( It's been five days since they'd all arrived in this world, and Mika has not been seen the past two days. He hasn't been in his room, even if you've knocked. He hasn't been in the manor at all.
The trouble of being a vampire is... (introspection flavor blurb)
He came into this world struggling with particular hunger, given his circumstances prior to arrival, and by the second day he was starting to feel the strain. By the third, it was hard to really see people as people, instead of food; he'd grit his teeth through his conversations and shook his head, and he made himself act normal. It wasn't the first time he'd starved himself, and, well, he knows himself: it wouldn't be the last.
He didn't know what he wanted to do with his hunger. He didn't really want to ask for help; asking for blood before he was well and truly starving made him feel like an addict, a parasite. But when he was hungry— well, he grew ashamed. He didn't want to reveal this ugly mockery of a thing he is: no better than a monster, no different than a ghoul.
Before the fourth morning came, he'd strode deep into the forest, in some sort of desperate act. It was stupid. He didn't have a plan. He couldn't drink animal blood. He just couldn't stay there, in the manor, the scent of blood overwhelming, the thrum of heartbeats louder than any voice.
If it's his human sensibility that drove him away from the manor, it's the hunger he was trying to run from that drives him back. (Of course he'd lose to it. What makes a human a human is that they can overcome, and what makes a vampire a monster is that they cannot win against their worse nature. He knows, he knows.)
Some time during the night following his second day of absence, Mika stumbles from the forest, looking pale and unwell. He doesn't need to breathe, and he's really just a corpse, and yet he breathes heavily, and yet his face runs strangely hot. He doesn't have a particular destination besides the closest concentration of humans. His eyes are unfocused. His steps are uneven. He staggers through the halls and gardens and courtyard, leaning against the walls, gripping his chest. It hurts. He's so hungry it hurts.
He doesn't seem it, but he's following a trail. Your scent—wherever you are, whatever you're doing on this night—which is just that much nearer than any other; lucky you. It's easy to see and hear him coming, though; he's graceless, for now.
And he's muttering in repetition to himself, hard to discern, but sounding a little like: )
[ Yamato happens to be in the courtyard -- it's easy for Mikaela to launch himself at this guy and bite him right away, to be honest. Yamato's just sitting and reading, after all. But when he hears Mikaela staggering, he looks up from his texts and his brow furrows in concern. ]
Hey -- hey, Mikaela!
[ He'll run over to him, suspecting that the guy landed himself in some serious danger. ]
( Ah, how thickly the scent of his blood spools around him, like honey. He swallows, as Yamato approaches; a heartbeat in the echo of every footstep, the blood churning quick. He hears him for the thunder of his rushing blood before he hears Yamato's voice.
And when the sound of Yamato's heart is close enough, when the scent is at its thickest, Mikaela, who'd been leaning up 'til now weakly against the wall— grabs Yamato's neck with abnormal strength, and throws him against the wall instead, his grip unrelenting. )
You— Human— ( His unfocused eyes come into sharp and catlike focus, his fangs bared in the moonlight. ) Give me your blood— now.
( He presses close to Yamato, yanking him down a little lower to get better access; with one hand on his neck and the other pressing down Yamato's shoulder to force open a path to his bare skin, he's not holding down Yamato in any other way, no better than a feral, starving animal. He has T-minus one second before Mika's fangs try to pierce his neck— his unnatural strength suggesting escape might not be so easy, )
[ And just like that, Yamato feels something sink into his skin. Something razor sharp. He doesn't react fast enough to push Mikaela away, and in this moment, he realizes that something is terribly wrong.
He cries out in pain as Mika starts to feast on his blood. His body goes stiff and he can't even muster the strength to try and force him off (thanks, I rolled a 4). Instead, he starts reclining until he's helpless and on his back, hoping that someone will see this and try to help -- or that it ends sooner than he thinks. His head is already starting to swim. ]
( Ah, he feels at ease. He forgets why he'd been trying so hard to resist at all.
He drinks deep, and starved; three days is his limit, and he'd done five when he'd already come in hungry. Instinct says to drain him. Nothing in Mika disagrees.
But there is a bedside manner, here, that comes to him natural: his grip is rough and bruising where his fingers dig into the back of Yamato's neck and his shoulder, but once he's drank enough that fear of his prey's escape no longer agitates so badly, the hold on his shoulder comes loose, and comes to wrap around Yamato's back, like a soothing hold, like a promise: this will be fine, it seems to say. Don't worry, don't worry. The predator knows how to calm its prey, and take advantage of its weakened senses.
Just relax. The blood tastes better that way. He lets them sink down to the ground as he feeds.
At a certain point he's drank enough that the greedy drinks stem into gentler sips, the blood smeared along the shoulder. It's the wasted blood and the awareness that Yamato's body feels colder now than it was at first that pauses his feasting. His fangs lift, and he drags his bloody tongue along the shoulder to pick up what he'd missed. But...
