deerington | Where I've become so numb

Entry tags:

claudia: suz

Where I've become so numb - OTA

Who:

likeknives and you! OTA
What: Eliot becomes a vampire and is salty about it
When: March catch-all
Where: Around town

Content Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, injuries, murder and assassin-related stuff, hunting, ptsd, vampirism and vampiric tropes, mental health asylum, hospital-like setting, mood-altering drugs via prescribed medications, themes of insanity/reality uncertainty and paranoia, mental-themed horror (ie; isolation cells, straightjackets), nerfing of powers, gaslighting, dissociation, event cw's here, will add more in threads if they come up

A. Call my name and save me from the dark

He thought he was just feeling under the weather at first. Run-down, tired, and the sun was bothering him.

What really tipped him off was trying to make a chicken parm with garlic.

The moment he took one out of the bag he thought he was going to to pass out, the smell was so horrible. For a second he thought it was rotten--but no, it looked fine, and the bag looked fine. He hurled the offending clove away and got another one--same story. They reeked. When he touched it, it burned his fingers and he accidentally dropped the whole bag of cloves on the counter and he just--

--he just backed off, hissing at them.

Like a cat.

Weird.

He couldn't bear to be in the kitchen anymore and had to leave and come back with a bandana wrapped around his face, and quickly gathered them up and threw them away. Far away, far outside. The kitchen reeked and he had to open the windows. It was a couple hours before he even took off the bandana, and by then he was feeling worse. Or just stranger. Sounds were louder, smells were sharper, and even his vision just seemed slightly clearer.

He was pretty sure the town was doing a thing again. But the residual smell of garlic was starting to bug him, and he hadn't gotten any chicken parm finished, and just--he had to get out. It was dusk anyway.

It's only a few steps outside when he passes by a window does he notice the two, burning-blue points of light staring back at him. And the fangs.

"What the hell!?"

B. Before I come undone

He didn't know a damn thing about vampires except from the occasional crappy tv show that crossed the screen, usually about cheerleaders who slayed vampires and stuff like that but he left the mythological stuff to Hardison. Not that he'd ever thought he'd legitimately need this knowledge.

Sure, he'd thought about how to fight the occasional monster, were it real, the same way he'd planned to fight aliens, but he never thought it'd be something he'd actually be concerned about. Or what would happen if he was on the other end of things.

Still, he knew that vampires needed blood--look what happened to him from Luka--and he knew that he was gonna be dealing with that pretty soon.

He underestimated how soon.

It's really, really unfortunate that he had the skills to successfully kill people in the shadows without leaving a trace already. Coupled with supernatural abilities and an almost desperate need to, this was shaping up to be a really bad thing. But maybe he could control himself better than Luka could. He was sure of it.

Except.

Right now he's not quite in control of himself. At all.

He's leaning casually against a wall, facing the sidewalk, perfectly positioned in the shadows to pounce whenever a person gets near enough.

They'll never see him coming.

C. Save me from the nothing I've become - Event Prompt: Simulacrum

It's a relief to be free of all that vampire crap.

Everything else, though.

Somehow he's not surprised. Maybe he'd been here for some time. Maybe he'd snapped on one of Damien's missions. His mind finally buckling, crumbling after so many kills, after eroding every last bit of morality he had, after becoming a weapon with no heart. Or maybe it was sometime after he joined the team, maybe he realized he could never truly be one of them--he'd never be good, but he could do good things, but maybe he'd lost it sometime after a job that went wrong--

--maybe none of that had ever been real, either. Maybe Hardison was just a friend he met in this place. Maybe Parker was two doors down. Maybe Sophie was one of the psychologists. Maybe Nate ran the place.

Eliot sits dully in the entertainment area on the sofa, a pack of Uno cards in his hands that isn't complete. It's the same card over and over again, weirdly enough, huh. Someone gives him a cup full of pills and he takes it dutifully, before flipping over the card deck. Over and over and over again.

I Love Lucy turns on again. It was the same episode as yesterday.

"Didn't we just watch this?" he barks out at the person nearest to him.

D. Wildcard - Anything goes! [Hit me up at

indymica]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rhys smells like cinnamon and woodsmoke, a scent that goes past the leather he's wearing, past the wisp of cherry cigarettes, and down to the blood and bone.

