Don't be scared.

[abbatis]

Who: Edgar + various!!
What: Local vampire gets hungry and everything goes horribly wrong.
Where: Around??
When: 16th and 17th of March
Warnings: Blood, violence and vampire bite related injuries.



I don't want your money (DRAKE.)

And then the hunger came. Just like Edgar had predicted it would. Out of his family he had relatively good endurance when it came to holding back his thirst but as the third day with no food was about to start he started to grow restless. However, his current location did bring some difficulties. It was always a risk to go for a hunt in a closed environment like this -- especially when he was alone. The only silver lining to all of this was that there was no other mouths to feed.

The people in city of Hadriel were different to what he had used to. It was like weird version of trading center where people would arrive from all around the world and from different cultures. There had been some talk about other non-humans and he had even met one himself -- which was something he needed to pay attention to. Thorough the first week of his stay Edgar had made it his job to scout and learn about the other inhabitants of Hadriel. He had followed, lurked and observed in street, speakeasy, temples.. You name it.

And so he idly chose his firs 'victim' in the Hadriel, so to speak. An older man with a short haircut. He wasn't exactly intimidated by his strength that the appearance suggested, there were ways he could survive if it turned out into a fight, and for once he didn't mean to leave any evidence of himself. No cuts nor bodies.

He doesn't outright go after him when spots him at the speakeasy but keeps silently him tabs on his whereabouts. Having people around them who see them being in each others company doesn't necessarily bother him but it would help to meet him somewhere more quiet. Luckily for Edgar the man makes his way towards the riverside, a private place that's not too removed from others. That's where Edgar goes to wait for him, crouched over the riverbank he throws rocks to the water, making them skip on the surface. Really, for the most part he looks nothing but a youth, playing in the water.

"Hello!" He calls out when the is close enough to him. "You wouldn't happen to have a knife on you?"

That shit is ugly (KYNA).

This is first time he's felt anything like this. His head is spinning, limbs feeling shaky and weak and every part of him was screaming out of nausea. He felt sick. Both Marybell and Allan were frail and would get weakened and sick from time to time either because of poor weather or lack of fresh blood but he didn't believe this was the same. He wouldn't die, he knew that much as The Old Poe's blood was too strong to be defeated by something like a sickness. All he needed to do now was rest. Rest and get new blood to heal the sullied one.

He rests for a day until the brief time for darkness comes. Normally he doesn't mind for such things as daylight or nighttime but in cases like this he has to agree that the latter does add certain kind of coverage to his actions. Weren't all ceremonies held during nights back at home, after all. And it's just as they say: monsters do come out at night.

Despite feeling still sick and relatively dizzy he gets out for the second time, moving quickly around the city. This time he doesn't want anyone to see him and even if he'd rather avoid unnecessary deaths he cared less for it. He doesn't hunt or stalk the same time as he did with his first target but instead waits patiently until he fins someone. Luckily, in a lively city like Hadriel it doesn't take too long until someone comes to his way -- a woman, who carries herself with strength and ease that is very different to what he's seen most of women do.

Silently he moves behind her, brows knitted in a light frown as he places his hand gently on her shoulder, urging her to turn around to face him.

Take a bite (NATE).

Fears were all different to each family member. There had been a long time when Edgar, along with many others, had felt such great anxiety and fear when being anywhere near to crucifix and bible that it had immobilized him. It had taken some time from his so-called father to coax him out of such paranoia. Symbols could not harm him, that much he agreed, but lighting is a whole different story. 'Mother' had always been afraid of thunder out of old superstition. God strikes down the sinners.

It had been almost over century since the last time he had felt such beliefs touch him -- save from the times when he had to comfort weeping Allan. He was calm, smart and untouchable. But that was when he hadn't been pulled through the door into another universe by those who called themselves god. Allan wasn't there and he was alone. And a woman had just touched him with a lighting.

