Thirst

[tongueamok]

Who: Armand (oversear) & Carlisle Longinmouth (tongueamok)
What: A clergyman and a vampire meet up for their monthly dinner date.
Where: Carlisle's rooftop garden
When: Forward dated to January 8th, just past the Tranquility Resurrection event (because what is the sun, Armand).
Warnings: PGish for blood


The beautiful, open sky and the bright sun fully vanish just as the 20th day rolls around -- the recurring day that Carlisle has set to meet with Armand each month or so to make good on his word. It's just an exchange: a meal and his silence for a modicum of protection from an abomination and his vile habits. He hasn't heard of the vampire attacking anyone else, certainly not anyone he knows -- despite his low level of trust in Armand, Carlisle can only assume that he's keeping his end of the bargain.

And so, he does the same: every 20th day, they meet in his garden, away from his friends who may be prey, away from the safety provided from his roommate. It's gone smoothly so far, but Carlisle and his general paranoia can't help but wonder if that trend will continue for much longer.

As usual, Carlisle busies himself until Armand arrives, but he tries to keep his senses open, to pick up on the vampire's presence the moment he's close enough. Though the clergyman is pruning away at one plant, noticing how much it seems to have grown with the ample light the city had before, he's listening carefully between the snipping of his shears for movement; there are moments he holds his breath, so sure he can feel that chill that runs down his neck whenever there's an undead in the area. Then again, that might be his neck preparing for the inevitable feeling of teeth sinking into it. At least the bearer of said fangs won't be rending his flesh from his body to sate his appetite.

Well, maybe. He is an otherworldly vampire, after all. Carlisle shouldn't be surprised by anything anymore, but despite his request Armand not startle him, it's almost hard for anyone not to, especially when he starts getting lost in his own thoughts. He wonders how close an eye Armand keeps on him, and if the vampire has noticed he's moved in with Glacius; he ponders what the alien would think if he knew of this arrangement. He cannot know, Carlisle reminds himself inwardly. He must keep his word, lest Armand turn on him. His word and his healing, after all, are all he has.

Well, that, and a lot of overgrown plants in need of a trim.

Comments

[tongueamok]

Armand's laughter rings in Carlisle's ears as he slides down the side of the pot to have a seat, his hand on his head. Don't pass out, he reminds himself. It's a common chant he inwardly repeats more often than anyone probably should, whether it's because of blood loss, squeamishness, or outright terror.

"Ah," he replies dully, still fighting his senses. "Did you- you choose this life, then?" he asks, less because of curiosity and more because he needs another moment to get his wits back.

[oversear]

Maybe he took more blood than he should of. But it felt good to have warm hands again. He watches with an amused look as Carlisle is all but keeling over.

"Yes. I would have followed him to the end of the world. He wanted me to have more years but at the time I was dying from poison. There was no other way. It was the Dark Gift or death."

He didn't really understand why he was telling him all these things. Perhaps it was the same impulse that made him tell his story to David. Just to be understood for a brief moment.

"Perhaps it's time for you to answer some questions yourself, Carlisle. Would that not be pleasant?"

[tongueamok]

Though he shakes his head -- no, that wouldn't be pleasant -- he complies. Fatigue ebbs at the edges of his mind; he had more questions relating to other people he has seen, that one figure in the painting with the monks and other times in this strange vampire from other world's life. Unfortunately, no matter how academically minded he may be in regards to learning as much about the undead as possible so he can better repel them, his mind is a scattered mess at the second.

"Fine, just- just fine. Don't pass out, don't- um." Don't announce the intent to not pass out should probably be higher on his list of priorities. "What could you possibly want to know?"

[oversear]

Armand laughs again. There's that old excitement, watching prey struggle for life. It ignites a type of mania in him, but he stays still, just watching. If only humans could appreciate how fragile their lives are.

"How did you come by your magic?"

