(no subject)

[never_very_good]

When; late last night through even later last night
Rating; urgh uh. idk, pg-13 for violence and biting?
Characters; Frankie Dalton [never_very_good], Amory Felix [fatespoken], Sookie Stackhouse [lajolieblonde], Lucy Locke [mghtbconcussed] (in separate threads of course.)
Summary; Frankie's cursed, and hungry. Oops. See this for reference.
Log; It hits him in the back room; and suddenly, Frankie Dalton doesn't know where he is. Though aching and disoriented with hunger, he's lucid enough to realize this isn't where he should be; the door he stepped through is no longer behind him, and whatever's on the other side of the exit to this room, he's willing to bet it's not another stretch of Subwalk, not whatever building Ed and his friend have found shelter in. Honestly, he's scared; they say you can hallucinate, going too long without blood. Not that it's been long; but the time hasn't been easy on him, and healing hurts always leaves him hungrier. If he's this far gone... Frankie's set his crossbow aside, leaning on a wall, staring at his hands and trying to decide if his fingers look any longer.

He's not sure he wants to see what's out there, real or not.

[ooc; open to Amory first <3 if Sook and then Lucy could tag after with wherever they are that seems most organizized? <3]

Comments

[fatespoken]

Amory is in the act of being a diligent worker, stacking boxes neatly in the store room. They've just got a new shipment of liquor, and it's their last task before they can call it a night. A job for two, really, but the other person of this team is currently being a straggler. Amory's none to happy about it, aggravation growing in correlation with the sweat gathering against his brow.

"Frankie, get your lazy ass here," he snaps at him, volume loud enough to carry his voice into the main room. He's all the while unaware that Frankie is in the room, and that the stroke of midnight hasn't turned him into a pumpkin, but a menace with fangs.

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

Under most circumstances, an actual honest-to-god living, breathing human walking into the room would have Frankie on him in a second, not to kill but to catch; right now though he just hides, completely and totally bewildered. It goes without saying that something is seriously wrong here, because humans don't just walk around like that, don't go unarmed, don't... well, by and large they don't exist now, outside the bloodbanks.

He doesn't even register Amory calling his own name. He's not thinking; just standing stock-still, watching the younger man; and when his head turns and bares the pulse of his throat, all Frankie's reservations melt away in the face of his hunger and he lunges across the room, tackling Amory, clumsily covering his mouth with a hand to stop him screaming because who knows if there are more of them out there, maybe ones who aren't stupid enough to be defenseless. It's against the law to bite, these days.

He does (to his credit, maybe) at least have that fleeting thought, dismissed as he bites down hard into Amory's neck.

now where's my moral parallel

[lajolieblonde.livejournal.com]

Work's been long today, and Sookie's feet ache, her calves feel achy and worn. She's ready to head on home and maybe take a bath, burrow down into the sunshine yellow sheets Angela bought her and sleep away the hurt.

So she's not paying much attention to her surroundings, other than making sure she doesn't bump into anybody or knock over anything; everyone at the Blue Light's safe for that, when the largest danger is catching the sharp side of Amory's tongue.

"Night, y'all." She addresses the general direction of the next room, stifling a yawn. Saying good night's just routine now, doesn't matter nobody's around to care.

now where's my moral parallel

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

When Sookie leaves, it's quiet; and really it doesn't get any louder, because Frankie has the element of surprise on his side and he doesn't want more trouble to show up. If things were simpler, she'd have been safe to get home-- but as it is there's something wrong, something deeper than the hunger pangs he's been feeling, something to do with the blood staining his tongue and spattering the floor of the storeroom where he's spit it out. And even so it buys her enough time to get out the door and a ways down the street while Frankie fights back a wave of uncertain sickness.

But when he finally rights himself to realize fight's not working out well, and decides to give flight a chance, the vampire barrels out of the bar as fast as he can. Which, honestly, is not as fast as Sookie's accustomed to, different worlds being what they are, but at least keeps him from being caught, if there's anyone else around to witness his crime.

In the street he pauses, not to catch his breath (since he doesn't have to,) but to look for any hint of familiarity in his surroundings. What he sees is... a woman, walking down the street, blessedly alone. He doesn't think; even from a distance he knows, somehow, that she's alive. That's enough to reduce him to a mass of instinct, yellow gaze fixed on her, his fingers twitching slightly as he compulsively checks the joints for any hints of elongation. He doesn't run after her. He doesn't want to give chase, though he will if she sees him coming and makes a break for it.

Lucy

[mghtbconcussed.livejournal.com]

Lucy is on her way home from work. She's tired, her feet hurt and she knows she should wait for the Master to come get her. Her fear from the incident with Rido is abating which explains why she's walking along the sidewalk by herself.

It's also why she's not really paying attention. Couple that with the fact that she worked late tonight and she's a sitting duck.

Or meal. Which ever way you look at it.

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

Frankie's not a glutton, really; and normally one victim would be enough, more than enough. But all Sookie's done is get him back from sick to half-starved, and he's not doing much better as far as self-control goes. He's still lost; and so he wanders aimlessly, intentionally avoiding the streets that look busier. More variety, but less privacy; the last thing he wants is to be caught, sick and starved and blood-soaked.

What he's looking for is this, exactly: someone alone, unsuspecting. He doesn't trail her as obviously as he did Sookie; keeping to the shadows and catching up as swiftly as possible. When he comes up on her he grabs for her, a hand going to cover her mouth.