He should know better than to walk alone at night, but sometimes he does anyway. To be alone, to think, to take in the crisp early-spring air and feel the pavement under his boots. He's not a big man, tallish but lean, but he carries himself with the sort of confidence that tends to discourage the casual harassment. A quick step, humming a tune softly to himself as he walks for company in the darkness.

That doesn't do much good against vampires and other supernatural threats, unfortunately. And even with his eyes open, alert, aware, he's simply not equipped to pick out Eliot's shadow among the deeper shade. His soft humming trails off, and he automatically quickens his pace just a little, but he gives no other signs of distress as he passes the nook- Practically an open invitation.

It's perfect.

Eliot takes a deep breath, the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke pleasant in the air. Enhanced senses were really quite a benefit of this thing, and there's the faintest smile on his face in the shadows.

No one else around. No witnesses. No traffic.

Just quiet. Just them.

Should be an easy one.

It's a near-silent dash.

Eliot aims to grab Rhys's arms and yank him back into the shadows, at lightning speed. If Rhys manages to get a glimpse of him, he'll see impossibly bright, glowing blue eyes, and literal fangs glinting in the dark.

There's not even a scraping of shoe on pavement to give away the danger, just the sudden, overpowering grip of something so much stronger than he is. Rhys startles and tries to throw his arms up in response, twisting his body to get some kind of leverage, and that's when he catches the eyes, the teeth.

Shit. He's so not prepared for this, and his only real weapon, the dagger at his belt, is out of reach and painfully inadequate for something this much stronger and faster than he is. His breath catches, a curse unfinished on his lips, and he shifts his focus. Is he being dragged or thrown? He staggers and tries to keep his feet, because he doesn't want to be on the ground, but is otherwise forced to go where Eliot yanks him.

Off the street and into the dark, with his heart pounding in his chest and breath rasping in his ears.

Eliot doesn't waste a second. With that same lightning-speed, once he grabs hold of Rhys he'll attempt to slam him into the nearest wall and hold him there, both hands pressing against his shoulders and arms.

He's not looking at him as a person, he doesn't seem to be interested in talking or taking a look at his clothes or what he looks like, he's not a person right now, he's just prey. He only seems to be interested in his neck and what lies beneath. He zeroes in right towards his neck, his fangs out.

There's a low growl before he attempts to sink his fangs deep into his neck. It's messy--evidence of someone being very new to this whole vampire thing.

Edited 2021-03-23 03:49 (UTC)

The impact is stunning, and Rhys rocks back with it, caught between Eliot's body and the wall behind him. Somehow he doesn't crack his skull, but he's still on the ropes and his hands open and close helplessly, grasping for something to help. He's not going to find it with Eliot gripping his arms and his grip on his magic sliding away with the shock.

And then those teeth are too damn close to his neck, icy glints in the night, and he knows exactly where this is going. The tattoos don't cover the front and sides of his neck, so it's just a long stretch of pale flesh. Easy and inviting, and corded with the strain of trying to keep Eliot off him.

"Don't kill me." He finds words, finally, harsh but almost resigned in the chill air. He goes still, unable to keep his body from quivering with the tension, but knowing damn well that it will hurt more if he fights.

If he dies, he'll probably come back. Probably. But he really doesn't want to die if he can help it.

Eliot drinks greedily, deeply.

He's still pushing Rhys up against the wall as he does so, but he's also not really concerned with it so much--all he cares about is blood and how badly he needs it, and how amazing it is right now.

He'd probably drain him were it not for one thing.

Don't kill me.

He scarcely hears it. It sounds like it's coming from a million miles away. But those three words are burned in his soul and it's like a bell, ringing, softly at first, but cascading in a louder fashion until it's blaring in his skull.

Don't kill me, said a man in Panama, his hands up in surrender, as Eliot stared at him. Eliot killed him quickly since he was hot and wanted to get back to the hotel before the sun got any higher.

Don't kill me, said the man in Prague, his back against the ornate wallpaper. Eliot stared at him through his glasses and the man was sobbing. Eliot tossed his body over the wall moments later.

Don't kill me, I have a family who will miss me, said another in Boise, and Eliot didn't hesitate, not even for a moment.

He still remembers their faces in the end. What they looked like. And so many others, all overlapping, their voices ringing out in his head with the bell tolling and his utter guilt and regret, that if he had a second chance--

Don't kill me, says Rhys, and he has a second chance here.

