hadriel_logs | Thirst

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Armand's eyes are bright, like a large jungle cat watching its prey twitch and wither for its entertainment. Seeing the clergyman cower in fear before him was the most natural thing in the world. It is the reaction Armand is use to when other, lesser vampires saw him. It was what was right, the pecking order of the world.

"Yes, it is your Land Beyond the Living," he says, like he has any idea what that means. He will pretend to know what this place is and what its significance is until he gets what he wants.

"You drink my blood and I will make it disperse."

"And I'm s- supposed to believe you?" Carlisle balks, his eyes darting every direction. "That this isn't some trick to turn me?"

Practically feeling that predatory look, he backs against the plant behind him, his hand pressed against not his heart, but his abdomen. This world may be an illusion, but his old wounds aches all the same. "I'd rather be m- momentarily enfeebled," he hisses through his teeth, trying to curb his panic as he feels that throbbing in his head return. Not now, he begs inwardly. Please, not now.

Armand clicks his tongue in a disapproving sound.

"Of course it will not turn you. The same amount of blood has to pass between us for that to happen. A mouthful will only provide ecstasy and revitalization. This blood is magic."

Only not really. But it was the closest explanation.

He watches Carlisle's hand move to his stomach and wonders briefly if the clergyman is feeling nauseous. The last thing the vain vampire wants is to be covered in vomit.

He catches the silent pleading from Carlisle mind and scowls in response.

"Just do it."

"I don't care if it's magic!" Carlisle cuts back with his own disapproving tone. "It's blood, and that's disgusting!"

And on top of that, the pounding in his head is getting worse. Can a vampire from another world be controlled by aural compulsion? It's a fair question, and one to which Carlisle does not want to know the answer. After all, he's sure there's no faster way to destroy this tenuous truce they have like dominating Armand's mind.

At least he's aware enough of what it feels like when he's starting to lose his grip on his curse to fight back -- that's not terribly encouraging, since that means he's lost control of it enough times to familiarize himself with it, but he'll take what he can get at this moment. He's got plenty to worry about as it is.

"You will think otherwise once you taste it!"

Completely ignoring all the signs that Carlisle is slowly loosing his grip, Armand takes his wrist and holds it above Carlisle's head, letting droplets splatter the other man's face. His general plan is to hope that a few make it into his protesting mouth. He knows all too well how glorious the Blood is. How it takes like the colour gold and is hot and sensuous. All human desires would be wiped clean. If there was one way to bridge the gap between two people, it was with the Blood.

If he'd be willing to give the Blood a chance, perhaps Carlisle would change his mind, be more willing to see eye-to-eye with the vampire before him; however, with the thundering in his head, Land Beyond Living seemingly all around him, and a vampire trying to force him to drink his blood, all he manages to do is absolutely snap as the droplets hit his face, sliding down his glasses like a crimson rain preceding a storm of sin.

His voice comes out as a roar, almost guttural in the desperation behind it.

Stay away from me!

And as the man tears himself away from the plant behind him and stumbles a few steps away, never turning his back to Armand, the vampire may feel a tugging on his mind, an incredible impulse to leave Carlisle be that he could believe was his very own, if he were easily fooled.

It's not Carlisle's voice that causes Armand to stop but something else. Something tugging at the edge of his brain. Before he realizes it he drops the illusion and suddenly, in a flash, is standing across the terrace from Carlisle. He stands there for a moment obviously confused. Just a moment ago he was certain he would get his way, and now it seems as if his body had just moved on his own. He looks down at his wrist and sees his preternatural skin knitting back together before his eye. He looks up and stares at the wrecked Carlisle.

"What did you do?"

Because he is certain it was something to do with the clergyman.

It does indeed have something to do with the clergyman; Carlisle's influence over the vampire wanes as he removes his glasses, his hands trembling as he cleans them off with his glove. Though the simple act, along with the fading illusion, seems to calm some of his nerves, his legs still shake beneath him, fear making them weak, yet petrifying him enough to keep him there.

"I told you I didn't want any," he utters quietly, his voice unsteady. That's not the answer Armand is looking for, but it's what he manages to put together as he tries not to think too hard on the fact that he just exerted dominance over a vampire's mind. His curse remains as much a sin as his savior, much to his absolute shame.

"You would have enjoyed it."

He sounds sulky and put out. He wants to move, to slash this man's throat but he is wary. He has never met another person that could top his psychic abilities. He was the one use to subtly suggesting things to change a person's action, to control and extort them. Having it turned against him was unsettling. He wraps his arms around himself and scowls deeply.

"You are a monster."

"I'm not a monster," Carlisle hisses back, ink starting to seep between his teeth. His eyes are sharp, defiant, yet his brow is laden with the guilt he's feeling. He knows what he did. He knows his sin; they both know it.

He puts a hand out to the parapet, steadying himself as his head pounds from his influence, biting back his temper as it fuels more frustration with himself. "St- stop calling me that," he chokes out, the ink trailing now from the corner of his mouth. The irony of a vampire, an undead, offering him blood, insisting he would have enjoyed it... calling him a monster.

Armand has done that before, but why? The twice-cursed are said to be both dead and alive, but Carlisle is so sure he is alive. He is alive..

His other hand goes to his head, his fingers pushing his glasses aside to press against his eye as though it'd stifle the thundering at his temples. "You've fed, so leave."

"I will shortly, but before I want to sate my curiosity."

He walks forward, full of purpose and stop before Carlisle. He reaches out a hand and runs a thumb so gently over Carlisle's chin where the ink is spilling. He brings the liquid to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste it. Not blood. It churns his stomach.

"What is it?"

Despite being the one who dominated Armand's will only moments before, Carlisle is as skittish as ever as the vampire approaches him, still trembling as some of the ink is wiped away from his chin. He brings a hand to it himself, the alarm on his face muted, at best.

"Ink. The black bile. Concentrated sin. It has many names."

That's also not the answer Armand is looking for. While he feels he owes the vampire no true answers, he gives one anyway, deciding belatedly that he should try not to make too much of an enemy of him. This tenuous truce they have must last.

"It is an expulsion caused by a condition I have. Nothing contagious, should you care."

Thirst

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sorry orz

\o/

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Whoops, now it's my turn to be sorry. D: