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.

[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?"

[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.

[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]

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."

[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.

[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?"

[crippled]

If anything, all the blood just makes Ivar more interested in Edgar's strangeness than he already had been. When Edgar pulls against his arm to get back on his feet, it doesn't budge: all the strength that he lacks in his legs, Ivar has built into his arms and shoulders instead. And Edgar is so slight, anyway. When he releases Edgar's hand, he also makes a (hopefully) subtle effort to tug his crutch back out of the dirt.

"Lightening doesn't bleed," he licks his own teeth, an automatic reaction to seeing the red between Edgar's. Remembers (maybe a little too fondly) the last time he'd had the hot copper tang of blood on his own tongue. "And I don't think all that's yours." Or any of it, even.

[abbatis]

There is small reluctance on Edgar's part when the hand is pulled away, even if Ivar's arm guard prevents them from having skin to skin contact. He can still feel the blood rushing underneath it all.

"Of course it can. Lightning can burn your skin until you bleed." Which, however, doesn't seem to be the case with him. There's no sign of actual burns or even smell on him to back up his words. Calling that zap he got a lightning was more than little over dramatic.

Edgar's expression changes from the carefree into more dark and daring when the blood is brought up again. "What makes you think of that?"

[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?"

[crippled]

Ivar watches his expression shift closely, eyes flicking from Edgar's mouth around to the rest of face. Oh, this is dangerous, he can tell. How odd, that out of everyone and everything he's seen so far, it's this soft little thing that sets the hair on the back of his neck on end.

Not that he steps away. No: he smiles, wide and sharp. It's not his fate to die here, he's sure, not in this place.

"To begin with, it looks like you've been eating it." When Ivar had first approached, he'd been sucking the red off his own fingers, hadn't he? Which, generally, people don't do with their own blood. In his experience, of course. Oddly enough, Ivar doesn't sound particularly judgmental about it either way. If anything, he sounds... fascinated. Come to think of it, "I've seen you here before, but I've never seen you eating the fruit." He tilts his head, "tell me, Edgar, what are you?"

[abbatis]

Edgar gives his upper teeth row a brief lick, finally noticing the small bit of flesh stuck there. Feeling of distaste and disgust quickly washes through him and he leans to the side to spit it out.

There is a moment of heavy silence between them. Edgar could definitely come up with excuses and explanations. He fell down on his face and bit down insides of his mouth. He's sick and can't eat the fruit available here. He could easily turn this around and claim Ivar to have a wild imagination.

"I wonder," he says eventually with a heavy sight. In the end there's nothing to lose here even if he admits the truth -- the other man is barely a threat to him and this is one way of showing it. He takes a step closer and hand reached out to touch the bare skin around Ivar's neck. "People have plenty of names for us. Maybe you'll have your own word."

[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.

[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.

[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."

[crippled]

Alright, well.

Ivar leans his head away just slightly enough that he can grab Edgar's wrist before his fingers make contact. The coldness of it sends a thrill up his spine.

"I'm going to want something in return," he warns, but there's no disguising that he's clearly interested in this... whatever this is. Fascinated, and not disgusted. Or afraid, as it were—Ivar isn't afraid of much, even if he should be, you know. Considering. "A favor, hm? In the future."

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]

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."

[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]

That wasn't something he expected to hear. Humans have always displayed fear and shock upon finding his predatory nature and thirst for blood. Only few have managed to keep their calm, locking the feelings inside, upon meeting the unknown danger but no one had ever gone as far as demanding something in return.

"You want to be like Faust? Just how many axes you plan on throwing at trees," the words are spoken with a light laughter backing them up. The absurdity of the situation amuses him greatly and he doesn't take Ivar seriously at all. "You seem to be sure that you'll even live through this to come back with demands."

[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]

Who is Faust, he wonders? Well, that'll be a question for later.

He shrugs instead. "I will not die here." Said in a tone of it is what it is. Simply the truth, as he is convinced. The look Edgar gives rankles, but he is very accustomed to being seen as a joke. As harmless. He gives Edgar a much tighter smile than before, reigns in the urge to lash out with a well-practiced exhale. He'll prove himself later, he always does. "Well?"

[abbatis]

His trust and confidence is truly impressive. The way he is welcoming the danger and unknown without any questions while still refusing death, no matter whether he has a say in it or not. Who knows, maybe it's the cultural difference showing strong here. Ivar doesn't seem to posses the Christian fear for death, demons or his soul. There's even part in himself that feels a little frightened by his current thirst for blood and energy.

He's not exactly keen to be in anyone's debt and he's fairly certain he could kill the other man before he could even blink his eyes. But in the end, it'd be lying to say he's not the intrigued by Ivar and his boldness.

"Yes," he nods and pulls his hand free from his. "But don't go expecting miracles to happen." It might not be the wisest agree to a such sketchy deal, after all there are plenty of things he wouldn't want to do, but Ivar's managed to waken his curiosity. This is what he loved about humans the most.

"Death or no death this will make you weak. So it might be in your best interest to sit down."