The scent is familiar, in a way it wasn't before - how could he recognize it? The scent of his blood overpowered so terribly - but with some hunger satisfied, his senses are no longer sharpened solely toward feeding. The world is not as muted. This human's scent is clearer.
He knows this scent. Cologne? He knows the pattern of this blood's flow. It's...
It's...? )
... Ah...?
( Mika doesn't quite let go of Yamato as he pulls back (probably sorta sitting on him, sorry,), but the grip at the back of his neck does loosen, and the arm around him comes undone. His gaze as he gazes down at Yamato is still unfocused - uncertain; possessed by hunger. But there is a light in his eyes, returning. A suggestion of sentience.
But still, his mouth and lips are bloody. There's a sense he's still not fully there yet. )
[ The pain from the bite starts to ease into something more soothing, oddly enough, something comforting and warm -- but the loss of blood is quickly making his head spin. His eyelids are growing heavier. He's dizzy.
Yamato doesn't register that it's over when Mikaela draws his fangs back. He's weak, even with his newfound power.
The light comes back to Mika's eyes. Ah. It's a good look. This is how Yamato remembers him being. He has enough strength to manage a small smile, and he raises his hand...to lightly pat Mika on the top of his head. ]
...Yeah. It's me.
[ A beat. ]
Welcome back.
[ He closes his eyes. Yamato is now unresponsive...but he'll continue to have a pulse. ]
( The touch to his hair startles him, and pulls him from his sweet reverie - pulled back up from drowning, coughing for air. It's not a familiar touch, it's not even someone he can claim to know closely or well, but it rings right in a way that calms him, like a charm, like a melody.
( The calm that warmed him seeps into the night as cool realization settles into his chest. He doesn't remember how— he recalls he'd been clawing at the dirt in the forest, and then— Yamato's scent (his blood, at first, overwhelming all else about him). Fuck.
Yamato feels cold.
He hesitates - no, he feels like a deer in the headlights. He doesn't know what to do. What should he do? What could he do? He doesn't have reason to care about this - human. It made Mika a monster, but he'd killed humans before. Not from feeding, but it'd be inevitable, being what he was.
He had no allegiance to this guy, color aside. He was unlucky. He smiled at the guy who attacked him. He was stupid, too.
( He doesn't care. He doesn't. Because vampires don't care, can't care, can't come to love, so just call this obligation. If there is anything Mika's aware of, it's that he's living on borrowed time: he's twice dead, a spectre. It's not fair that he lives and others die, it never will be. Yamato had things to do. Human things, which would probably cause misery, but—
Why, then? Why welcome him back instead of curse him, or—
He parts his lips, half-crouched beside him as the scent of blood dizzies his still-muddled mind, not fully cleared - even if he's now that much more alert. He begins: )
Donec—
( ...
What was he doing?
Trying to heal him?
Was he fucking stupid?
He's a monster. He can't help anyone. Only hurt.
If there was some spark of magic there, some seedling of hope - it dies there, on Mika's lips. )
( Maybe he should let him die. It was unfair, but it was what it was. Mika considers this, genuinely, for a long moment - but Yamato's pulse persists, like a drum in his ears. It's the pulse of someone who wants to live, he thinks.
...
He doesn't really know first aid, but he realizes stupidly he needs to stop the bleeding, even if it was real fucking late. He presses a palm against the wound and rips off some fabric from whatever he's wearing, which he knows already is going to serve as a terrible bandage, but it'd have to do. He ties it off. It's bleeding through.
He exhales, shaky. He's still hungry. He's still really, really hungry, and he's still partly drunk on blood. He could lose himself to this, he thinks.
What now? He's never tried to save anyone but Yuu-chan before. A part of him still isn't so resolute about doing it, even now. It's just a human. Just a stupid, stupid human. )
( Gingerly (though a touch haphazard and clumsy, because his brain's halfway mush), he eases Yamato onto his back.
He remembers a lot of people being up in this manor at night. That pattern better persist. Stumbling but quick, he's going to get Yamato laid up the common room, where someone will maybe ideally see him and try to help him, and in the interim Mika will go get anyone who doesn't say no to "can you heal" and drag them over.
And then he'll go back to the woods, and find a river, and fill his body with rocks, and fucking drown in it instead of having to deal with this. )
[ Tatara is up by himself, roaming the halls at this hour. To be more precise, it is not an aimless wander—he has just gotten himself some snacks from the kitchen, and he's making his rounds to see what his wizards are up to at this hour before wandering back to his room for rest.
He hears the stagger and the breathing and it's hard to miss. He peers over his shoulder, surprised to see this particular face for the first time since they met. ]
Mika-chan?