[tongueamok]

"What, the healing? Or—" Yes, the healing. Obviously the healing. Not the other, unspeakable thing he's particularly good at.

"I was trained in it by clerics of my order. They- they said I had a natural talent for it, so I suppose 'born with it, then honed through practice' is the most accurate answer." Even when fighting fatigue, he still manages to spill more words than necessary.

[oversear]

Armand nearly sneers. It appears Carlisle is trying to be cute. His weakened state doesn't particularly inspire a kinder opinion of the man. He doesn't remember Daniel ever being this out of it, but he supposes he never regularly took so much blood from him.

"No, clergyman. The other thing. How you melted my flesh in an instant. That power."

[tongueamok]

Carlisle looks bewildered as he runs his hand through his hair, his hands still shaking. He might be the one feeding Armand, but the truth of the matter is that he's never been in the best of health, and he might be overdoing it just a tad.

"That? Minor magic, infused with the same kind of energy I use for healing. I didn't- I didn't learn how to do that so much as figure it out on my own."

[oversear]

"Minor? That is hilarious."

He does not sound even a little amused.

"So, it is not taught in your world. Is it forbidden?"

He seems reluctant to talk about it. Armand suspects that his goddess does not support such a perversion.

[tongueamok]

That gets a nervous little chuckle out of Carlisle, as though he's not quite sure where it is this line of questioning is going. How is it that the vampires of Armand's world can be clever enough to hide among humans and maintain their appearance, yet minor magic like his orbs of light is completely foreign to him?

Different worlds, he reminds himself. That does complicate things.

"These?"

He conjures into his hand a small lighted ball, one frailer than his usual ones and no bigger than a marble. It's more for demonstration and less for intimidation, as he's used them before.

"They're not a forbidden craft, no. I mean, there are forbidden crafts, but this- any magician even halfway competent in the art could do this, though I doubt it'd hurt an undead unless infused with magic from a healer, like myself."

He offers the small orb to Armand.

[oversear]

Armand shoots Carlisle a highly suspicious look. Seconds tick by as he just stares at the orb, seeming to think over his options. Should he trust Carlisle? This deal was built on threats and bullying. He could easily offer this orb claiming to be harmless, only to have it blow up in Armand's face. He briefly imagines dragging his shambling corpse back to Castiel for another healing session. He would be so disappointed in him.

But if this was a peace offering, would it be wise to turn it down? If Carlisle was more trusting and friendly towards towards Armand it would be easier to manipulate the man. Armand sucks on his fangs and then finally he moves, extending a single finger and touches the orb.

[tongueamok]

Though warm to the touch, the orb itself feels like delicate glass -- most importantly, it doesn't have any of the energies required for healing channeled into it, the light created by only the barest of magical energy.

His brow furrows, but he nods. "Just light in that one. It's the positive magic required for healing that wounds you, not the light itself, it seems."

[oversear]

Cupping his hand, Armand scoops up the orb, turning it this way and that, inspecting it. Despite himself he feels a bit of awe. It's the closest thing to a miracle he has ever seen a regular human produce. This goddess has given a great gift and he is pissed about it.

"Then your people must be proud of you, to have discovered such an ingenious way to incapacitate the undead."

He can't help but sound a little bitter.

[tongueamok]

Though he smiles nervously, Carlisle's eyes dart away.

"Yes, proud. Perhaps."

Said exactly like someone who is not thought well of by his people back home.

[oversear]

"You're the village outcast?"

Armand could sympathize with that but he's still remembering how his flesh just melted off with one of these orbs. It stopped him from truly wanting to pity Carlisle.

"That must be a difficult position to be in."

[tongueamok]

"I'm not an outcast," he cuts back defensively.

If his reaction wasn't enough, the thoughts that float right to the top of his mind are: he's not the village outcast so much as the black sheep of his entire bloodline, and everyone in his village knows it. Worse than that is that Carlisle judges himself harshly for it -- always have, and probably always will.

