[ 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. ]
( It comes as a hiss, the most lucid comment he's made - almost all Mika, in that moment. Stupid, stupid humans - wretched things whose greed and pride has driven them with such certain steps toward atrocity. What he hates, more than anything, is how guilty he has to feel over things like these—
This foolish human, sloughing off his skin and revealing its rare meat; has the rabbit ever bared its neck for the fox? Has the sheep ever knealt before the wolf?
Why can't he just be afraid?
His fangs sink in faster than Tatara can see him moving. He's starved himself enough, and he drinks long and deep from the rich vein along the neck - the fangs tearing at the skin, wastefully letting blood overflow, lapping it up like a beast, like a dog. He holds Tatara firmly, possessively, and does not seem keen to stop - carried by his thirst, he seems like he really might drain Tatara dry before he's even halfway sated. )
[ Arrogant is a new one. Tatara would be laughing if he weren't currently pinned to the floor. Has he ever been called arrogant before? Maybe... But never by Kusanagi or King, he doesn't think.
He lets out a started breath as his skin is punctured, but his cold-hearted surprise quickly notes how much it's like what Malice said it would be. The pain fades, in a pleasant way, and it takes a great amount of effort to keep his eyes open and not drift off in his comfort.
He sighs.
It's hard for him to tell how much time has passed, and he doesn't know how long this should take. He floats, semi-conscious, and there are moments he thinks he sees the Tokyo night sky above him.
When he does, he tries to move his hand to squeeze Mika, to get his attention.
Enough, is what he wants to say. But his lips part with a quiet breath, at best.
For an older vampire, drinking blood becomes a mechanical thing; something that, with time, loses its pleasure, loses its spark. It is a task, a burden, a stone they must carry into infinity. But Mika is not so old yet. The blood still tastes sweet. Thick and rich and warming in a way he hardly feels anymore, and he feels at ease. He forgets why he had hurt so bad. He forgets there is anything but this.
Stranger, though, is this: the blood is too rich. Too sweet, too thick. He'd never known blood could taste like so sickeningly addictive, and it near dizzies him. As his venom soothes Tatara, so does the Sage's blood tempt his relentless hunger. Just a little more— just a little bit.
Sat down beside him by now, he holds Tatara firm against the floor without tension, the pace of his drink at least slowed into something leisurely— less desperate, more indulgent. Tatara can struggle or squeeze, but Mika doesn't react. He seems as if in a reverie, expression calm.
At some point, he had lifted his fangs from Tatara's carotid artery; it seems like the protest had worked. But his lips only leave Tatara's skin for so long before the fangs come down again, just a few centimetres south. Ah, it still tastes sweet; sweeter, maybe, lower down the artery. Is the sweetest spot the heart?
By now, there's a wasteful pool of blood staining Tatara's neck and shoulders visibly, pooling to the floor. The stench of blood is thick in the air; intoxicating, for him. Mika has left Tatara with a trail of fangmarks along the neck, working his way down - there will be a point where fangs won't cut deep enough to follow the trail, but a guess might suggest that, in the state that he's in, cracking Tatara open to drink deeper still wouldn't cross his mind with doubt. )
It's gotten worse, in recent years; sleep doesn't come easy, and the nightmares make it even harder. Tonight is no exception...or it would be. But something feels...off.
No, something smells off. He's painfully, uncomfortably familiar with the scent of blood, sticky and fresh, which is why it's baffling that the scent is in the air right now. It's the middle of the night, it's the manor corridors, and so far, he hasn't heard anything that could signal a fight. His feet carry him faster than he'd like to admit, brows pinching as he moves to turn the corner and see the damage for what it is-
He's just....not expecting what he finds.
The scene, from behind, is a bit hard to compute. Explanations attempt to flash through his brain, but with the moon shining through the window, it illuminates the steadily growing pile of crimson seeping out of the other- Tatara's- skin, and it becomes awfully clear there is no helping going on. It's why the sound of Shinjiro's shoes thudding against the carpet is loud, only punctuated by the gravely tone that leaves his throat. ]
The hell are you doing—
[ And his hands opt to close in the scruff of Mikaela's neck, fisting tight in the fabric before he forcefully tries to yank him backwards. The smell of blood so thick it could make you nauseous, but it doesn't stop him from trying to wedge himself between Mikaela and Tatara protectively. While his heart beats into overdrive, he can't help his mind from wandering in the moment- how much blood did he lose? Is he still alive? Is- ]
[ Tatara drifts, comfortable. He wants to say something, but the one word at the tip of his tongue keeps escaping him. What was it, his mind roams in endless circles. What was it, what was it, what was it...
The perch for his hand is taken from him, and the venom that was soothing him leaves him, too. Slowly, he's brought back down to the proverbial ground, and all he can feel is the pinprick of pain on his neck. And the all-too familiar feeling of bloodloss.
His eyes struggle to focus, but he sees another figure there. Ah... Did someone come to help Mika? Not to save him. To help Mika. Is Mika okay, now? Will he need to feed again soon? He tries to open his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a pained breath.
The blood pools on the red carpet beneath Tatara's neck, staining his shirt and his hair. The cold moonlight catches on his earring, and it reflects a bright, bright red. ]
( How quickly does Mika's expression of content twist into one of indignant rage. He wasn't finished yet.
Stumbling but not losing balance, Mika digs his heels into the manor floor with a violent, bestial hiss. He had near forgotten his hunger while feeding; it was a near docile suggestion to feed ceaselessly, so long as he had blood on his lips. But now? Tatara had fed him well, but not enough, and the prospect of a meal half-done claws lacerations from his stomach to his throat worse than anything else. )
How dare you—
( Without any explanation or context (sorry, Shinji), Mika kicks off and attempts to body Shinjiro against the wall with startling force, an elbow to his gut and a hand at Shinjiro's neck— if he can manage it. His fangs glint bloody in the moonlight, his lips and face smeared with Tatara's still-warm blood.
His gaze is half-focused - half-sharp. Not alert, not quite himself; but intoxicated on blood, like an addict denied. His pupils are sharp. )
[ His mind is racing. His heart is thumping against the wall of his ribcage, and his fingers are moments from undoing the clasp on his jacket, if only because- what else does he have? He's alive, because he's breathing, and that offers the barest hint of relief, but hell knows how long that will last while he's bleeding out all over the floor. They have to stop it, somehow, and find something to patch it up. Bandages, sutures, disinfectant-
Looking back at the man on the ground is his first mistake, because the problem itself promptly throws himself at him with startling force. He stumbles when his back rams into the wall, but catches himself in time. The elbow sinks into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs, but Shinjiro manages to wrap his own hand around that wrist that reaches for him with clawing fingers.
Mikaela looks...deranged. High, like some of the guys who hang out behind Port Island Station, especially when they run out of whatever it is they're taking. The red smeared on his face earns a further grimace, but the elder grits his teeth before reaching his one free hand to fist in Mikaela's bloodsoaked collar. ]
—Give it your best shot, then.
[ Nobody has ever said Shinjiro Aragaki fights cleanly; which is exactly why he opts to tilt his head back and push the other away, even if just a little— just to yank him back and try to slam his skull down towards Mikaela's own. Maybe a bit of brain-rattling will do him some good. ]
In the mind of the beast, there's nothing more coherent than the indiscriminate yowling of a beast. Mika stumbles back again, his skull resonating from impact. Vampires have a dulled sense of pain, but just like with the whole blood thing, he's not yet been a vampire long enough to have the sense so fully robbed from him, and Shinjiro's impact lands just right when he was just vulnerable enough that it earns an audible scowl from Mika, really very like a feral animal.
But with Shinji gripping him, he can't get free easy— which tells his instinct not to bother, because what he wants is right here: Shinji's quickened heartbeat, his pulse so loud it drowns out near all other sound, all other sensation. A warm body, its blood familiar - haunting him, these days past. He'd denied himself it once, so why do it again? Why not have his fill? Why not have twice that.
As he reels back from the impact, he lunges forward like a taut band snaps: he doesn't even care if he can get a good grip on Shinjiro, and he doesn't try to shake off any grip Shinjiro may have on him; all he's doing is cutting his fangs into Shinjiro's neck, forcing down his turtle neck by dragging his fangs down along the flesh before, haphazardly, trying to sink them in deep wherever he can find purchase closer to the shoulder, and chomp down hard. If it works, he's probably leaving some nasty, twinned gashes along the neck in his fangs' wake, sorry, )
[ For all his short time, shinjiro has dealt with a lot of things. Volatile drunks. Shadows, with their scraping claws and strong swipes. Strong-willed punks with more brains in their fists than their heads.
This, though. This is a first.
His skull rings from the impact, but it likely hurt Mikaela more than it did him; the metal on the front of his beanie likely offered more pain on the younger's end, and he's far more used to such things. He lets out a sharp exhale at the stumble back, now that he's not so close, but he's hardly relaxed. Especially not when that scowl oozes animosity, like he's dealing with someone more animal than person.
But is he even dealing with a person? Those teeth are far sharper than any he's known, and the blood that seeps from Mikaela's lips and down his chin to stain his clothes, drip to the floor, is telling enough. Shinjiro has never believed in fairy tale stories about vampires and ghosts, but if he were to guess, it wouldn't be too far from wizards and magic.
He's expecting the lunge back, unhinged as he is, but he isn't where he goes. There's a brief moment of hesitation, bewilderment, as the other's head flies towards his neck instead, and only the rake of something sharp against his skin is enough to shake him out of it. He's been cut before, but the drag of the other's teeth is jagged and unsteady, tearing through skin and earning a pained grunt as he shoves his hands against the other's shoulders. It's only when they find purchase, sinking in fully, when his grip wavers in the slightest.
The pain is- it fades, and there's a beat where he's frozen in a muddled confusion. It shouldn't feel...he doesn't want to describe it as good, but it settles pleasantly in his bones and makes him hesitate to pull away, in those few seconds.
And then Shinjiro's gaze flickers down, sees the figure on the floor with the moon gleaming off an ever-growing puddle of red, and whatever fire was in him resurges with a hiss.
His grip tightens, gritting his teeth, before he takes advantage of the fact he isn't holding up to promptly try and ram his knee upwards straight into Mikaela's stomach. It may hurt himself in the long run, but since when has that mattered to him? ]
( The blood is rich and sweet as a human's is, with a faintly acrid taste - a bitter tinge. Tasting Shinji's blood after Tatara's is like going from Michelin to takeout - but, when you're starved as he is, anything will do. He doesn't mind it. There's still an awful satisfaction that warms him when he drinks. He keeps drinking, fangs sunk stubbornly in.
The knee lands clean in his stomach and it nearly dislodges him - and the contents of his stomach he'd worked so hard for (rude!!!) - but his throat twists tight and he snarls, biting down with all his teeth, ripping into the skin something bloody. He swings around a blind hand to grab at Shinji's hair, yanking his head violently to the side to disorient and distract while he drinks deep - in part out of greed, and in part to get the blood loss to weaken Shinjiro for him. The other hand grabs at Shinjiro's other arm - his fingers digging painfully into the skin, enough force in his grip that he could snap the bone.
It's a beast's warning: Stop it. Don't move.
He seems like he's keen to be a leech, no matter what it costs him. He's acting more out of instinct than sense, especially after Tatara whet his appetite more than he sated it. )
[ For such a small, skinny bastard, he's persistent; from personal experience, that would dislodge most people, but there's a feral desperation that seems to radiate off him in waves, both in the furious snarls and the snap of his teeth. He doesn't retreat his leg so much as he tries to use it to keep him a bit aways, but it doesn't quite work as planned.
The teeth which dig in deeper, and despite the lack of pain, he can still feel the tearing of his skin. It's just numbed, faintly washed away, but even with the conflicting waves of pleasant comfort that accompany the pulse of blood on his skin and the stick of his shirt to his skin-
Fingers clench in his hair, pull, and anger wins out as his head snaps to the side. No, not even quite anger— it's just frustration. He knows all what it feels to lose control, even if the ways are far different, which is why his voice is so rough, so irritated, fingers clenching taut even with the painful grip digging into the meat of his arm. ]
You fucking moron— [ A growl for a snarl, even if it's strained. ] Wake the hell up!
[ And while Shinji's got one arm in a vice-grip, his other is free, and it's with a balled fist that he abruptly jerks it back and promptly tries to slam it into the side of Mika's face. And if it does work, even for a second, he'll take the opportunity to try and throw the other off him bodily...preferably away from Tatara. There's an unsteadiness from the dizzy throb of his skull, but it doesn't diminish his strength any. ]
( You've gotta hand it to him, Shinji's got a mean right hook.
The impact of the punch is enough to rip Mika's fangs from Shinjiro's neck, but it's a bloody affair - bloodier than it already was. He staggers back, his grip on his hair come loose but his grip on his arm held fast - this time not as a threat, but as an anchor to keep him from falling off balance.
And in that moment, he's disoriented - blood smeared on his face like a horror, his expression now is closest to human as it has been this entire night. He's... confused. )
... Ah...?
( Every point of impact hurts, wherever Shinji got him. The pain isn't much, but there's this pulsing ache that reminds him something happened, more than once.
He lets go of Shinji's arm, stumbling back - and for a moment he regrets it, once he realizes the scent of blood is a few inches farther. And then he catches himself. Is this what this was all about? Blood?
His gaze is a little vague, but comes better into focus - he sees Shinji; but the scent of blood is stronger - suggests more blood spilt than Shinji's injury could have given. His gaze falls down to Tatara...
( Deer in the headlights, Mika doesn't speak - and then, suddenly, he turns on his heel— as if to run.
In this moment, he isn't thinking of helping or hiding. He just thinks he needs to get away from here, the scene of the crime, the proof of what he is, and just - he doesn't know. Hide in the woods again. Seal himself in a cave. Die there, maybe, this time. What was the point of being forced alive again if he was just going to have to live like this again, without any Yuu to protect?
But he probably wouldn't make it far, even if he got away. Not knowing Tatara is as badly injured as he is, and Shinjiro took some gashes, too. )
[ If there's one thing Tatara can do, it's hang on.
He feels himself drift, and he pulls himself back. He feels his fingers numb, and he forces a breath. When he thinks he's dying in Tokyo all over again he reminds himself he's just had a little run-in, here, at the manor. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.
As much as he tries to focus his eyes all he can really take in are the scuffling figures. His fingers dig into the carpet to try and give himself enough grip to push himself up and get a better look, but it's tough. He keeps reminding himself to breathe and he keeps searching for strength in his body. The moments drag and fill with him reminding himself, over and over.
It's when the unfamiliar voice yells wake up that he finally musters himself somewhat upright. The gash on his neck hurts, and his vision is blurry, but he's okay. Mostly. He blinks, and he sees the two figures. One, Mika. The other, he doesn't recognize.
More importantly— ]
Mika-chan...
[ He says this weakly. His neck hurts. He wishes he could say it louder with the usual comfort in his tone, but he sees the way the vampire turn and he doesn't want him to go. ]
[ Ah, that rips. His knuckles slam into the side of Mika's face, and with that comes the removal of the teeth from his skin; not without consequence, of course. They rip, tearing out of his flesh, and with it comes the scraping pain. There's nothing numbing it down, no pleasant waves to drown it out, but all he can do it grit his teeth and swallow his saliva.
He's felt worse. He's lived through worse. The bullets had hurt, perhaps worse than this, and he can handle this much.
Hand flying up his shoulder in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, he takes one step back as Mikaela does in turn. There's a light in the other's eyes now, a sense of humanity there wasn't before, and perhaps the impact had had the effect he'd hoped it would.
But that doesn't quite matter, because in the next moment, he's turned to bolt, and Shinji's abruptly lunging forward to latch tight onto one of his arms to prevent his escape. This probably makes him a hypocrite in some way, he thinks, between the beat of his heart and blood pulsing through his fingers. But he can't let him go. ]
Idiot, why the hell are you running away? [ It's a hiss, and his grip tightens as much as possible. In this moment, he's seeing himself, on the dark night of October 4th. ] Do you think that's gonna fix it? You can feel sorry for yourself after you deal with it...!
[ Otherwise, what will he do? What he did, perhaps, to go wallow and try and forget? Or something else, that's also crossed his mind in recent years, when the memories get nearly too much to bear? Either way, he won't allow it; not because he wants to make amends, but because he doesn't want someone to make the same mistake.
His gaze snaps down to Tatara as the movement, the wheeze, and he gives a frustrated growl before he promptly pulls his hand back to start pulling his coat off. Tearing it will take too long, too much effort, when the other man is already so pale. ]
Dammit. If you've got the energy to try and run off from the scene, [ He's pressing the cloth to the older man's neck, eyes dark beneath the shadow of a mussed beanie. ] you can go and get some damn help. Now!
