zнaѕ (
theboogieman) wrote in
psychoshenanigans2016-10-17 11:30 pm
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Goodnight // AU
[clans of Life-Eaters are notoriously awful.
they build these hives underground because they are too hideous to travel among humans. some make their homes in existing sewer networks, but this particular clan had cobbled together a multi-story underground bunker running the length of a full city block underneath some otherwise perfectly normal apartment buildings. it's a dismal place. some cement, metal siding, creaking floorboards, old furniture. their sense of interior decorating makes Saoirse's look festive and colorful. an unfortunate mildew smell emanates from pretty much everything.
negotiations with Life-Eaters are always pretty simple. either they agree to help the Red Queen fight against Hel and the West Court's tyranny, or Zhas brings a squad in to destroy anything in those tunnels that moves. it was thrilling for the first six hours or so, when the hunt was on--but word of further negotiation drifted in from outside, and for whatever reason, they were told to cease the killing and stand their ground.
that was a few days ago. they are not allowed, nor are they able, to physically leave the perimeter. Saoirse herself is on her way, or so Veins has told them--and they are waiting out a bet that will win them the clan's full allegiance... if they can stick it out. Zhas imagined, after the first of the Kin-Eaters started cracking, that it was easier for Saoirse to agree to than it was for them to actually see through.
Day 4. tensions are running high...]
they build these hives underground because they are too hideous to travel among humans. some make their homes in existing sewer networks, but this particular clan had cobbled together a multi-story underground bunker running the length of a full city block underneath some otherwise perfectly normal apartment buildings. it's a dismal place. some cement, metal siding, creaking floorboards, old furniture. their sense of interior decorating makes Saoirse's look festive and colorful. an unfortunate mildew smell emanates from pretty much everything.
negotiations with Life-Eaters are always pretty simple. either they agree to help the Red Queen fight against Hel and the West Court's tyranny, or Zhas brings a squad in to destroy anything in those tunnels that moves. it was thrilling for the first six hours or so, when the hunt was on--but word of further negotiation drifted in from outside, and for whatever reason, they were told to cease the killing and stand their ground.
that was a few days ago. they are not allowed, nor are they able, to physically leave the perimeter. Saoirse herself is on her way, or so Veins has told them--and they are waiting out a bet that will win them the clan's full allegiance... if they can stick it out. Zhas imagined, after the first of the Kin-Eaters started cracking, that it was easier for Saoirse to agree to than it was for them to actually see through.
Day 4. tensions are running high...]
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the words had since begun to dissolve, however. things had started to degrade with the first mess that certain monsters were turning each other into, and the erosion continues as the sounds and smells of it follow him, replacing the steady lines of logic in his head. the longer it takes him to find what he's looking for, the harder it's becoming to hang into all of the ordered reasons why.
with each minute spent skulking after Zhas' most recent whereabouts, the less he's feeling like a knight seeking to discuss strategy, and the more this feels like just plain hunting.]
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Momma wouldn't be very happy with him if he killed their whole squad instead of coming back with double. as always, her word (and threat of disappointment) is law.
unfortunately for Zhas, he's quickly becoming the only thing around with a heartbeat. he can be found tucked away in someone's private library, rifling through shelves of old tomes and moldy books in the hopes of finding something interesting or helpful. he's too aware of his own body heat against the chill of the underground; his breath wisps away from him in little tendrils of steam. he's wearing his silver-wired gloves, partly as weapons but mostly to keep his hands from itching.
he tosses a particularly pointless paperback thriller on a nearby table as Coil happens close, tensing his weapon-ready arm before he even sees him. it's harder for him to tell his friend from his enemies, these days--and this place was already full of enemies to start with.]
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it takes him a second or two longer than it should to remember to announce himself. they're still friends. they still need to act like it--especially in a situation like this, where any deviation from that could end up unfortunately lethal.
hopefully, it isn't too late when he remembers to reach out on rap his knuckles against the nearest bookshelf.]
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but it also says a lot that he calms down when Coil reaches for the bookshelf and knocks. it's familiar, intentional, and a clear sign of civility. he still wants to get along with Coil, and is still far happier to see him than anyone else down here.
a deliberate nod is the boy's invitation. what's going on?]
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--and agitated and impatient and paranoid and ravenous.
he gets right to the point; he can't remember what his earlier, more eloquent ideas had been.
'we need to leave.']