[ He turns to look at him, immediately concerned by the state he's in. It's like he learned how to be a sage overnight—all of a sudden, he looks more mature, more grounded, immediately ready to help with whatever problem seems to be ailing Mika. ]
( The heart beats, resolute. The breathing shifts. The pulse quickens - but it's not afraid. The blood flows thick, its path clear - to its richest core, the heart. The scent is beckoning; it is sweet. It's noticed him, he knows, from how its body reacts. But it hasn't run.
He could catch it even if it did, anyway.
He barely looks up, but what's visible beneath the mess of his hair isn't too promising— unfocused eyes, like a sickened animal. Lips parted, fangs apparent; a vague sort of sound from his throat, almost pained. )
... It hurts...
( A shuddering, needless exhale. It's not an answer to his question, though it might seem like it is. Staggered against the wall, he digs his heel into the clean wood floor. A single kick-off and he'd be there. )
[ It hurts? Tatara frowns, and whatever flighty plans he had on his to do list quickly vanish in the face of one of his in need.
With no sense of danger or self-preservation, Tatara rolls up his little bag of snacks and stuffs them into his pocket, then makes his way, resolute, towards Mika. ]
What hurts?
[ He ignores the comment about warmth, because he doesn't understand. As he nears, he leans forward a bit, trying to get a better look at the poor thing. He looks...awful.
That he hasn't replied properly worries him the most. ]
( Like an alligator's jaw snapping, Mika's snatches Tatara's arm with a sharp grip, sharp nails digging into the skin through his gloves. Not bad enough to cut, but enough to bruise.
Some part of him wishes he hadn't come nearer; it's overwhelming - enough to make him sick. The better part of him is impatient; enough that it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. )
I need—
( However Tatara might've reacted to getting grabt, there comes a sudden tug - and he jerks Tatara down, nearly throwing him to the floor - but not quite letting go; he drops down with him, a firm knee on his chest.
His unfocused gaze, as if delirious, meets Tatara's, but he doesn't seem to see him - not the surface. He sees through him; the red circuitry beneath.
His head sinks low - close. As his lips part, his fangs shine clearer in the moonlight through the window. )
It won't hurt— If I have—
( Whether Tatara grants it or not, he seems on the verge of bite... )
[ There's barely any resistance as Mika grabs Tatara, throws him to the ground. His expression changes briefly into one of shock; he grimaces as he hits the ground; he grits his teeth as he's pinned by his chest. Yet he remains oddly calm in the face of it all. There's no fear response, no quickened heartbeat. It's a miracle he even made it to 22.
He stares up at Mika's unfocused eyes, and naturally, his gaze drifts as the light shines off his sharpened teeth.
Ah. That's why Malice said what he did. ]
...Mika.
[ His voice is soft, unbefittingly so. Whatever hand isn't currently being held down lifts to rest gently on his upper arm, and he squeezes. Comfort probably isn't going to do much here, but that's what comes naturally to him. ]
( It doesn't do much. It doesn't do much but make it worse - at least, Mika finds this worse. Somewhere in the haze he hears - not necessarily the words; he feels - not necessarily the gesture; but something about the combination and the way it comes so gentle stirs something in him, clears the murk in the water only somewhat.
He shakes his head. He shakes his head, his eyes moist. His face pulls back - but he doesn't get off him, he doesn't let go, the fangs don't seem any less bared. But he still, in some strained way, makes out— )
I don't want to.
( He has, since birth, been some kind of error. It's only karmic that he would become a monster in the most literal sense as the culmination of his journey, but he - doesn't want to. He doesn't love these humans, he doesn't care if they're hurt.
But he doesn't want to hurt him because he's a thing that goes bump in the night. He doesn't want to be this.
But what seems to twist his look into an expression of such pain is knowing that he can't change what he is.
His free hand hesitates - between himself, and Tatara. Hunger wins. He grabs Tatara's shoulder, fingers digging in - pushing the shoulder down, exposing the artery wide. )
I'll kill you.
( Not a threat, nor a promise. Maybe a warning. A fear. A concern.
He's killed so many humans by now, and he thinks most of them deserved it - no, he has to believe all did. But to kill them for no better cause but hunger? That disgusts. That twists his stomach with something worse than need. )
[ Still, no resistance. Tatara's shoulder is bared without protest, and he's even so kind as to tilt his head slightly aside, to give Mika more room.
Should he be scared? He isn't. As he lay dying on the roof of the Arasaka Building he was much the same, even if he doesn't think he'll die from this. He thinks to himself, it's better this happens like this, so Mika calms, and they can talk about this. And then it doesn't have to happen again.
Mika's threat only earns a soft chuckle. ]
No, you won't.
[ His death would mean far too much trouble for everyone in this manor, in this world. He's lost blood before, but he was healed to full. There are people here who can help him, if it gets too dangerous. But he knows, even if Mika is acting like a starved beast now, his senses will eventually come back to him.
He has a lot of faith in someone who is, essentially, a stranger. ]
Next time...I can help you.
[ Odd that he offers at a time like this.
Either way, he knows what's coming. The hand on Mika's arm shifts to brace himself. Surely, it won't hurt as much as getting shot. ]
[ The way Ginger latches on is like a needy puppy, everyday he needs attention. A day’s break from Rum feels like a century of abandonment and loneliness. No one ever has it as bad as Rum.
But Ginger’s brain works sometimes. He does have some self-control; he can be normal about things. Mostly because he doesn’t know what the boundaries are with Mika. How deep does his tolerance for Ginger go? What’s his limit?
Every other day should be fine - shouldn’t it…? To start. That’s 50% less than Rum. Maybe every couple of days? He can at least check in with Mika; they can talk a little. Ginger likes it when they talk. And in-between he can impose on others or just… mope in his room.
But one day without Mika becomes two, becomes three - and Ginger worries. All the worries in the world: did he get tired of me, is he alright, is he injured, was it an invisibility spell to escape, did he disappear like the other wizards, was it the moon, who took him from m -
Finding Mika - well, Mika finding him brings a great and bright relief that quickly oscillates between worry and fear - for Mika, not of him. He’s not sure he could be scared of Mika. It takes no thought at all to rush to the other boy, to catch him around the arms.
To ignore the sharp spike of instinct from his dark eye that says danger. ]
Need what - tell me, I’ll get it for you immediately -
( Having Ginger around had been weird, but not unwelcome. Since the incident with the rest of the orphans, Mika had become an island. When he met Yuu again, he felt alive again - buoyed. But only to Yuu. The rest of the world was just noise.
He had accepted Ginger as something... separate from the noise, but not Yuu, so it left him unsure of where to place him. He isn't sure he knows what it means to entrust someone with your heart, either - especially when he's sure he has so little of one left.
But, until he can figure that out, Mika hasn't minded when Ginger's around, and Mika's been sociable enough. (Just with Ginger, mind. He still isn't keen on talking to others when he doesn't have to.) If he's bothered by Ginger or not, or if he's noticed Ginger's arranged a schedule to pace their interactions, it's unclear; Mika's kind of hard to read. Good luck with your worries, Ginger.
The hands gripping him are warm. The scent is strange - familiar, but strange above all. Thick and sweet in a way a human's isn't - spiced and enticing in a way a human's could never be - and he can feel it pulsing beneath the clothes, through the skin, the rhythm like a symphony.
The poetry of it means nothing to him. He takes it in like a beast circling its prey. Which means that, perhaps worryingly, he doesn't react, stays limp and staggered, for several long seconds, his senses fixated on this thing that whets his appetite. All other things in the hall fall out of his notice.
What whirrs to life first is his grip— Mika grabs Ginger's neck, sharp nails digging into his skin through his gloves, but not enough to rip the fabric, not enough to bleed. )
Blood.
( He lifts his head - it falls crooked to the side, almost as if broken, as he looks up at Ginger, eyes unfocused. A familiar scent, a familiar scent... but the sweet and spice muddles it... What's this thing so familiar underneath...? )
I need— your blood, creature.
Edited (literacy is an optional skill in dwrp) 2024-04-16 23:38 (UTC)
[ Creature. That's a new one. Not freak, not as bad but for Mika's tone. The part that's bad still stings. Ginger's expression flickers between hurt then - taking in Mika's unfocused eyes, body limp like a marionette one moment, hungry and feverish the next - he goes pale and a frantic worry kicks up his heartrate.
This must be the monster.
Oh. No, no, no... It's just Mika at the mercy of instinct. He should have realized. ]
... Not a monster.
[ Useless to argue, but unwilling to give into a lie, he answers Mika's clawed grasp with words that claw up his throat, rasped out through gritted teeth. ]
You can - [ Too tight, but he allows it. Which of them is choking, actively dying here? It's not Ginger. ] - if you want. This... is... your hunger, isn't it...?
( Like raindrops rippling the surface, each word stirs familiarity with his voice. This blood has a name... This creature is...? )
It hurts.
( Sort of an answer. He seems to have trouble taking in what's said, processing it correctly - but he's hearing. He's somewhere in there. He alway wishes he were more than this.
His grip falters. The voice rings familiar. He knows the tempo of this blood, even if it beats quicker than before. Beneath blood's scent is... Permission. Was that permission? He doesn't need it. He'll take it. He will. His heel digs into the floorboard, his weight for a moment thrust forward to bite—
Before he kicks back suddenly, likely to fall back on the floor if Ginger's grip isn't firm. He shakes his head. His gaze still unfocused, he screws his eyes shut tight. He shakes his head. He shakes his head. )
—Not hungry. I'm— not hungry. ( He swallows, hard. ) I— know you...