[ Hopefully, the dark will swallow up the way his hands are shaking. ]
( It's Tatara's strained voice that falters his step, that split-second long enough to let Shinjiro grab him, berate him - fairly, correctly; not with words Mika can argue with. He doesn't turn. His arm is taut as the whole of him strains away from Shinji, like a wild animal caught - but he hears him, and he grits his teeth, and he doesn't argue, not a word.
He can't fix anything. He can only break. He could justify the harm he did so long as he had to stay alive to protect Yuu; but now - what reason does he have to explain why he's still here?
When Shinji finally lets go to attend to Tatara, Mika stumbles, but hesitates; still poised to run, but torn. He sees them over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye, and the way the blood glistens in the moonlight, and he feels
hunger twist his stomach, and temptation at his back, again. It overwhelms his fear. It overwhelms his regret. It reminds him of what he is, in the end - a creature that feeds, and feeds, and feeds.
It's Shinji barking orders that jostles him back to reality, and without a word he looks forward again - and takes off, without a word.
It's not clear if he really intends to get help, but the pivot in his step makes it clear enough, at least, that he's not heading toward any manor exit this time, but toward the portion of the building where everyone sleeps.
He can't fix things, and he can't do any good. But other people can. And maybe he can manage that much. )
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no subject
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?
no subject
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... )
no subject
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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
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. ]
no subject
( It comes as a hiss, the most lucid comment he's made - almost all Mika, in that moment. Stupid, stupid humans - wretched things whose greed and pride has driven them with such certain steps toward atrocity. What he hates, more than anything, is how guilty he has to feel over things like these—
This foolish human, sloughing off his skin and revealing its rare meat; has the rabbit ever bared its neck for the fox? Has the sheep ever knealt before the wolf?
Why can't he just be afraid?
His fangs sink in faster than Tatara can see him moving. He's starved himself enough, and he drinks long and deep from the rich vein along the neck - the fangs tearing at the skin, wastefully letting blood overflow, lapping it up like a beast, like a dog. He holds Tatara firmly, possessively, and does not seem keen to stop - carried by his thirst, he seems like he really might drain Tatara dry before he's even halfway sated. )
no subject
He lets out a started breath as his skin is punctured, but his cold-hearted surprise quickly notes how much it's like what Malice said it would be. The pain fades, in a pleasant way, and it takes a great amount of effort to keep his eyes open and not drift off in his comfort.
He sighs.
It's hard for him to tell how much time has passed, and he doesn't know how long this should take. He floats, semi-conscious, and there are moments he thinks he sees the Tokyo night sky above him.
When he does, he tries to move his hand to squeeze Mika, to get his attention.
Enough, is what he wants to say. But his lips part with a quiet breath, at best.
If someone doesn't find them soon... ]
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For an older vampire, drinking blood becomes a mechanical thing; something that, with time, loses its pleasure, loses its spark. It is a task, a burden, a stone they must carry into infinity. But Mika is not so old yet. The blood still tastes sweet. Thick and rich and warming in a way he hardly feels anymore, and he feels at ease. He forgets why he had hurt so bad. He forgets there is anything but this.
Stranger, though, is this: the blood is too rich. Too sweet, too thick. He'd never known blood could taste like so sickeningly addictive, and it near dizzies him. As his venom soothes Tatara, so does the Sage's blood tempt his relentless hunger. Just a little more— just a little bit.
Sat down beside him by now, he holds Tatara firm against the floor without tension, the pace of his drink at least slowed into something leisurely— less desperate, more indulgent. Tatara can struggle or squeeze, but Mika doesn't react. He seems as if in a reverie, expression calm.
At some point, he had lifted his fangs from Tatara's carotid artery; it seems like the protest had worked. But his lips only leave Tatara's skin for so long before the fangs come down again, just a few centimetres south. Ah, it still tastes sweet; sweeter, maybe, lower down the artery. Is the sweetest spot the heart?
By now, there's a wasteful pool of blood staining Tatara's neck and shoulders visibly, pooling to the floor. The stench of blood is thick in the air; intoxicating, for him. Mika has left Tatara with a trail of fangmarks along the neck, working his way down - there will be a point where fangs won't cut deep enough to follow the trail, but a guess might suggest that, in the state that he's in, cracking Tatara open to drink deeper still wouldn't cross his mind with doubt. )
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It's gotten worse, in recent years; sleep doesn't come easy, and the nightmares make it even harder. Tonight is no exception...or it would be. But something feels...off.
