Dates

We've been here a little over a week now. I figured it was time to question Kay about the pictures he keeps on that table.
“Hey Kay,” I asked. “Who are all these people?”
Kay sat down on the couch and stared sadly at the picture a few feet away.
“Friends,” he said. “Friends that the war has taken from me.”
“You mean the war between the Fears, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Men are pawns in the Great Game. And as pawns, their time is short.”
I payed attention to his wording. He said “their” time, as if he was excluding himself.
“You had a lot of friends,” Daniel noted, glancing at the pictures. There were easily more than 30 frames there.
“Yes,” Kay said. “I remember them all very well, as much as I'd like to forget.”
“What's that mean?” Daniel asked.
“I have the misfortune of possessing, what some call, a photographic memory,” Kay clarified. “I remember their deaths vividly.”
“Must suck,” Daniel said, sympathetically.
“Even without ,y mind constantly recording everything around it, do you think I'd be able to forget?” Kay asked. “I know such things have a way of engraving themselves in peoples memories. Is this true?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Yes,” he said sadly. “Yes it is.”
Kay nodded.
“I'm going to bed,” he said. “I need to rest now.”
He stood up and ascended the stairs. After I heard his bedroom door close, I approached the table and lifted one of the frames. This one was carved in ivory, and bore the portrait of a man in his thirties. I turned it over to see a date written on the back of the frame. 1979-2013.
“So this is a memorial,” I said. “These pictures have the dates that the people were alive.”
“Like a tombstone,” Daniel said, taking a seat on the couch.
“Exactly,” I said, picking up another picture and checking the date. “1988-2004.”
“The good die young,” Daniel sighed.
“By that logic,” I said, putting the pictures back in their respective spots, “You should live forever.”
“Cool,” Daniel said, slumping down where he sat.
I picked up another picture and turned it over. My eyes widened.
“Whoa, Daniel,” I said. “Listen to this one. 1895-1932.”
Daniel sat up straight.
“He knew someone from that time period?” He asked.
I took another picture and checked the date on it.
“1856-1889,” I read.
“He says these were all his friends,” Daniel said. “Which means he's been alive for a while.”
“From the way he phrased things earlier, I don't think he considers himself human,” I said.
“Plus, he's fluent in Veratian,” Daniel added.
“This deserves looking into,” I said, stretching. “But I think Kay had the right idea. We should rest up.”
“Guest bed's yours tonight,” Daniel said, sprawling out on the couch. “This bitch is mine.”
I grabbed the folded blanket off the edge of the couch's armrest and tossed it to him.
“Sweet dreams, douchebag,” I said. “Punch the Grotesque in the face if you see 'im.”
“Don't let the Intrusion bite, dickhead,” Daniel replied, resting his head on one of the armrests and trowing the blanket over himself.
I went to the guest room and started typing this. And now, I need some sleep.

-Tony Helioson, passing out.