The light laughter from the mortal was a good sign, an anticipated action that put MacClery's mind at ease.. Of course, even if he rejected such advances, there was nothing stopping him from forcing some closure.. The undead could even do it so quietly as to not alert any neighboring patrons. There was little kind could do when unprepared for the descent of a vampire, futile struggling, failed attempts at retaliation as they hit and clawed at deadened nerves. Though this didn't mean MacClery was a fan of using force, all of his ghouls went willingly, estranged by the lives that god set for them as they took to servitude. Those that hated him or made conflict with the other ghouls were quickly 'cast out' so to speak. But no matter what personality Wilde hid underneath, if MacClery's predictions were right, he wouldn't have to breathe for too long.<br/><br/>Despite the cold, calculated thoughts going through his head, MacClery was stuck in that mask of life, of interest and social taboos. When William fumbled over his words, troubled by the bluntness of his own, he took it at face value, not doubting him as to believe it was some courting tactic. The man was crafty, but MacClery was confident he dug under his nails and pried at a part of him that was soft and weak. This flaw just so happened to be the hearts of other men.<br/><br/>"Are you sure of anyone...? Surrounding yourself with a more intelligent crowd, I found myself to be rather... brash, just now, if that's fine by you. But I know we are not the same. I've no family and I work for men who don't have good faith in the law or the lord. My days are spent indoors, my nights collecting contracts and documents such as this." He set a hand to rub over the lip of his suitcase. He had no reason to hide anything, even within the context of their meeting as simple men of nefarious deeds. "I had a small feeling you were similar, but the difference between us seems to be reputation, something you have much of, and years, of which I have so little."<br/><br/>Pale eyes followed Wilde as he strolled across to the window, drink in hand. It didn't take much persuasion to make him follow, wanting to keep his voice quiet despite his trust in the walls. "Alike... In more than a love for etiquette and civil conversation, I hoped." With little distance between them, while making the stride over MacClery breathed a little life into himself, a little to wet the tongue, warm the cheeks, make his hands not feel like pallid ice. "Of course I have no intention of rooting you here past your business with my client, if talking of work still isn't so dreary.." He stared out the glass panes at the inky blackness of the streets below, abandoned. "The life of which you spoke so fondly before, the fair, spirited chats with other gentlemen, I've been eager to steal some of that excitement from you." He smiled, the words playing themselves like a fond joke, despite the light hunger in his eyes, wanton for such things far beyond the scope of anything William would ever conceive.<br/><br/>The romantic lull in his speech betrayed his real vision, a childe to pass his knowledge down to, his illness, Malkavian blood. Someone to watch over his corpse as he drifted away into torpor, a concept MacClery considered many times after a century of unrest. Perhaps he never stopped to think that the only way to achieve such goals was to steal the life of another, but after so long, his gentle canter and soft invitations were nothing but acts of pure kindness. It would be just as easy to rip down Wilde as soon as he opened the door, shutting it behind them and locking him off from any help from his fellow kine. During their exchange this night, he felt a little melancholy that he was never awarded the same grace.