The zap hadn't really hurt him as much as it had scared him, making him flee almost immediately even though he still could have taken her down. But something almost primitive had woken in back of his mind, bringing back the old fears and instincts. God strikes down the sinners.

The panic had roused his paranoia and his mind was focused only on one thing: to get away. He needed to get away from this world back to his own and for that he needed blood. The sickness was still roaming within his body, screaming for cure. This time he didn't care who he'd attack. No more words or tricks or what-ifs. He let his hands and fangs to be guided by his thirst, knowing that his instincts would do what needed to be done.

With one quick leap he jumped on the first person he came across, dashing from the shadows like an animal. One icy cold hand, void of any kind of body heat, reached for his victims throat from the behind while other one found its way to wrap around the chest. He glued himself on their back like a parasite while his mouth moved up to their neck, teeth searching for that sensitive spot under the ear. There was no excuses no tender kisses or apologies when his sharp fangs sunk into the flesh, tearing it open.

Show me your teeth (IVAR).

The attack hadn't gone as planned, again. The man had survived and managed to injure Edgar even more during their brief wrestle. He was bleeding from somewhere in his head or at least that did the bloody trail from his hair down to his collar imply. He might've been even seen by the man, who knows, but all that seemed like small and unimportant now. What had gone right in the attack was taste of fresh blood on his lips. It might've been only a mouthful or two but he had managed to get a drink from man's wound, which was enough to clear his head from the haze.

He wasn't in danger. As long he checked up on the people he encountered today some time later to see whether he needed to go hiding for a bit everything should be fine. Rumors and gossip he could deal with if he were just careful enough. Tonight had been full of embarrassing miscalculations and mistakes, which he would learn from.

Wanting to enjoy from the night time to the fullest Edgar decided to take a trip to the orchards where he sought out the usual flower bush and crawled underneath it. Surrounded by leaves and scent of flowers, Edgar starts to check up what condition the fight had left him in. There was still some of the strangers blood on his left cheek and hand, which he began hungrily to suck.

It was almost too barbaric to his tastes to drink this way, too animalistic and lacking all grace and discretion but oh, was he still hungry? He might've feel a little better after getting new blood but it's not enough yet.

Oh, he needs so much more.

Comments

Closed for Will

[abbatis]

After everything is said and done Edgar makes his way to the clinic. The past 24 hours had been an.. adventure, to put it mildly. After some unexpected adversities and struggles he had finally managed to subdue the blinding and nerve wracking hunger and replace all the bad blood with new. He was satisfied but only for now. The hunger would eventually come back and he needed to come up with a better, much safer, way to find blood. It was good that he's found at least one person who appears to be eager benefactor.

However, even though his primary concern was taken care of it still left the problem present. He was still bleeding from somewhere near his hairline, drenching some of his dark curls. Other than that he was deeply exhausted and wanted nothing more than to withdraw somewhere to rest for rest of the week or so. And while he was normally content with napping in the warm gardens from time to time, right now he wanted a bed and silence of a dark room.

But first things first. His injuries didn't really worry him as much, they would surely heal in a day, but he still needed to take care of them. Hence the trip to the quiet clinic.

Like a thief in a night, Edgar enters silently through the open window and makes his way to the cabinets where he assumes the bandages and other required equipment to be.

Re: Closed for Will

[sonofacesius]

Unfortunately for Edgar, Will was still in the clinic. Sorry, it didn't close at night, and no matter how much some of his colleagues would wish he'd go home and get some sleep, some nights he stayed or pulled a night shift. At the moment he was incredibly bored and wrapping and rewrapping bandages. He actually missed the 'good old days' back in Camp where people Paolo Montes got their limbs cut off or people with full body burns because they fell into the lava feature in the climbing wall. Hadriel by comparison was really, really boring. Especially for a demigod with ADHD. His battle reflexes had no where to go--and there were no walls for him to climb either. And while he didn't want the Null to attack again, at least he had something to do?