[oversear]

Armand wastes no time in dipping into Carlisle's mind, drawing the truth to the surface.

"You are afraid you will never live up to your lineage. Afraid you are the weak link, the embarrassment."

The fact that they were disappointments to their fathers was another trait Carlisle and Armand shared, although the vampire would not say it out loud.

"Is that all you fear?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle casts Armand a sharp look, one laced with surprise, suspicion, and fear all at once; his gaze darts away, his nose wrinkling as his face contorts.

"I know what I am," he mutters. "Now stay out of my mind. I'm sure you've seen enough with these... feedings to last you a lifetime."

[oversear]

Armand's lips quirk into a small smile.

"What is a lifetime to a vampire? A single drop of sand in the hourglass. Humans are fascinating creatures because they possess so much depth. So many riddles. Drinking blood, being that intimate is the only solution for this distance. Do you not feel more tender towards me? Do you pity me?"

[tongueamok]

"I pity you for suffering the indecency of being a monster," he retorts, his eyes still off Armand has he follows his immediate impulse to lie.

However, it's hard to completely bury the truth from someone who can so easily skim his mind, from someone who has undoubtedly seen glimpses of his memories in the same way he has seen into the vampire's. Fleeting images of Inquisitors in masks, of an empty home, of devotion bound in hopes of redemption -- they are things Carlisle would prefer no one see, certainly not a creature much like the ones his family has hunted for generations.

And yet, here they are.

[oversear]

He remembers Marius throwing him on to the bed and how Armand had spat the curse 'monster' at him in that moment. He had meant it, being the presence of a dead thing that masqueraded as a man. And now Armand played that part.

The vampire turns his hands over and examines the capillaries in his palms. Full of blood and life. He doesn't rise to the bait.

"Did you know in my world holy places cannot banish a vampire. God's divinity does not harm us. Less monster and more man, I think. Tell me, Carlisle. Are you afraid of death?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle shifts uncomfortably, wondering just how much Armand has seen into his mind -- what it is he knows about his true nature, about how his world viewed him, about his curse. There has certainly been at least one image to pass between them when Armand drinks of a colorless land: barren, cold, and more frightening to Carlisle than anything else.

The trepidation he feels thinking about such a place bleeds into him in there here and now; his hands shake, a tremor running through him. "What man isn't?" he asks quietly.

[oversear]

Armand watches him for a moment, then a sharp bark of laughter escapes him. He was furious.

"What man, indeed."

He bends down on one knee in front of Carlisle, his eyes boring into the other man's head. He rolls back his denim jacket from his wrist and bites into the cluster of veins just below his hand. Blood wells to the surface and runs down his arm, thick and warm-- Carlisle's blood.

"Open your mouth, clergyman. I want to show you something."

[tongueamok]

If the part where Armand bites into his own arm wasn't enough to make Carlisle cringe -- and which it absolutely is -- the suggestion that follows would have been, easily.

"You're not about to make me drink that, are you?" he asks through his teeth. "Because I know how that goes in my world."

[oversear]

"This is not enough to turn you, if that is what you are thinking."

No, Armand will never turn anyone ever again. Not after the disaster that was Daniel. Armand had been correct in with holding the Dark Gift from his poor mortal lover for so long. He is not about to give it to a man he barely knows. Although he has an idea of what might prompt a more willing exchange of blood. He conjures an illusion of that barren landscape that often flashes through Carlisle's thoughts.

He pushes his wrist towards Carlisle's mouth.

"Just a taste. It will restore your strength."

[tongueamok]

Yes, that was what he was thinking, but those thoughts are shoved out of his mind the second the world changes around him, his plants vanishing into thin air, dust gathering at his feet, swirling in a cold wind that exists only in his imagination.

He reaction is immediate: he panics. "Th- the Land Beyond Living!" he cries, his entire body stiffening. Armand may have seen him terrified before, but this is the pinnacle of his fears come to life. "Change it back!"