‘defects’. Hell, cities here are breeding grounds for kindred. We thrive in these crowded shitholes. Doesn’t that seem communal to you?”
“Communal, or parasitic?” Beckett adjusted his glasses. Creases above his brow came and went as he rifled through another worn notebook, mostly charred.
“Now we’re parasites ?”
“I didn’t say we were. I’m simply giving you different adjectives.”
Jack sighed. “Whatever. We might be animals -- animals different from most, yeah, and definitely damned. But despite all our obnoxious spiels, kindred rely on their community. It’s literally inevitable.” Beckett gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes. “ Most kindred. I’m not trying to philosophize, I’m just saying. Maybe jot it down in a notebook somewhere.”
"Hmm. I would agree, though more for.. sociopolitical reasons, I guess. I don't truly think kindred are defects, unique species or no. But our origins are bizarrely sporadic for a so-called communal species." The man waded through the rubble to hand Jack a journal. Jack added it to the pile on his left.
"But that's what I'm saying. Can't we evolve? Even just with the fledglings from previous generations, they were raised in human communities, developed more and more down the line. Whatever community-oriented wiring they had before they got embraced didn't suddenly change after. Unless you already had a few screws loose, on average, you were connected to a community that also made you stick out." Jack propped his leg over his opposing knee. "You and me included. Being a vampire means exclusion, yeah, but doesn't it also bond you to whoever sired you? Bonds you to a clan, things like that?"
"So, your point is…?" Beckett had his back turned to him, bent down over a heap of miscellaneous mechanical parts.
He grunted. "I just don't think we're as individualistic as you think we are. I don't think individualism is ' the answer ', at least. Any other Brujah would say the same."
Beckett brushed a few loose strands behind his ear, angling his position so he wouldn't have his back turned to Jack. "If I'm understanding you correctly -- and I hope I am, truly -- then you are proposing our previous humanity is what keeps us communal creatures, right? Or it at least places some biological, mental or psychological standard for us to be, despite all other supernatural forces put upon us."
Jack shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Of course, that can get fucked up with age, I mean.. some of those primogen, Jesus . But isn't that the same for any other rich old geezer? Certainly seemed that way when I was still human."
"Hmm." Beckett remained silent for a few moments, turning the idea in his head. "Then I suppose, with that logic, our vampirism is what keeps us animalistic -- or at least still dependent on kine, no matter how much we insist otherwise."
"I guess. If we're gonna be humanity's weird, deranged shadow, I guess it makes sense we hardly have inventions of our own. Magic, bloodwork, yeah, but nothing constructive. Hell, the Camarilla is barely anything but an idea some pompous, low-generation kindred push around." Jack wheezed out a laugh, picking grime from under his nails. "Maybe we're parasites. I don't really care, honestly. But we're growing damn tired of being shadowy, scary silhouettes. I just think, well -- if we're still human, in whatever capacity that might be, then we still need community. Just to counteract the beast. 'Cause it isn't all we are; I don't care if other fools say different."
Beckett dusted off the shins of his pants, a somewhat distant look in his eye. "I've frequently heard humanity described as the first invention. The conception of the self, or at least, of a common identity. I suppose…" He scratched his chin. "I suppose, yes, some form of a community would be inherent for that idea to come about. I can see where you draw your similarities, certainly. But how does that coincide with -- or contradict -- our animalism?" He held his bag close to his side as he stepped over shrapnel and broken tiles, pillow stuffing and glass shards.
Beckett once more came to where the front door had once been -- where Jack was now sitting.
"Maybe we're like vultures. Maybe our animalism is what.. I dunno, ignites our individualism?" Jack saw Beckett wince slightly. Had he struck a cord? "If you act as if we're all wild animals, doing nothing more than surviving, then you really only care about how long you survive. If you survive, you can pass shit on to the next generation. Act however you want, be a parasite, kill others of your own kind. You act as your own… safety measure, I don't know.
But it's not like we're from a different planet. You and me both remember being human. Kine learned they have responsibility when they started making their little communities. That's something they made up so they could keep from going insane, or destroying everything, whatever." Jack leaned forward, stood up. The chair whined and leaned into an odd angle. "They made it up, internalized it, then became us after a few hundred years. Isn't that still our responsibility then? Even if we are animals, we still obviously have culture, shit we made up in our heads. Ideas. We're still their shadow. I don't know, I'm just.. talking bullshit. But shadows are supposed to be pretty solid, yeah?"
Beckett lifted the small stack of books and journals he'd accumulated. He'd read them later, likely after all this nonsense with the celebrity fledgling was dealt with. "I'm not sure, Jack. I simply don't know. I'm not a philosopher, I'm just a historian."
Jack kept his eyes trained on the other man, even as he stepped past the barrier of the doorway, taking his first steps to the gate. "You're just scared 'cause I called you an animal."
Beckett smirked as he looked over his shoulder. "Oh, simply terrified."
"You still gonna let me come back with you?" He folded his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Despite all better judgement," Beckett turned to face Jack, "Yes. I reserved a room at a local hotel."
Jack grinned. "All for me?"
"Oh," Beckett sighed, the edges of his lips upturned in a defeated smile. "Why would I ever do that for you?"