( The sound of a heart he's coming to know. A heart to... protect? It sounds sour, right now. )
[ Instinct tells Ginger not to fight against Mika - fight with him. Fall with him. He’s promised, so they fall together. In that quick stumble, his hand comes up to protect the back of Mika’s head before they land with a thump.
His harsh breath chases his heartbeat, lagging. And behind both is his brain, which races to catch up to the situation. ]
Sorry, I’m sorry - [ - that it hurts. Ginger wishes it didn’t. He knows how a different sort of hunger can hurt; he understands a little. Hunger lingers, gnaws at what it can’t have and more. A maw unfulfilled.
But - he tries to swallow past a pained lump, a sore neck - he doesn’t understand how to even begin running from what may be a monster inside you. ]
… You can - you can eat. I’m not scared of you, Mika. Mikaela. [ Scared for. How do they run together? ] Please don’t let yourself starve. Don’t die. Don’t leave.
He hardly registers the fall, or change of perspective. They could be in a void for all he understands; it takes everything he is to wrench perception from Ginger's circuitry to comprehend his surface when all he wants to do is scream, the way his insides twist like razor blades.
Is there a reason why he can't drain Ginger? A reason he shouldn't? He can't come up with a reason. He isn't Yuu-chan. He shouldn't matter. His scent's scared. (Of Mika?) Oh, )
—I'm not like this. ( Yes he is. ) I'm not— I might not stop. You'll die.
( Don't give him permission. Don't ask him to stay. Ginger's scared, so why is he still here? For someone who defines himself as a protector, Mika's terrible at it. He did the same thing to Yuu. When will he get it right? Mika's gaze seems clearer, but only just.
His hands come up - and he digs his fingers into his own neck, both sides. Digging deep enough into skin, he's more than willing to make himself bleed if it can help him contain the compulsion to grab him, bite him, drink.
Ginger shouldn't really matter, but - he doesn't know if he'd forgive himself for killing him. He isn't sure. And that's scary. )
[ He tries to ply Mika’s hands from his neck. Please, stop - he’s only asking now that it’s not his own neck. That was allowed; this isn’t. Long fingers curl desperately around smaller ones. They’re shaking. Please. ]
You won’t kill me. But if I leave you, if you die -
[ His voice shakes, too. Ah, his entire body has been shaking all along. ]
No, if I’m leaving, I’m taking you.
[ That’s it. He sees so clearly that Mika hates this. Mika’s panicked. He’s scared, too. The monster, exposed. The one most at risk is Mika. They need to go somewhere safe - and Ginger thinks, the couch. ]
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locked to easties & sage
The trouble of being a vampire is... (introspection flavor blurb)
Some time during the night following his second day of absence, Mika stumbles from the forest, looking pale and unwell. He doesn't need to breathe, and he's really just a corpse, and yet he breathes heavily, and yet his face runs strangely hot. He doesn't have a particular destination besides the closest concentration of humans. His eyes are unfocused. His steps are uneven. He staggers through the halls and gardens and courtyard, leaning against the walls, gripping his chest. It hurts. He's so hungry it hurts.
He doesn't seem it, but he's following a trail. Your scent—wherever you are, whatever you're doing on this night—which is just that much nearer than any other; lucky you. It's easy to see and hear him coming, though; he's graceless, for now.
And he's muttering in repetition to himself, hard to discern, but sounding a little like: )
... I need... I need... I need...
no subject
Hey -- hey, Mikaela!
[ He'll run over to him, suspecting that the guy landed himself in some serious danger. ]
no subject
And when the sound of Yamato's heart is close enough, when the scent is at its thickest, Mikaela, who'd been leaning up 'til now weakly against the wall— grabs Yamato's neck with abnormal strength, and throws him against the wall instead, his grip unrelenting. )
You— Human— ( His unfocused eyes come into sharp and catlike focus, his fangs bared in the moonlight. ) Give me your blood— now.
( He presses close to Yamato, yanking him down a little lower to get better access; with one hand on his neck and the other pressing down Yamato's shoulder to force open a path to his bare skin, he's not holding down Yamato in any other way, no better than a feral, starving animal. He has T-minus one second before Mika's fangs try to pierce his neck— his unnatural strength suggesting escape might not be so easy, )
no subject
[ And just like that, Yamato feels something sink into his skin. Something razor sharp. He doesn't react fast enough to push Mikaela away, and in this moment, he realizes that something is terribly wrong.
He cries out in pain as Mika starts to feast on his blood. His body goes stiff and he can't even muster the strength to try and force him off (thanks, I rolled a 4). Instead, he starts reclining until he's helpless and on his back, hoping that someone will see this and try to help -- or that it ends sooner than he thinks. His head is already starting to swim. ]
no subject
He drinks deep, and starved; three days is his limit, and he'd done five when he'd already come in hungry. Instinct says to drain him. Nothing in Mika disagrees.
But there is a bedside manner, here, that comes to him natural: his grip is rough and bruising where his fingers dig into the back of Yamato's neck and his shoulder, but once he's drank enough that fear of his prey's escape no longer agitates so badly, the hold on his shoulder comes loose, and comes to wrap around Yamato's back, like a soothing hold, like a promise: this will be fine, it seems to say. Don't worry, don't worry. The predator knows how to calm its prey, and take advantage of its weakened senses.
Just relax. The blood tastes better that way. He lets them sink down to the ground as he feeds.
At a certain point he's drank enough that the greedy drinks stem into gentler sips, the blood smeared along the shoulder. It's the wasted blood and the awareness that Yamato's body feels colder now than it was at first that pauses his feasting. His fangs lift, and he drags his bloody tongue along the shoulder to pick up what he'd missed. But...
The scent is familiar, in a way it wasn't before - how could he recognize it? The scent of his blood overpowered so terribly - but with some hunger satisfied, his senses are no longer sharpened solely toward feeding. The world is not as muted. This human's scent is clearer.
He knows this scent. Cologne? He knows the pattern of this blood's flow. It's...
It's...? )
... Ah...?
( Mika doesn't quite let go of Yamato as he pulls back (probably sorta sitting on him, sorry,), but the grip at the back of his neck does loosen, and the arm around him comes undone. His gaze as he gazes down at Yamato is still unfocused - uncertain; possessed by hunger. But there is a light in his eyes, returning. A suggestion of sentience.
But still, his mouth and lips are bloody. There's a sense he's still not fully there yet. )
... You're...?
( He knows it... this human. Right...? )
no subject
Yamato doesn't register that it's over when Mikaela draws his fangs back. He's weak, even with his newfound power.
The light comes back to Mika's eyes. Ah. It's a good look. This is how Yamato remembers him being. He has enough strength to manage a small smile, and he raises his hand...to lightly pat Mika on the top of his head. ]
...Yeah. It's me.
[ A beat. ]
Welcome back.
[ He closes his eyes. Yamato is now unresponsive...but he'll continue to have a pulse. ]
several cutscenes will play in sequence...
This is... )
... Good night...?
( Yamato. That was his name. )
no subject
Ah,
Ah? )
—Hey!
( The calm that warmed him seeps into the night as cool realization settles into his chest. He doesn't remember how— he recalls he'd been clawing at the dirt in the forest, and then— Yamato's scent (his blood, at first, overwhelming all else about him). Fuck.
Yamato feels cold.
He hesitates - no, he feels like a deer in the headlights. He doesn't know what to do. What should he do? What could he do? He doesn't have reason to care about this - human. It made Mika a monster, but he'd killed humans before. Not from feeding, but it'd be inevitable, being what he was.
He had no allegiance to this guy, color aside. He was unlucky. He smiled at the guy who attacked him. He was stupid, too.
FFuck. He pushes off him. )
no subject
Why, then? Why welcome him back instead of curse him, or—
He parts his lips, half-crouched beside him as the scent of blood dizzies his still-muddled mind, not fully cleared - even if he's now that much more alert. He begins: )
Donec—
( ...
What was he doing?
Trying to heal him?
Was he fucking stupid?
He's a monster. He can't help anyone. Only hurt.
If there was some spark of magic there, some seedling of hope - it dies there, on Mika's lips. )
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...
He doesn't really know first aid, but he realizes stupidly he needs to stop the bleeding, even if it was real fucking late. He presses a palm against the wound and rips off some fabric from whatever he's wearing, which he knows already is going to serve as a terrible bandage, but it'd have to do. He ties it off. It's bleeding through.
He exhales, shaky. He's still hungry. He's still really, really hungry, and he's still partly drunk on blood. He could lose himself to this, he thinks.
What now? He's never tried to save anyone but Yuu-chan before. A part of him still isn't so resolute about doing it, even now. It's just a human. Just a stupid, stupid human. )
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He remembers a lot of people being up in this manor at night. That pattern better persist. Stumbling but quick, he's going to get Yamato laid up the common room, where someone will maybe ideally see him and try to help him, and in the interim Mika will go get anyone who doesn't say no to "can you heal" and drag them over.
And then he'll go back to the woods, and find a river, and fill his body with rocks, and fucking drown in it instead of having to deal with this. )
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He hears the stagger and the breathing and it's hard to miss. He peers over his shoulder, surprised to see this particular face for the first time since they met. ]
Mika-chan?
[ He turns to look at him, immediately concerned by the state he's in. It's like he learned how to be a sage overnight—all of a sudden, he looks more mature, more grounded, immediately ready to help with whatever problem seems to be ailing Mika. ]
Are you okay?
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He could catch it even if it did, anyway.
He barely looks up, but what's visible beneath the mess of his hair isn't too promising— unfocused eyes, like a sickened animal. Lips parted, fangs apparent; a vague sort of sound from his throat, almost pained. )
... It hurts...