Then he heard something. Moving to turn on a light, Will arched his eyebrow at the sight. Head injury, that was obvious. What else, he'd need a closer look to find out, or a touch.

He eyed the open window. "We have a door you know."

[abbatis]

Ah well. Edgar had hoped that he could sneak into the clinic, take what he needs and leave in all secrecy, as if he hadn't been there in the first place. But it seems like tonight there's nothing that can go according to his plans.

With perfect calmness, he turns around to meet the voice that had addressed him. "It was closed," he offers an explanation, eyeing the young man with careful eyes. "And it's already late so I didn't want to wake anyone up."

[sonofacesius]

"Clinic doesn't usually close. There's usually at least one of us here, even if it looks closed." Will was willing to accept that explanation, except that instead of asking for help over the network, he snuck in. Sorry Edgar, Will was used to children of Hermes, so he was naturally going to assume you were lying. Because every child of Hermes would be.

"You're injured. Next time, wake people up. I'm Will." He offered a hand, a coy way of 'introducing' himself and hoping to use his powers to get a sense of what else was wrong with the boy besides the obvious head injury.

[abbatis]

"Always? I thought doctors need sleep too." There's a touch on lightness in his words although there still is some lingering caution behind his voice. The boy didn't look like a threat but he knows better than to just judge book by its cover. This night had sprung way too many surprises to his way that he couldn't help but be on his guard even now that he's regained his strength back.

But his carefulness doesn't stop him taking the offered hand and meet him in the handshake. There's traces of someone else's blood on his hands and aside from that his skin is icy cold, lacking any kind of warmth and pulse.

"Edgar," he says as an introduction and then nods towards the cabinets. "So, do you have bandages?"

[braveoff]

Drake is pleasantly tipsy when he leaves the bar, but doesn't feel like going home alone. So he wanders, enjoying the quiet in the city right now. That might not last long. He doesn't think anything suspicious of the boy by the water, is just planning to walk on when the stranger addresses him. With a seemingly random request. Drake's not armed right now since he wasn't patrolling, but he does carry a pocketknife.

"Uh... yeah. What do you need one for?"

[abbatis]

Ah, so the man was more intoxicated than Edgar first had thought. Sober enough to be coherent and functioning but hopefully drunk enough to pass the coming as weird trick of alcohol, dream or hallucination. And from the looks of it, the toxic of alcohol hasn't poisoned his blood yet -- not that he usually cared about such things much, it's not like he was picked out because the way he tasted. But again, it'll make this much more easier for him.

"Don't laugh," Edgar smiles and moves away from the river, up to the stranger. "But I thought I'd make a small boat to see how far it can go on this river."

[braveoff]

"A boat out of what?" He might look a little suspicious now, glancing around for a piece of wood or something like that. Anything Edgar might need a knife to carve. He doesn't spot anything, and so doesn't reach into his pocket for the blade... but he's also not registering the boy as a threat as he comes closer.

Not much registers as a threat to Drake, these days. He's pretty invulnerable.

[abbatis]

The suspicion doesn't go past by Edgar. He replies to his uncertainty with a child-like laughter. "Hah. Well what you think?" Then he turns around and points back at steep before the river.

"I have a piece of wood there. I normally have a knife for carving on me but I seem to have lost it upon my arrival."

[braveoff]

Drake follows to where Edgar's finger is pointing, but he doesn't see any wood. Doesn't even know where the kid would have gotten adequate wood around here, unless he chopped down something in the orchard. He doesn't seem the type. And then he would've had access to tools. Maybe that's a better idea, anyway, just point the kid in the direction of where he can get his own equipment. Drake doesn't feel like sitting around all night waiting while somebody whittles a boat. That must take forever. Right? He's never carved anything before.

"Actually, I should head home... but it's not like the armory closes, they've got small knives too." He turns and points in that direction, at a building to the south. "It's straight past the old guard HQ, the collapsed building."

post-attack

[braveoff]

When Drake comes to, he's more disoriented than anything. He's lying on the ground in an uncomfortable position, like he fainted out of nowhere... that's not the kind of thing that happens to him. His head spins a little as he pushes himself up to sitting, so he stays there for a moment brushing the dust out of his hair and off his face and side. What the hell happened?