Eliot's glowing eyes are as wide as saucers when he lets go of the other man.

Oh, God.

What have I done?

"Hey--you--I..." Words stumble and get mixed up as he holds his hands out, his mind reeling with what he just did.

There's pain, there's always pain, but Rhys breathes past it, trying not to think about teeth in his throat and the steady pull of Eliot's drinking. The wall keeps him on his feet, supporting him through the first sudden rush of shock and lightheadedness, then there's the roar of silence in his ears.

His own words sound so small and helpless, his hands clutching at Eliot's sleeves without effect in their twisted lovers' embrace. Dizziness comes in waves, and he doesn't think he's lost that much blood, not yet, but enough, fuck, that's enough, and his heart is beating too damn fast...

It's funny. As well as a part of Rhys understands Hunger, with a capital H, he didn't expect to be on the other side of it. Ironic, he supposes, if he's really going to die this way. There's always something bigger in the pond, and Rhys has never had illusions about his position in the food chain. He's small, he's so very small in the vast scope of things, and getting smaller by the minute as his blood drains away.

Then there's air again. It's cold against the sticky wetness that stains the collar of his t-shirt, and he staggers, finding himself suddenly unsupported. The wall is still there, and that's good. It's a good wall, so reliable and sturdy when everything else is wavering around him.

Rhys stares blankly at Eliot, surprised to still be alive. It seems kind of stupid and far, far too late to run now, and he's not sure his legs will quite support him for that. So he tries to find words, something that makes sense for the situation.

A part of him wants to run. A part of him expects law enforcement will come crashing in and he has to get out of here before they ID him. Old habits. And the rest of him prompts him to stay, this is his fault and he just hurt someone and drank their actual blood because--

--because he's a vampire and that's what vampires did. He lost control and he could have killed him--

--maybe he should go. Maybe it's not safe to be around him--what else is new, but--

--he can't just leave him here. He has to make sure--

"Are you okay? That was not--I--I didn't mean to do that--" Fangs and glowing eyes aside, Eliot seems properly contrite at the moment. He's not entirely sure he didn't just kill the man, but his body seems to be telling him that he certainly didn't drink enough to kill him. Yet.

Rhys just keeps staring for a few more seconds, hand pressed to the trickle of blood at his throat. Eliot saves him from the awkwardness of trying to find something to say, because now he's got something to respond to, and he latches onto that.

It is sort of an important topic, considering Eliot just bit him and drank his blood. Rhys settles against the wall, slightly more confident in his ability to stay standing. He's not healing yet, but his body has already started emergency measures and though he's dizzy and slightly nauseous, he's pretty sure he's not going to die just yet.

Maybe later, but for now, he'll live.

"Depends on your definition of 'okay'." The laugh comes out a weak chuckle, and Rhys automatically drops his eyes from Eliot's gaze. He knows better than to look a vampire in the eye, for entirely too many reasons.

"Usually I like it when someone buys me a drink first, instead of skipping right to the necking."

"Okay enough to walk, at least?" But that's a weak chuckle and a joke and Eliot allows himself to relax the tiniest bit. At least he didn't kill the guy...yet. He's still not entirely sure he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, man, I am incredibly sorry about this, I didn't...I just..." he rubs his face, looking around like he's expecting to be arrested any second. "I don't think I'm in my right mind or...or somethin'."

Right, how do you make it up to someone you just attacked and drank their blood?

e doesn't stand too close, but close enough he can help if he falls over. "Instead of a drink, I could make you a decent meal, better than anythin' anyone could buy here...you take a raincheck?" Is that an equivalent exchange for someone you just stole some blood off of?

Edited 2021-03-26 03:56 (UTC)

Rhys wobbles a little, and thinks the better of straightening for the moment, but he gives Eliot a small nod. He shifts his position, squares his shoulders so that he's not clinging quite so desperately to the support of the wall. The bleeding has almost stopped thanks to his aggressive healing, and he gives a quiet sigh of relief as the mess on his collar doesn't seem to be getting any worse.

Bleeding out after he's gotten Eliot to stop would just be embarrassing, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve against that sort of thing.

"I'll be good in a minute," he says, tentatively pulling his fingers away from his neck. Sticky, but not soaked. "Just gonna catch my breath."

There's another gust of quiet laughter as Eliot speaks, a nervous habit mixed with genuine amusement. "A meal, huh? That sounds pretty fair, actually." This conversation is surreal, but it's not actually the strangest Rhys has ever had. That speaks volumes about his world, he thinks, but right now no one is dead and that means there's room to talk about things.

Especially since Eliot seems very, very new to this.

"How long ago did you Turn? Or is this the town fucking with us again?"

As the minutes pass Eliot feels the slightest bit better that he wasn't going to have this guy's death on his conscience. He's still not entirely sure he would have been able to stop had he not said anything.

"Just...take your time."

As if he could do anything else.

There's a shrug, but he's serious about it, if the look on his face has any indication. "Tell me what you like and I'll figure out how to make it with whatever we have here in this town. I might have to make a few substitutes, but it's gonna be damn good either way."

He's just saying.

"I...I'm not really sure. I just noticed things gettin' weird a day ago or so."

It was a close call and the enormity of it still hasn't quite hit Rhys. Maybe later he'll realize just how close he came to death, but for right now, he's too busy being relieved to be alive. The thin veil of shock helps, too, the distant ringing in his ears and the floaty feeling of a little too much blood gone.

Rhys tilts his head, considering Eliot's offer. "I'm really easy. Honestly, whatever you can put together from what you can still get will probably be great. I cook a little, but mostly just for survival." He's nothing like a chef, just a reliable home cook who can fend for himself given a shopping list and some instructions. Someone who can actually cook would be a welcome change.

Rhys nods at the latter. "I'd say that counts as pretty damn new, yeah." He sucks on his lower lip, thinking. "I don't know a lot about vampires in my world. They tend to keep to themselves. From what I know about this place, though, sometimes weird things just happen out of nowhere."

Rhys has, after all, been a zombie here. So he's not sure he can throw stones.

"...I'm Rhys, by the way."

"It's a deal."

There's a tilt of his head. "You know, if you want tips, I can teach you. I'm a pretty damn good cook, all things considered."

He's just saying. And a healthy ego, too, but he's not going to be too modest about it.

"It feels like it just happened out of nowhere. I don't know, I did get bit by a vampire awhile back, but it was a long time ago..." he shakes his head. This town is really just like this...

There's a nod.

"Eliot. Wish this could be in better circumstances."

Rhys gives a raspy chuckle at that. "I could probably do with the advice, sure. Never pass up a chance to better yourself, right?"

Cooking lessons from a vampire. It doesn't surprise Rhys as much as it should: even monsters have lives, interests, hobbies. It's important to hold onto the person inside, to remember how to be human. So it's a good conversation, important to getting a fix on who Eliot is outside of the hunger.

Rhys makes a little 'hmm' sound, and nods. The blood is drying to a tacky coating and he's going to want a shower soon. And a big glass of orange juice. But sorting things out is more important right now, so he rubs his sticky fingers together with a grimace and continues talking.

"Yeah, the circumstances kind of...suck...but nice to meet you." Forgive him if he skips the handshake. "Wish I had more advice for you, but, uh. You feeling a little better, at least?"

"Of course."

It looks like the guy isn't completely in danger of immediately dying but he probably should get something in him to keep his blood sugar up.

"Yeah...they really do." Suck. Heh. He gets it. That's terrible but he gets it. He rubs the back of his head, a bit sheepishly. "I do feel better. Man, I really am sorry about this, I don't just--I don't hurt random people."

...random people, anyway. People who deserve it and who he needs to take out to finish a job? Sure.

Rhys's natural healing ability does demand fuel, so he's definitely going to need to eat and drink sooner rather than later. His legs feel a bit steadier so he peels away from the wall completely, taking a couple of steps to see if he's going to manage.

It's a little wobbly, but he thinks he's got it. Much as he'd rather lay down for a minute, he's not going to do that here so the next best thing is motion.

"You're going to need a steady supply of blood, it looks like," he observes. It's sort of a keen grasp of the obvious. "It might be something you need to ask the network about, get some donors if you can manage. If you keep yourself fed well enough, then you probably won't feel the urge to grab people quite as much."

He's matter-of-fact about it, no harshness in his tone. Eliot has been sincerely contrite and he did manage to stop in time, so for the moment, Rhys isn't going to hold it against him. That doesn't mean he's going to let Eliot off the hook for taking care to make sure it doesn't happen again, though.