( A shuddering, needless exhale. It's not an answer to his question, though it might seem like it is. Staggered against the wall, he digs his heel into the clean wood floor. A single kick-off and he'd be there. )
... You're warm.
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With no sense of danger or self-preservation, Tatara rolls up his little bag of snacks and stuffs them into his pocket, then makes his way, resolute, towards Mika. ]
What hurts?
[ He ignores the comment about warmth, because he doesn't understand. As he nears, he leans forward a bit, trying to get a better look at the poor thing. He looks...awful.
That he hasn't replied properly worries him the most. ]
Mika-chan?
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Some part of him wishes he hadn't come nearer; it's overwhelming - enough to make him sick. The better part of him is impatient; enough that it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. )
I need—
( However Tatara might've reacted to getting grabt, there comes a sudden tug - and he jerks Tatara down, nearly throwing him to the floor - but not quite letting go; he drops down with him, a firm knee on his chest.
His unfocused gaze, as if delirious, meets Tatara's, but he doesn't seem to see him - not the surface. He sees through him; the red circuitry beneath.
His head sinks low - close. As his lips part, his fangs shine clearer in the moonlight through the window. )
It won't hurt— If I have—
( Whether Tatara grants it or not, he seems on the verge of bite... )
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He stares up at Mika's unfocused eyes, and naturally, his gaze drifts as the light shines off his sharpened teeth.
Ah. That's why Malice said what he did. ]
...Mika.
[ His voice is soft, unbefittingly so. Whatever hand isn't currently being held down lifts to rest gently on his upper arm, and he squeezes. Comfort probably isn't going to do much here, but that's what comes naturally to him. ]
You should've told me.
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He shakes his head. He shakes his head, his eyes moist. His face pulls back - but he doesn't get off him, he doesn't let go, the fangs don't seem any less bared. But he still, in some strained way, makes out— )
I don't want to.
( He has, since birth, been some kind of error. It's only karmic that he would become a monster in the most literal sense as the culmination of his journey, but he - doesn't want to. He doesn't love these humans, he doesn't care if they're hurt.
But he doesn't want to hurt him because he's a thing that goes bump in the night. He doesn't want to be this.
But what seems to twist his look into an expression of such pain is knowing that he can't change what he is.
His free hand hesitates - between himself, and Tatara. Hunger wins. He grabs Tatara's shoulder, fingers digging in - pushing the shoulder down, exposing the artery wide. )
I'll kill you.
( Not a threat, nor a promise. Maybe a warning. A fear. A concern.
He's killed so many humans by now, and he thinks most of them deserved it - no, he has to believe all did. But to kill them for no better cause but hunger? That disgusts. That twists his stomach with something worse than need. )
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Should he be scared? He isn't. As he lay dying on the roof of the Arasaka Building he was much the same, even if he doesn't think he'll die from this. He thinks to himself, it's better this happens like this, so Mika calms, and they can talk about this. And then it doesn't have to happen again.
Mika's threat only earns a soft chuckle. ]
No, you won't.
[ His death would mean far too much trouble for everyone in this manor, in this world. He's lost blood before, but he was healed to full. There are people here who can help him, if it gets too dangerous. But he knows, even if Mika is acting like a starved beast now, his senses will eventually come back to him.
He has a lot of faith in someone who is, essentially, a stranger. ]
Next time...I can help you.
[ Odd that he offers at a time like this.
Either way, he knows what's coming. The hand on Mika's arm shifts to brace himself. Surely, it won't hurt as much as getting shot. ]
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But Ginger’s brain works sometimes. He does have some self-control; he can be normal about things. Mostly because he doesn’t know what the boundaries are with Mika. How deep does his tolerance for Ginger go? What’s his limit?
Every other day should be fine - shouldn’t it…? To start. That’s 50% less than Rum. Maybe every couple of days? He can at least check in with Mika; they can talk a little. Ginger likes it when they talk. And in-between he can impose on others or just… mope in his room.
But one day without Mika becomes two, becomes three - and Ginger worries. All the worries in the world: did he get tired of me, is he alright, is he injured, was it an invisibility spell to escape, did he disappear like the other wizards, was it the moon, who took him from m -
Finding Mika - well, Mika finding him brings a great and bright relief that quickly oscillates between worry and fear - for Mika, not of him. He’s not sure he could be scared of Mika. It takes no thought at all to rush to the other boy, to catch him around the arms.
To ignore the sharp spike of instinct from his dark eye that says danger. ]
Need what - tell me, I’ll get it for you immediately -
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He had accepted Ginger as something... separate from the noise, but not Yuu, so it left him unsure of where to place him. He isn't sure he knows what it means to entrust someone with your heart, either - especially when he's sure he has so little of one left.
But, until he can figure that out, Mika hasn't minded when Ginger's around, and Mika's been sociable enough. (Just with Ginger, mind. He still isn't keen on talking to others when he doesn't have to.) If he's bothered by Ginger or not, or if he's noticed Ginger's arranged a schedule to pace their interactions, it's unclear; Mika's kind of hard to read. Good luck with your worries, Ginger.
The hands gripping him are warm. The scent is strange - familiar, but strange above all. Thick and sweet in a way a human's isn't - spiced and enticing in a way a human's could never be - and he can feel it pulsing beneath the clothes, through the skin, the rhythm like a symphony.
The poetry of it means nothing to him. He takes it in like a beast circling its prey. Which means that, perhaps worryingly, he doesn't react, stays limp and staggered, for several long seconds, his senses fixated on this thing that whets his appetite. All other things in the hall fall out of his notice.
What whirrs to life first is his grip— Mika grabs Ginger's neck, sharp nails digging into his skin through his gloves, but not enough to rip the fabric, not enough to bleed. )
Blood.
( He lifts his head - it falls crooked to the side, almost as if broken, as he looks up at Ginger, eyes unfocused. A familiar scent, a familiar scent... but the sweet and spice muddles it... What's this thing so familiar underneath...? )
I need— your blood, creature.
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This must be the monster.
Oh. No, no, no... It's just Mika at the mercy of instinct. He should have realized. ]
... Not a monster.
[ Useless to argue, but unwilling to give into a lie, he answers Mika's clawed grasp with words that claw up his throat, rasped out through gritted teeth. ]
You can - [ Too tight, but he allows it. Which of them is choking, actively dying here? It's not Ginger. ] - if you want. This... is... your hunger, isn't it...?
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It hurts.
( Sort of an answer. He seems to have trouble taking in what's said, processing it correctly - but he's hearing. He's somewhere in there. He alway wishes he were more than this.
His grip falters. The voice rings familiar. He knows the tempo of this blood, even if it beats quicker than before. Beneath blood's scent is... Permission. Was that permission? He doesn't need it. He'll take it. He will. His heel digs into the floorboard, his weight for a moment thrust forward to bite—
Before he kicks back suddenly, likely to fall back on the floor if Ginger's grip isn't firm. He shakes his head. His gaze still unfocused, he screws his eyes shut tight. He shakes his head. He shakes his head. )
—Not hungry. I'm— not hungry. ( He swallows, hard. ) I— know you...
( The sound of a heart he's coming to know. A heart to... protect? It sounds sour, right now. )
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His harsh breath chases his heartbeat, lagging. And behind both is his brain, which races to catch up to the situation. ]
Sorry, I’m sorry - [ - that it hurts. Ginger wishes it didn’t. He knows how a different sort of hunger can hurt; he understands a little. Hunger lingers, gnaws at what it can’t have and more. A maw unfulfilled.
But - he tries to swallow past a pained lump, a sore neck - he doesn’t understand how to even begin running from what may be a monster inside you. ]
… You can - you can eat. I’m not scared of you, Mika. Mikaela. [ Scared for. How do they run together? ] Please don’t let yourself starve. Don’t die. Don’t leave.
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He hardly registers the fall, or change of perspective. They could be in a void for all he understands; it takes everything he is to wrench perception from Ginger's circuitry to comprehend his surface when all he wants to do is scream, the way his insides twist like razor blades.
Is there a reason why he can't drain Ginger? A reason he shouldn't? He can't come up with a reason. He isn't Yuu-chan. He shouldn't matter. His scent's scared. (Of Mika?) Oh, )
—I'm not like this. ( Yes he is. ) I'm not— I might not stop. You'll die.
( Don't give him permission. Don't ask him to stay. Ginger's scared, so why is he still here? For someone who defines himself as a protector, Mika's terrible at it. He did the same thing to Yuu. When will he get it right? Mika's gaze seems clearer, but only just.
His hands come up - and he digs his fingers into his own neck, both sides. Digging deep enough into skin, he's more than willing to make himself bleed if it can help him contain the compulsion to grab him, bite him, drink.
Ginger shouldn't really matter, but - he doesn't know if he'd forgive himself for killing him. He isn't sure. And that's scary. )
Leave me. Just— Go, right now—
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I’ll stop you.
[ He tries to ply Mika’s hands from his neck. Please, stop - he’s only asking now that it’s not his own neck. That was allowed; this isn’t. Long fingers curl desperately around smaller ones. They’re shaking. Please. ]
You won’t kill me. But if I leave you, if you die -
[ His voice shakes, too. Ah, his entire body has been shaking all along. ]
No, if I’m leaving, I’m taking you.
[ That’s it. He sees so clearly that Mika hates this. Mika’s panicked. He’s scared, too. The monster, exposed. The one most at risk is Mika. They need to go somewhere safe - and Ginger thinks, the couch. ]
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slightly nsfw look i’m sorry his canon don’t @ me aaaaa
gently holds u (rip ginger tho)
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