No, something smells off. He's painfully, uncomfortably familiar with the scent of blood, sticky and fresh, which is why it's baffling that the scent is in the air right now. It's the middle of the night, it's the manor corridors, and so far, he hasn't heard anything that could signal a fight. His feet carry him faster than he'd like to admit, brows pinching as he moves to turn the corner and see the damage for what it is-
He's just....not expecting what he finds.
The scene, from behind, is a bit hard to compute. Explanations attempt to flash through his brain, but with the moon shining through the window, it illuminates the steadily growing pile of crimson seeping out of the other- Tatara's- skin, and it becomes awfully clear there is no helping going on. It's why the sound of Shinjiro's shoes thudding against the carpet is loud, only punctuated by the gravely tone that leaves his throat. ]
The hell are you doing—
[ And his hands opt to close in the scruff of Mikaela's neck, fisting tight in the fabric before he forcefully tries to yank him backwards. The smell of blood so thick it could make you nauseous, but it doesn't stop him from trying to wedge himself between Mikaela and Tatara protectively. While his heart beats into overdrive, he can't help his mind from wandering in the moment- how much blood did he lose? Is he still alive? Is- ]
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The perch for his hand is taken from him, and the venom that was soothing him leaves him, too. Slowly, he's brought back down to the proverbial ground, and all he can feel is the pinprick of pain on his neck. And the all-too familiar feeling of bloodloss.
His eyes struggle to focus, but he sees another figure there. Ah... Did someone come to help Mika? Not to save him. To help Mika. Is Mika okay, now? Will he need to feed again soon? He tries to open his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a pained breath.
The blood pools on the red carpet beneath Tatara's neck, staining his shirt and his hair. The cold moonlight catches on his earring, and it reflects a bright, bright red. ]
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Stumbling but not losing balance, Mika digs his heels into the manor floor with a violent, bestial hiss. He had near forgotten his hunger while feeding; it was a near docile suggestion to feed ceaselessly, so long as he had blood on his lips. But now? Tatara had fed him well, but not enough, and the prospect of a meal half-done claws lacerations from his stomach to his throat worse than anything else. )
How dare you—
( Without any explanation or context (sorry, Shinji), Mika kicks off and attempts to body Shinjiro against the wall with startling force, an elbow to his gut and a hand at Shinjiro's neck— if he can manage it. His fangs glint bloody in the moonlight, his lips and face smeared with Tatara's still-warm blood.
His gaze is half-focused - half-sharp. Not alert, not quite himself; but intoxicated on blood, like an addict denied. His pupils are sharp. )
I'll kill you, human. I'll drain you dry—
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Looking back at the man on the ground is his first mistake, because the problem itself promptly throws himself at him with startling force. He stumbles when his back rams into the wall, but catches himself in time. The elbow sinks into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs, but Shinjiro manages to wrap his own hand around that wrist that reaches for him with clawing fingers.
Mikaela looks...deranged. High, like some of the guys who hang out behind Port Island Station, especially when they run out of whatever it is they're taking. The red smeared on his face earns a further grimace, but the elder grits his teeth before reaching his one free hand to fist in Mikaela's bloodsoaked collar. ]
—Give it your best shot, then.
[ Nobody has ever said Shinjiro Aragaki fights cleanly; which is exactly why he opts to tilt his head back and push the other away, even if just a little— just to yank him back and try to slam his skull down towards Mikaela's own. Maybe a bit of brain-rattling will do him some good. ]
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fucking
OW
In the mind of the beast, there's nothing more coherent than the indiscriminate yowling of a beast. Mika stumbles back again, his skull resonating from impact. Vampires have a dulled sense of pain, but just like with the whole blood thing, he's not yet been a vampire long enough to have the sense so fully robbed from him, and Shinjiro's impact lands just right when he was just vulnerable enough that it earns an audible scowl from Mika, really very like a feral animal.
But with Shinji gripping him, he can't get free easy— which tells his instinct not to bother, because what he wants is right here: Shinji's quickened heartbeat, his pulse so loud it drowns out near all other sound, all other sensation. A warm body, its blood familiar - haunting him, these days past. He'd denied himself it once, so why do it again? Why not have his fill? Why not have twice that.
As he reels back from the impact, he lunges forward like a taut band snaps: he doesn't even care if he can get a good grip on Shinjiro, and he doesn't try to shake off any grip Shinjiro may have on him; all he's doing is cutting his fangs into Shinjiro's neck, forcing down his turtle neck by dragging his fangs down along the flesh before, haphazardly, trying to sink them in deep wherever he can find purchase closer to the shoulder, and chomp down hard. If it works, he's probably leaving some nasty, twinned gashes along the neck in his fangs' wake, sorry, )
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This, though. This is a first.
His skull rings from the impact, but it likely hurt Mikaela more than it did him; the metal on the front of his beanie likely offered more pain on the younger's end, and he's far more used to such things. He lets out a sharp exhale at the stumble back, now that he's not so close, but he's hardly relaxed. Especially not when that scowl oozes animosity, like he's dealing with someone more animal than person.
But is he even dealing with a person? Those teeth are far sharper than any he's known, and the blood that seeps from Mikaela's lips and down his chin to stain his clothes, drip to the floor, is telling enough. Shinjiro has never believed in fairy tale stories about vampires and ghosts, but if he were to guess, it wouldn't be too far from wizards and magic.
He's expecting the lunge back, unhinged as he is, but he isn't where he goes. There's a brief moment of hesitation, bewilderment, as the other's head flies towards his neck instead, and only the rake of something sharp against his skin is enough to shake him out of it. He's been cut before, but the drag of the other's teeth is jagged and unsteady, tearing through skin and earning a pained grunt as he shoves his hands against the other's shoulders. It's only when they find purchase, sinking in fully, when his grip wavers in the slightest.
The pain is- it fades, and there's a beat where he's frozen in a muddled confusion. It shouldn't feel...he doesn't want to describe it as good, but it settles pleasantly in his bones and makes him hesitate to pull away, in those few seconds.
And then Shinjiro's gaze flickers down, sees the figure on the floor with the moon gleaming off an ever-growing puddle of red, and whatever fire was in him resurges with a hiss.
His grip tightens, gritting his teeth, before he takes advantage of the fact he isn't holding up to promptly try and ram his knee upwards straight into Mikaela's stomach. It may hurt himself in the long run, but since when has that mattered to him? ]
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The knee lands clean in his stomach and it nearly dislodges him - and the contents of his stomach he'd worked so hard for (rude!!!) - but his throat twists tight and he snarls, biting down with all his teeth, ripping into the skin something bloody. He swings around a blind hand to grab at Shinji's hair, yanking his head violently to the side to disorient and distract while he drinks deep - in part out of greed, and in part to get the blood loss to weaken Shinjiro for him. The other hand grabs at Shinjiro's other arm - his fingers digging painfully into the skin, enough force in his grip that he could snap the bone.
It's a beast's warning: Stop it. Don't move.
He seems like he's keen to be a leech, no matter what it costs him. He's acting more out of instinct than sense, especially after Tatara whet his appetite more than he sated it. )
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The teeth which dig in deeper, and despite the lack of pain, he can still feel the tearing of his skin. It's just numbed, faintly washed away, but even with the conflicting waves of pleasant comfort that accompany the pulse of blood on his skin and the stick of his shirt to his skin-
Fingers clench in his hair, pull, and anger wins out as his head snaps to the side. No, not even quite anger— it's just frustration. He knows all what it feels to lose control, even if the ways are far different, which is why his voice is so rough, so irritated, fingers clenching taut even with the painful grip digging into the meat of his arm. ]
You fucking moron— [ A growl for a snarl, even if it's strained. ] Wake the hell up!
[ And while Shinji's got one arm in a vice-grip, his other is free, and it's with a balled fist that he abruptly jerks it back and promptly tries to slam it into the side of Mika's face. And if it does work, even for a second, he'll take the opportunity to try and throw the other off him bodily...preferably away from Tatara. There's an unsteadiness from the dizzy throb of his skull, but it doesn't diminish his strength any. ]
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The impact of the punch is enough to rip Mika's fangs from Shinjiro's neck, but it's a bloody affair - bloodier than it already was. He staggers back, his grip on his hair come loose but his grip on his arm held fast - this time not as a threat, but as an anchor to keep him from falling off balance.
And in that moment, he's disoriented - blood smeared on his face like a horror, his expression now is closest to human as it has been this entire night. He's... confused. )
... Ah...?
( Every point of impact hurts, wherever Shinji got him. The pain isn't much, but there's this pulsing ache that reminds him something happened, more than once.
He lets go of Shinji's arm, stumbling back - and for a moment he regrets it, once he realizes the scent of blood is a few inches farther. And then he catches himself. Is this what this was all about? Blood?
His gaze is a little vague, but comes better into focus - he sees Shinji; but the scent of blood is stronger - suggests more blood spilt than Shinji's injury could have given. His gaze falls down to Tatara...
Ah,
Ah. )
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In this moment, he isn't thinking of helping or hiding. He just thinks he needs to get away from here, the scene of the crime, the proof of what he is, and just - he doesn't know. Hide in the woods again. Seal himself in a cave. Die there, maybe, this time. What was the point of being forced alive again if he was just going to have to live like this again, without any Yuu to protect?
But he probably wouldn't make it far, even if he got away. Not knowing Tatara is as badly injured as he is, and Shinjiro took some gashes, too. )
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He feels himself drift, and he pulls himself back. He feels his fingers numb, and he forces a breath. When he thinks he's dying in Tokyo all over again he reminds himself he's just had a little run-in, here, at the manor. It'll be fine. He'll be fine.
As much as he tries to focus his eyes all he can really take in are the scuffling figures. His fingers dig into the carpet to try and give himself enough grip to push himself up and get a better look, but it's tough. He keeps reminding himself to breathe and he keeps searching for strength in his body. The moments drag and fill with him reminding himself, over and over.
It's when the unfamiliar voice yells wake up that he finally musters himself somewhat upright. The gash on his neck hurts, and his vision is blurry, but he's okay. Mostly. He blinks, and he sees the two figures. One, Mika. The other, he doesn't recognize.
More importantly— ]
Mika-chan...
[ He says this weakly. His neck hurts. He wishes he could say it louder with the usual comfort in his tone, but he sees the way the vampire turn and he doesn't want him to go. ]
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He's felt worse. He's lived through worse. The bullets had hurt, perhaps worse than this, and he can handle this much.
Hand flying up his shoulder in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, he takes one step back as Mikaela does in turn. There's a light in the other's eyes now, a sense of humanity there wasn't before, and perhaps the impact had had the effect he'd hoped it would.
But that doesn't quite matter, because in the next moment, he's turned to bolt, and Shinji's abruptly lunging forward to latch tight onto one of his arms to prevent his escape. This probably makes him a hypocrite in some way, he thinks, between the beat of his heart and blood pulsing through his fingers. But he can't let him go. ]
Idiot, why the hell are you running away? [ It's a hiss, and his grip tightens as much as possible. In this moment, he's seeing himself, on the dark night of October 4th. ] Do you think that's gonna fix it? You can feel sorry for yourself after you deal with it...!
[ Otherwise, what will he do? What he did, perhaps, to go wallow and try and forget? Or something else, that's also crossed his mind in recent years, when the memories get nearly too much to bear? Either way, he won't allow it; not because he wants to make amends, but because he doesn't want someone to make the same mistake.
His gaze snaps down to Tatara as the movement, the wheeze, and he gives a frustrated growl before he promptly pulls his hand back to start pulling his coat off. Tearing it will take too long, too much effort, when the other man is already so pale. ]
Dammit. If you've got the energy to try and run off from the scene, [ He's pressing the cloth to the older man's neck, eyes dark beneath the shadow of a mussed beanie. ] you can go and get some damn help. Now!
[ Hopefully, the dark will swallow up the way his hands are shaking. ]
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He can't fix anything. He can only break. He could justify the harm he did so long as he had to stay alive to protect Yuu; but now - what reason does he have to explain why he's still here?
When Shinji finally lets go to attend to Tatara, Mika stumbles, but hesitates; still poised to run, but torn. He sees them over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye, and the way the blood glistens in the moonlight, and he feels
hunger twist his stomach, and temptation at his back, again. It overwhelms his fear. It overwhelms his regret. It reminds him of what he is, in the end - a creature that feeds, and feeds, and feeds.
It's Shinji barking orders that jostles him back to reality, and without a word he looks forward again - and takes off, without a word.
It's not clear if he really intends to get help, but the pivot in his step makes it clear enough, at least, that he's not heading toward any manor exit this time, but toward the portion of the building where everyone sleeps.
He can't fix things, and he can't do any good. But other people can. And maybe he can manage that much. )