"Until it passes, at least. If it's going to pass. I don't know, with this place. It might be temporary."

Eliot is immediately on edge and on guard when Rhys takes a couple of steps, ready to catch him just in case. But he seems to be mostly okay, save for some wobbles, so Eliot relaxes. Just a tiny bit. He's still close enough to catch him if he needs to. He's not entirely sure how much actual blood he took, and he's trying to stifle the voice in the back of his mind that whispers not enough.

"...yeah, sounds about right."

It's a mutter, trying not to sound as horrified as he really feels. It comes out as more of growl than anything.

"You think it'll pass?" He hopes so. It better, if this thing has at time limit he can't wait to get it over with.

"It might. I was a zombie for a week, and I got better. It's hard to tell in this place."

He chews his lower lip thoughtfully, weighing his decision to speak further, before he decides that he'll come out with it. It's important for Eliot to know, to have a fighting chance against the town's fuckery.

"There's a cure that you can find sometimes, made from moon flowers from the dream world...yes, I'm serious, it sounds ridiculous but it's real. Panacea, basically...cures most diseases and unwanted enchantments." He looks absolutely dead serious, backing up his words with a solemn expression. He's only wavering a little, and getting steadier by the minute as the initial shock fades.

Later, he'll pay for it, and the wounds on his neck are starting to sting the way wounds should, but for now his not-quite-human blood is doing its job to keep him up and going.

"It's hard to get, but there's a few vials around here and there."

The night is almost over and he's just heading back from the hospital with a quick stop at the Hart Mart to get Abby some meat. It feels weird lately, going to work. It used to be one anchor of normalcy - as normal as things could get around here - but with how he is feeling, with how the town, his sense of self seems to be eroding, with all the revelations recently, he's really not quite sure why he bothers.

Or maybe that's just his monthly Deerington depression acting up. He's tired, he's cranky, and he can't wait to crawl into his bed when he steps back outside and heads down the street.

With his own vampire vision he has no problems spotting Eliot in the dark, making him look like... well. Some kind of creepy lurker. Huh.

Luka just slows and stares at him awkwardly, gives him a bit of a nod.

And then he keeps walking.

Weirdo.

Eliot's genuinely about to jump the next figure he sees when--

--when he sees that's Luka. Who nods at him. And then he just keeps on walking.

Luka.

Luka, who is a damn vampire, Luka, who bit him, and now, somehow, he's a vampire too? Yeah, sure, maybe it was a delayed reaction or something but clearly he's at fault here.

"You!"

Eliot storms out from his hiding spot, his anger making him forget his hunger for a moment. He jabs a pointer finger out towards him, his eyes glowing bright blue, fangs clearly visible.

"This is your fault!"

Oh, are they really doing this again? Luka rolls his eyes, then turns back around, holding up his hand, expecting another fight.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm sorry that--"

But then there's eyes. There's fangs.

"What?"

He blinks, staring at him. He looks down at the fangs. Up at Eliot again.

Oh.

He's a vampire, too?

"... wait, were you lurking? Are you attacking people?!"

They're doing this again.

Eliot storms up to him, pretty close, looking like he was ready to throw a punch. At least, he holds back for now, but he still jabs a finger towards him.

"Yeah! I was! And I blame you for it because I was perfectly fine until you came along!"

Vampire-Damien-wannabe goes out and bites him and he becomes a vampire...eventually? Totally caused by it.

Except.

"I lurk! Yeah! That's what I do!"

...and he was attacking people. Okay, so--so he's starting to realize that's exactly what he's doing and that's a bad thing? He drops his hand for a moment, caught between righteous anger and dawning horror.

"What? I had nothing to do with that! I only drank from you, I did not turn you!"

He'd know if he had turned him, right? Besides, that was weeks ago! There's no way he's been a vampire this long, right?

Luka is about to push him back and be on his way, he really isn't in the mood for any of this. Except.

Except he knows that look on his face.

There are various emotions playing on Luka's in return. Exasperation, sympathy, worry. Dammit.

"... I have some blood bags at home. Come on."

The tone in his voice makes it clear that it isn't a suggestion.

"Did you? Maybe you didn't know what you were doin'!"

Maybe if he'd have fed a bit more he would have pushed back, refused the blood bags. Or not. Even the word blood is enough to get him going. Warm or cold, he finds he doesn't care. It's an almost automatic desperation, like his body just goes into autopilot.

Damn, was he really lurking to attack people? Just like Luka had...

"You do?"

There's an eager hungriness in his eyes and he follows close, like a puppy. You could lead him literally anywhere with the promise of blood at this point. He'll be embarrassed about it later.

"Yeah. This way."

Luka walks ahead but keeps an eye on him from time to time in case he decides to run off or attack someone else on the street.

"When did this first happen?"

He almost berates him for not coming to him or seeking out someone else for help but then again... pot and kettle. It took him forever to work this out, to muster up the strength to talk to Abby about it, to, well, deal with it in any sort of way.

Eliot stays fairly close, mostly because of the promise of blood other than any sort of fear about Luka coming after him otherwise.

"First started a day or two ago, I guess."

He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"First weird thing I noticed was that I couldn't cook with garlic anymore." Eliot sounds genuinely pissed off about that. "Is that a thing? I use it in everything!"

"It's a thing," Luka confirms.

"And sunlight burns. You have to be careful there. It's not so bad at first but it gets worse the longer you stay in it. I almost roasted myself at the beach."

And he'd do it again in a heartbeat. The beach that gave him the pictures. One of the better days in Deerington.

"Good news is you'll get your self-control back once you've fed. Bad thing is, well, you feed. On blood."

"I don't believe this. I love garlic!"

Can he just speak to the vampires' manager to complain? This is the worst.

Eliot scowls, at least he's distracted from randomly hunting anyone nearby. He crosses his arms across his chest, grumbling under his breath.

"This is so stupid, what am I allergic to garlic now, I never asked for this..."

But he sobers when Luka talks about self-control.

He's a dangerous person even with self-control.

Feeding. On blood.

"It's not the blood that's the problem--I mean, I never wanted to try human blood, I meant--I'm used to trying unusual culinary things. It's the whole...needing live blood. From people."

"Yeah."

Needing live blood. From people.

Luka looks down for a moment, heaving a sigh.

"I'm a doctor. You don't have to tell me."

He's been struggling with it ever since. It's better now that he has Abby but was that really a long-term solution? Could he really guarantee that he'd never lose control again, especially in a place like Deerington?

"I just try not to let it get that bad. You should do the same thing. Do you have someone who might..."

How to. Explain.

"... donate?"

He probably should have gone to see Luka the moment he realized something was wrong, but one thing was cascading quickly into another and then the need for blood hit and that was it.

But suddenly he's infinitely more sympathetic than he was, and a thousand times less angry over Luka jumping him and draining him that one time.

Eliot's face softens and he doesn't say anything for a moment. It's not a scowl, exactly, but there's an understanding there.

"Yeah."

...Luka's question nearly makes him stop in his tracks, but he manages to keep walking. It wasn't something he actively thought about--actually he was thinking very little at all and mostly just trying to jump random people but that was a good point. It would be a good idea to have someone he can get blood off of, what if they can't get to any blood bags for some reason?

"Fantastic." There's a grumble as he rubs his face. "I don't know, I...yeah, I guess?" What's Hardison going to say to that? How's he even going to ask him? Hey Hardison, you've just been enrolled in the donate-blood-to-Eliot program, congratulations?

"What if I can't...stop?"

It's quiet, and it's late.

It's too quiet, and it's too late.

Even after everything that happened--talking with Luka, attacking Rhys, Eliot knew that he was going to take precautions, he knew that he had to be extremely careful around Hardison, and he was going to ask Hardison if he was okay with...well. Donating. He's not sure if Hardison would agree but he had to ask, it was the safest thing. Like Luka said, he had to get ahead of this thin. He was upset over what he'd done, upset at how easily he lost control, upset at how easily this thing took over him and how much power it had. He had to stay one step ahead. He couldn't afford not to. It was for the safety of everyone around him.

So it was perfectly normal that he was standing there, in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

Lurking.

There's a faint glow of blue, two burning points in the dark shadows, just around a corner.

It's fine. He's fine. He's got this under control.

He can't wait until he sees Hardison.

He's not having a good month. Again. There's a shocker. Honestly, it's getting a little old at this point. Like stale crackers dunked in hot sauce. Disgusting and painful at the same time.