The last thing he remember is talking to that weird kid, the one who wanted his knife -- and a quick pat of his pockets tells him that it's gone, the kid took it after all -- but not an attack. Just conversation, the kid standing too close, and then nothing. He wasn't drunk enough to be dizzy before, so something must have happened. And then he notices there's blood on his hand. No injury there, though. Maybe his head, under the dust? No... a quick check of himself and he finds a cut on his neck, that even with as sluggishly as he bleeds has stained the collar of his shirt. He has no idea how it got there. If the kid stole his knife and stabbed him in the throat, it'd feel a hell of a lot worse. And if he'd been conscious he would have turned, definitely, but there's no sign of a struggle around. He's exactly where he remembers being. The kid must have knocked him out first, somehow, but honestly that shouldn't really be possible and his head feels fine. Magic? Maybe.

Slowly, Drake picks himself up off the ground. He's still buzzed, sure, but it's almost like he's lost a lot more blood than what's on his shirt. Like when he was human and used to donate, and they'd tell him to sit and have some juice before moving around. With a hand pressed to his neck he heads quickly home, up the stairs and inside, locking the door behind him.

...aaaand now he's going to try not to freak out.

[requiemshark]

Generally, Ephemera doesn't keep tabs on Drake unless they're currently under attack. They have a schedule but beyond that, they tend to do their own things. It works out. Drake's an adult and he's capable of watching himself, he doesn't need babysitting. And he definitely wouldn't appreciate it if Ephemera started hovering.

So he's not too worried when Drake is late coming home. It happens and Ephemera's been focused on his sketchbook anyway, working through more tattoo designs. Eventually he'll find the right one, but it hasn't come to him yet. Bear claws. A bear paw surrounded by a twisting circle of interlocking shapes. It feels like the right direction even if it's not done just yet.

The door opens.

Ephemera looks up from the couch. Drake looks off. The way he's holding himself. Drawn tight.

"Drake? You okay?"

[braveoff]

Still facing the door, Drake forces himself to breathe evenly, carefully. This is not a crisis, he's fine. And of course Ephemera can tell something's wrong right away. It's not like Drake was really planning to hide it, but that still hits him for some reason. He was so used to hiding everything at home, all the time, and now he doesn't. And there's someone who can read him just from just a glance at his shoulders.

Okay he's. Definitely still tipsy. But being a drunken sap is better than panicking about what the hell that stranger is doing with his blood and all the horrible things that could happen next. Another breath, and he turns around, lowering the hand from his neck to reveal the cut and smeared trail of blood down to the stain on his shirt. He still looks a little frantic, and sways as he steps forward.

"I don't... actually know what happened? There was this kid..."

[nonscriptum]

Nate almost doesn't hear it before it happens - sound is deadened in this alley, maybe because the ground is earth and not paved with stone - but he is caught half-turning toward the sound of something brushing dirt when it slams into his back.

A guy decides to take a walk at floor level after a couple of days of thrilling rooftop escapades and it bites him in the ass. Or elsewhere.

The wind is knocked out of him almost immediately and he stumbles, processing the milliseconds of shock as fingers dig into his chest and hitch under his jaw, yanking his head to the side. Those milliseconds are all it takes for what he's fairly certain are teeth sinking through the flesh of his throat, bone grinding into muscle and Nate groans at the sheer force of it for a figure that seems so small. In sheer panic he reaches back with the arm closest to the local, overly-friendly cannibal and curls his fist into the collar of a shirt, the nape of a slender neck.

"Get- off!"

He doubles over with the swift, practiced effort of someone who has been jumped before, frantically pulling, with every intention of wrenching the leech free and using the momentum to flip it over him and onto the ground.

[abbatis]

Like a thistle he's stuck on the man's back and digging his spikes on his flesh. The skin breaks easily under Edgar's teeth. Tearing the spot open the blood starts gushing out he closes his lips around the wound and he starts to suck. His fingers are also working, manipulating the blood underneath his victim's skin -- absorbing it through the sharp fingertips.

He's not gentle or slow even when the man begins to struggle. He is strong but so is Edgar's grip and he swallows the first mouthful of blood. The euphoria along excitement overtakes him as if his icy body had just flared up in heat even though his touch stays cold. One beat passes and then another and Edgar swallows again. The man is soon dead, just little more. One, two, three---

And then he feels himself being violently pulled away, interrupting his feast. He closes to his jaw and he is prepared to tear his skin skin and flesh off him -- everything to stay put. But despite the blood loss the man is still physically much stronger than him and apparently experienced fighter. And just with a blink of an eye he is torn off and within a heartbeat he finds himself landing painfully on the ground. He hits his shoulder and neck on something hard but he barely registers it. He's back on his feet during the same breath he was thwarted, surging towards the man once again, hand reached forward and looking for his neck.

[nonscriptum]

The nails in his chest claw deep and the teeth in his neck dig in just as he starts the throw. When the slim figure is tossed - ass over teacups - against the nearest wall, it cuts along the side of his throat like a hot knife through butter. Staggering back Nate can feel a warm stickiness ooze over his collarbone and down his chest and he touches the spot briefly (Jesus, that's a lot of blood for a bad hickey) before putting some much-needed space between him and that thing.

"Holy shit."

It scrambles to its feet, a thin slip of a person, almost waifish. Young and pale and feral with a mouthful of red and snake-sharp teeth in a thin, childish grimace, bared fangs for another round. Nate is moderately more prepared this time.

"No offense," he grits, bracing himself and throwing an arm up to block the lunge, intending to lay him out flat again. "But you're not my type."

[abbatis]

The ragged breath, painful grunts, hoarse words and rush of blood along the beating heart all ring loud and crystal clear in Edgar's ears. They're the sounds of life. The man's life, one that he's going to take for himself to stay alive.

Red bloody lips curve into a almost mocking grin, whether it's response to the joke or to the defending arm is unclear. It's always just as fun when they put on a fight as if they had any chances to win. If the man had any tricks in his sleeve, say like an ability to summon a lighting, he would surely used them by now. Edgar may be slower than usual and injured but so was the man. His life was running down along his neck to his chest.

There was no way Edgar would lose. As long there was skin to skin contact he'd have this.

Moving faster than normal human, Edgar moves under the blocking arm his own hand shooting up to grab his throat while other one searched for forearm.

[crippled]

Ivar has never been one to sleep an entire night through. With all of his aches and pains, his overactive mind, restfulness doesn't come easy. At home, he used to slither up in secret to his father's empty throne and contemplate his frustrations, but that throne is not here, so instead he wanders. Pushes himself to become better at walking, which he still has only been doing for a few months now, to learn and understand the place he's been taken to. By the end, usually he's exhausted enough to sleep without jolting awake for his legs or joints or whatever other thing his body is doing to him that night.

Which is how he finds himself in the orchard when so few are still out and about, without much intent but to waste time. The thump-scrape of his ungainly hobble comes to a loud halt quite nearby Edgar's position in the flowers, and Ivar leans hard against his crutch so he can peer down at the boy when he spots him. Recognition comes first, and then the thought: oh, he's dead. Then the realization that he's not, just a bit splattered in blood: which, it happens. The gods know Ivar has found himself prostrate and painted with gore plenty of times before, so he can't judge. And for all that it's a little novel, because it's not often Ivar gets the opportunity to look down on someone. Physically, of course. Metaphorically, he never stops.

"Edgar," he calls, not even bothering with faking concern in the quiet shadows of the orchard, his tone pure curiosity instead. "You're a mess, huh?"