[mghtbconcussed.livejournal.com]

He gets her by surprise. She screams against his mouth and automatically starts struggling, flailing about and kicking. Unfortunately for Lucy, she's not very effective when it comes to self defense. She really ought to take a class. Or six.

akjdlkfdgd NOTIF FAIL, I HATE YOU ><

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

A class or six would certainly help, but really, he has the advantage of not being merely human, and of desperation. He tightens his grip on her fiercely, not really intentionally hurting her but not caring if he does, because the only thing that matters-- the only thing he's really conscious of-- is the throb of her pulse. Frankie bites down hard as soon as he gets a clear shot at her throat; his fangs are small but sharp, and the snap of his jaws has a wild strength to it, tearing through the skin. His fingers flex a little tighter over her mouth as the blood flows, and he sucks greedily at the wound, running completely on instinct and impulse.

Notif fail sucks so hard. I *think* they're okay now.

[mghtbconcussed.livejournal.com]

Lucy continues to scream against his hand and flail. The biting and tearing hurts, bringing tears to her eyes but then the blood loss kicks in and the flailings slow. The screaming stops and she's just trying to remember how to breathe. Her vision gets a little black around the edges, fading and everything gets harder; breathing, moving, thinking.

more or less, at least @_@

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

He drinks until the blood flow slows, finally making a small, somewhat contented noise as the hunger that's been building for what seems like ages is sated. Maybe he ought to at least think of what will happen to this girl, but... he doesn't; and once he's done he lets her fall to the ground, pausing to stare just a moment before he takes off.

[mghtbconcussed.livejournal.com]

She'll lay there for several minutes. Maybe even twenty before 'waking up' starving. And from there...

[ooc: I call that a wrap]

[fatespoken]

Despite growing up amidst a handful of vampires, watching his back (or neck ) had used to never be much of a concern. They had all been subtle monsters in his world, tucking in their fangs with a slight of eye, their many years reflected through a sheen of arrogance rather than through overt dramatics. Besides, anyone who dared lay a tooth to his neck would probably have found their own necks snapped by his silent guardian.

But that was then, and this is now, and there's nothing to stop the impact of sudden daggers driving into the skin of his neck, teeth cutting against flesh and vein to expose a deep well of dark red. Conditioned to vampires or not, instinct forces him to let out a muffled yell, arms flailing upwards to knock down cardboard boxes and plastic cups. Amory's legs kick to no avail, his ability to ignite the vampire on fire lost in a month's trade.

Once more he's a victim to a veritable monster, no gunshot from a roommate's hand to save him, no inherent weakness to his power to push Frankie away. All his cards are negligible in this situation, and that rising heart beat sends the potentiality of murder driving hard into his skull.

Ironic, isn't it? Hopefully, Frankie would prove to be a civilized vampire, instead of a voracious monster.

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

Vampire society has always seemed just as civilized to Frankie as its human predecessor; and really, perhaps it is. He's a little colder, a little crueler, desensitized to the idea of human suffering the way most humans don't think about where their meat comes from. Frankie knows, of course; he catches his prey. It has nothing to do with cruelty. He does it because people will starve if he doesn't, because the blood needs to come from somewhere.

Right now? This isn't about duty, it's a matter of pure animalistic instinct. The disorientation of ending up in this strange building hasn't helped his hunger. He does his best to keep Amory pinned and hold his flailing to a minimum, but honestly he doesn't care. There's nothing but the blood, spilling into his mouth and down his chin; he's too desperate to be neat.

It doesn't take long, though, for him to realize something's wrong; and with a low growl of frustration he lets the human go, shoving him roughly away towards the wall and doubling over. Blood drips off his chin and into the floor, dark spatter in the dim light. His stomach churns, his whole body aches; Frankie's eyes squeeze shut, his hands balling into fists, the nails digging bloodlessly into his palms. He gasps, lets out a low and panicked whine, feeling worse than he had to begin with.

Wildly, he thinks of the twisted subsider in Ed's kitchen, of Alison; the marks on both their wrists where they'd sucked at their own veins, and he wonders if it felt like this. Changing. Mutating. Degenerating into something more bat than man. The idea terrifies him and, stumbling a little, he retches, trying to spit up as much of Amory's blood as he can.

[fatespoken]

Amory can't help but laugh at Frankie's distress; a dry, breathless laugh that scratches against the air. One hand against the free-flowing wound, he's crawled over to lean against an empty wall. The wound is messier than it is grievous-- being shoved against a wall had probably hurt just as much as the bite itself.

More irony; the monster suffering on account of his own greed, whining like a kicked puppy, writhing like any beast recoiling from pain. In all honesty, Amory had no expectation of this sort of reaction from Frankie. The last time someone took a bite from him, he was perfectly fine.

But how could he not find it amusing? A sardonic amusement, surely.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to take candy from a stranger?"

[good-at-this.livejournal.com]

"What the fuck is wrong with you," he gasps in between heaves, teeth gritted and mouth spattered with blood and spit. It's not really a reply to Amory's question, because he's too busy panicking to really process the words. It's like Amory's infected; but he's clearly alive, warm and breathing and bleeding like any human does. The scent of it fills the air, hot and cloying, making his throat burn where it's rubbed raw from stomach acids.

Clearing the younger man's blood out of his system brings the hunger back, of course; doubled over, he grimaces and spits, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He straightens then, swaying a little, and stumbles toward the door. He has no idea where he is or where he's going, but he doesn't want to be here.