The time in the Lab really didn't help. Pulling a reverse White Rabbit on him? All right, you know what, from a hacker's perspective chapeau, not bad. What's one more trophy for the trauma shelf. He'll just be over here, fragmenting his self further, pretending that he doesn't know that all of them just had to be completely, absolutely, irrevocably insane at this point.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

But making him walk through some egg-infested nasty-ass sewer? Unacceptable. It's just one of those things where he draws the line. Or, well, one of those comparatively harmless things that he can focus on and be exasperated about to not deal with the fact that all the things he's been through are just too much. It's all just... too much.

So here's the plan: screw all this.

All of it.

Even if that is getting old at this point too.

Nevertheless, he's bought a heap of snacks from the Hart Mart. It might actually be all of today's worth. The bags are full to the brim and balancing them is challenging, he can't really see around them while he pushes the door open with his back and heads inside.

He's back.

He's back and Eliot can practically hear the blood rushing through his veins. He's pretty sure he's got himself under control now and yet, this part right here? It's irresistible.

Eliot steps forward through the shadows, closer and closer until--

--well. He just stands there, at the edge of the shadows, just barely holding back from jumping him.

He's not gonna hurt him. He's not going to--it's unthinkable.

But what he does do, is slip out of the shadows and practically appear right next to him.

"Hey, Hardison."

All right.

All right, so, it's not the first time Eliot does something creepy like just appearing out of nowhere and frankly, it's not the worst thing he's done. By far. There's not even a knife involved.

But still, it's been a year in crazy murder city, some of it spent with Eliot's evil Rosemary's baby clone and is he having any sneaking up on? No, sir, no, he is not.

So when Eliot's voice pipes up he responds with a high-pitched yelp. Survival reflexes kick into gear and the first thing readily available is a cream puff on top of his sugary groceries. That one goes straight into Eliot's face before anything else can register.

Oh.

"That. Don't do that."

There's a very.

Very.

Very long pause as the cream puff peels off his face and tumbles to the ground, leaving bits of pastry and filling all over his face.

...he's not entirely sure if he's more impressed at Hardison's reaction time or more pissed off that he attacked him with a damn cream puff.

For a second he completely forgets about all things vampire as he scowls.

"Listen, if you're gonna attack somebody, at least punch 'em! What the hell is that supposed to do? This isn't the three stooges or a cartoon, Hardison!"

"ExCUSE me. What are you sneaking around in the dark for?" Hardison snaps, defensively.

"Keep that up and I WILL punch you. Look at that."

His heart is bleeding at the cream puff massacre.

"All wasted on your face."

A beat.

"The hell is going on with your eyes?"

"Because I want to."

That's a good enough reason for himself.

He scowls, wiping off the cream puff and, well, might as well not put it to waste. It's not half bad, at least the bits that he can get off.

"What?"

Oh yeah, the glowing thing. He shrugs.

"It's a vampire thing, I guess."

The tiny five year old girl with golden blonde curls stops in her walk down the sidewalk, turns, and looks directly at the man in the shadows. Man, fledgling - his heartbeat is the subtly different beat of another vampire. She can see in the dark, her dark blue eyes bright as flames in her marble-pale face.

She is wary, still: none of the other vampires she has met in Deerington have attacked her, but she does not trust them. She knows the vampires at home considered her a blasphemy, a flawed creature that should not have been made, and should be unmade, for having been turned so young.

And he is braced to pounce.

"Monsieur," she acknowledges him, uncertain.

He's fully expecting random humans to walk by, not a kid by themselves. And certainly not one that looks like they're five years old--he frowns, hunting humans completely forgotten for a moment. He's about to ask if she's lost, or where her parents are but there's a strange instinct that's alerted, like a little alarm in the back of his mind that he can't quite figure out what it means.

He's so new, so utterly confused and in the midst of all of these instincts it's all starting to give him a headache. Or that was probably the lack of blood talking. He relaxes his stance, just a bit, but he's still wary.

...she's not a vampire, is she? Is that what he's picking up here?

"You shouldn't be walkin' around by yourself," he says, carefully, suspiciously.

"I don't think you should, either," she answers back, watching him shift, the confusion and the odd beat of his heart. "You are new made, aren't you?"

There is so much of a mortal in his face, his body. but then, perhaps the different vampires here are different from her kind, where a mortal death precedes a change to a vampiric nature. She stands perfectly, absolutely still: as still as only the dead can be, without even breathing.

"I..."

How did she know? There's a pause, a look of confusion and surprise on his face, then a slow nod.

"Yeah, I am. And you...you're a vampire too, aren't you?"

That last reaction pretty much cemented his suspicions. But still, a kid? He looks genuinely worried--was it something that just happened? But she seemed so insightful, could it be possible she was turned long ago?

Claudia nods to him, rather than answer.

"Why don't you come with me?" she asks, softly, holding up one tiny, round-fingered hand, palm up. A coaxing invitation: if he does, well, she can take him to the hospital, steal some of the remaining blood from the blood bank there. Or drink from any animal they may find on the way.

If he comes with her. If he does not, she will leave him to his fate.

She's a vampire and is certainly not acting like a little kid. Did vampires have kids and they just aged super slowly? It just seems so weird and he's not gonna lie, mildly terrifying.

But she seems kind enough and he nods too, taking her hand.

"You know a thing or two about this, huh?"

"A thing or two," she repeats, amusement in her voice. "Yes. I do. What is your name?"

She leads him out of the alley, down along a shadowed side-street. Her jaunty, straight-backed walk is not a child's, the grace with which she moves wholly unchildlike as well. Her skirts swish briskly as she walks. He must be very new-made: she had no idea there were others turning mortals here. How reckless, to leave a fledgling to fend for himself. How careless.

Perhaps they had not meant to turn him.

There's an amused smirk on his face when she says so. But he's just as polite.

"Eliot Spencer. And you?"

He's an observant person, using his skills and knowledge to survive as well as to hunt, even before he was a vampire, and nothing escapes his constant analysis even when he's not in a dangerous situation. Definitely not just a kid--a vampire and who knew how old she actually was.

"Are there a lot of vampires around here? Or maybe it's just me, maybe I keep runnin' into them." Or at least one, but still. Maybe this place had a whole secret enclave of vampires running around.

"Claudia." She pauses before crossing a street, wary. "There seems to be a higher percentage than normal in this town...then again, things here are different. Where I am from, vampires are very solitary creatures."

All the others they had met, or had tried to meet - had run away. And even the Parisian vampires had been reluctant to stay in their group, bound largely by fear. Claudia keeps walking, steady and sure of her way. She speaks again in her soft voice, quiet and certain. "You can come here. They keep blood in bags, and you may drink, without leaving behind dead bodies. They will certainly hunt us if you leave corpses lying about."

She walks around the corner, and here is the hospital, the back, where the delivery trucks and giant dumpers are. The back fire escape door is propped open by a brick, cigarette butts littering the concrete steps. Claudia leads him up the steps and slips quietly into the back hall. Two doors down, and they are in the lab, humming machines and giant refrigerators. Claudia lets go of his hand, walks to the one labelled "BLOOD," and opens it, plucking a few bags at random from it.

She walks back to Eliot, little arms full, and offers him up one bag.

"I'd rather not leave dead bodies," he says, a thread of hidden pain there because that was his life, a long time ago, without any vampirism to blame for it. No, that was all him.

But he seems to be in a far better mood now that there is an option, at least, that doesn't warrant so much destruction. He follows Claudia, looking around and expecting to be at the very least yelled at, and at the worst outright attacked, but they were lucky. He's not entirely sure what he would have done if that was the case. Especially with a kid here, actual kid or not, he fears he might have destroyed them quite literally.

"Thanks, this is--this is a big relief, let me tell ya." Eliot takes the bag, and suddenly he's far more focused on the blood than her or anything else. For a moment nothing matters, he doesn't know where he is or what he's doing, all that matters is blood. He bites down into it almost immediately, almost frantically.

Claudia stands back and lets him worry at it, keeping an ear out for any hospital workers. She does not expect they will come: it is very, very rare she's ever actually seen anyone in this section of the building.

In the meantime, she neatly punctures her own bag to drinks. Cold and preserved blood she finds unpleasant, with a chemical tang, but it is blood and sustains her. It leaves her cold and feeling rather dissatisfied, but she has been accustomed to a nightly kill, with hot lifeblood fresh from a throat, the power of a life filling her.

This is...adequate, but she cannot say she enjoys it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Where I've become so numb - OTA

B: Before I Come Undone

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B+D

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For Hardison - Closed

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B

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