[abbatis]

The sounds of Ivar's struggles to walk can be heard from far away before he even swims to his vision. Poor man, Edgar laughs to his thoughts. It must really be troublesome to walk like that, pulling your own weight with almost every step. For a moment Edgar even considers leaving and looking for another spot to rest. He'd definitely could make it in time and so that Ivar wouldn't even have to know him being there in the first place.

But he's of fleeing, the day has been nothing but running away from people. And besides, wasn't he just earning for more blood. If he's lucky there's a nice supply hopping towards him just now.

"Hello," he greets the other man calmly while looking up, as if he had just asked about a weather instead of finding him cleaning off blood from his fingers. "A mess is one way to put it, I guess. It's not as bad as it looks, like though. Now you wouldn't happen to have a spare cloth on you?"

[crippled]

Ivar laughs, twisting his crutch back and forth a few times to stick it into the mud, to give himself some leverage. "I don't," he shrugs, because he really doesn't have any spare cloth on him (vikings don't do handkerchiefs), and then balancing all his weight on the stuck crutch, he offers Edgar a hand up. "What is it that got you all covered in blood out here?" Are those mimic creatures back, he wonders? Or has the strange boy been more adventurous than Ivar might have guessed to look at him? "Have you been fighting the trees?"

Another boy had warned Ivar against pissing them off, a few days ago: he looks terribly amused by his own dumb inside joke. And clearly, he can't not ask too many questions.

[abbatis]

"Pity." Well it's not like he had really expected him to carry one around. Guess he'll have to be careful not to leave a blood trail when he leaves back to his new 'home.'

There's a quick moment of wonder before Edgar reaches to take stretched out hand and pulls himself up from the ground. Ivar doesn't seem to be bothered by sight of blood or even to get some of it on himself, apparently.

"What's that? I'm afraid I don't get that joke," he grins, revealing some of blood tainted teeth -- if looked closely enough there's even small bit of flesh stuck between his canine. "I just stumbled around. Would you believe if I told you I was struck by a lightning?"

[evocation]

Kyna isn't exactly the most situationally aware person in the city. As she heads down the street, she's texting, and really it's a wonder that she doesn't run into anyone. So, when Edgar reaches for her, she jumps, nearly dropping her phone altogether. It's just a kid, though, and so she doesn't react as negatively as she usually might.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Do you need help or something?"

[abbatis]

Just as the words left her mouth Edgar presses in and pulls her closer from the shoulder, bright blue eyes fixated on her eyes. With a graceful and smooth move his free hand right under her chin. He presses his fingers tight, searching for that one weak spot.

"It's alright," his voice is low and calm -- almost soothing even. "Everything is alright." He murmurs again but this time there is a strange echo behind his words, making them sound like they're not part of this world. He leans in even closer, lips parted, but he still doesn't break the eye contact as he's trying to convey the command to sleep silently.

[evocation]

She flinches back instinctively, because who the hell does this kid think he is? And then he starts talking, and she can feel the magic in his words, feel it trying to influence her. It doesn't work, and she scowls at him, looking more incredulous and annoyed than anything else.

"Hey, here's some advice. Sleep magic doesn't work on elves." She pushes his hand away roughly. "You want to tell me why you're being super creepy, you weirdo?"

[abbatis]

Edgar doesn't falter when the woman starts pulling away instead of falling on his arms. She's not the only one who's been able to stay clear minded and let his words pass through. "Shh," the hush is only answer he gives to her as he strengthens his grip on her shoulder, pushing himself forward with more force.

He's always preferred to do this with more tact, leaving no mess behind. But beggars can't be choosers, not in this strange world with new gods and new rules. His stare intensifies while he presses in, blue eyes almost shining. The atmosphere turns heavy like someone had just sucked away the air surrounding. No other sounds than her breathing and words.

And that's when Edgar places his whole weight forward and smiles, a cunning smile that reveals his teeth -- one that look sharper than just a moment ago -- and moves up to bite the side of her neck.