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he also glances out in the hallway behind Coil, imagining that maybe some unforeseen violence had erupted, or further news had been delivered from the Red Queen. doubtful, though. Coil would have started with that instead of whatever's bothering him now.]
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all he's got so far is 'no food,' and 'killing each other.']
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he considers that for a second, not that there's much to consider. they're both fact, yes, but it's also fact that they have to stay exactly where they are.
'we have orders,' he states, as if the vampires killing each other around him are of no consequence. it's not like he's happy to be here either, but what they do after losing their humanity is not his concern.]
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'we can come back.' as if it would be remotely that simple. 'we need to leave,' he signs, with extra emphasis on that second word. 'out of time.']
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he signs for 'no' this time, curtly.]
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in either case, he needs help, and he needs it now. 'what do I do?']
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Zhas is catching on quick, even though the string of curses running through his head only grows louder and more agitated as the reality of Coil's condition sinks in again.]
How bad is it. [opting to speak, here, because he's not about to move his hand.]
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he wishes--sometimes--that he could feel other things the way he could feel exactly how empty that hole inside of him is. he's pretty sure he could see it if he closed his eyes now.
and he'd meant to respond, but being asked about it makes him think for too long. he doesn't want to calculate enough to be able to answer. his fists clench. his jaw works while he bites down on nothing and grinds his teeth. Zhas's fingertips are warm.]
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but he needs Coil to handle himself, even more than he did back when he was alive. if this kid snaps and gets in a bad fight, Zhas has no doubt that he'd win... but in a frenzy, he might go drinking the wrong kind of blood.
and that's counter to Zhas' trying to keep him alive and sane for as long as possible.
he glances at the entrance again, past the bookshelves, before slowly easing up on his hand. he motions for the other to stop, stay right there--while he takes off the glove covering his left hand.
and then he holds out his hand for Coil.]
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it's a last-ditch demonstration of will. he's not thinking about what Zhas might be trying to communicate. his thoughts aren't quite clear enough for that. it's more of an instinctual reaction; he knows it's something that he's not supposed to do, so he tries to get some distance from it before something bad happens.
it doesn't work spectacularly well. his eyes are fixed on that bit of bare skin for long moments before he finally manages to glance up and look for eyes.]
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is it a terrible idea? yes. but he's certain he wants to do it. 'here', he gestures with his other hand, before saying aloud:] You need this.
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the struggle finally stops. he's a predator and not a snarling monster when he's suddenly moving forward in the dark. quick and quiet, he grabs Zhas' wrist--but then pulls him forward and dodges in to meet him halfway, teeth going right for his throat.]
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was it foolish of him to think that Coil could have some ounce of self-control here? maybe he'd simply underestimated how hungry he was--or overestimated the boy's capacity for manners. either way, the situation takes a steep dive to a bad place, and he instinctively struggles hard to keep the vampire away from his neck.
he tries to force them over onto the table. maybe it would stun him. he's not really operating on logic here, not with only a split-second to react.
but he hasn't been bitten in the neck many times before, and he's not interested in having a repeat episode.]
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all of his wondering and yearning doesn't hold a candle to the reality, however. the table slamming into his side is somewhere very far away, with the smell and feel of familiar, hot skin up against his mouth. it fills his senses like breath in starving lungs, and nothing could tear him away from that.
instinct has him hauling himself forward with his other hand hooked on Zhas' neck, and rolling into him to keep his balance pitched backward as they hit the table.
he doesn't want to hurt him. he's just taking what Zhas said he should have. he doesn't mean to bite so hard when he finds the softest, warmest part of his throat. he just doesn't want him to get away.]
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he isn't thinking much, suddenly oriented all wrong and dealing with the very startling, very real pain of being bitten in the neck. his vision drowns in static, he loses perception of the noise he is or isn't making--all he can manage is to use his free hand to try and claw away at Coil's face, or kick him off with his legs.
neither work well enough, though. his fate is sealed. it's a matter of seconds, and somewhere at the back of his panicking animal brain, he knows it.]
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the animals that he's been given in the past can't compare to this. even the precious vials of gold that he works so hard to earn don't come close to living up to it. the first few seconds are perfect.
after that, he becomes aware of something running down his chin and he realizes that something is wrong. he's spilling. it's not working right.
instinct pushes him backward, drags his prey with. he doesn't know where he's going--just that he has to move.]
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as much as it hurts him, as much as his instinct to get away has been roaring in his ears, it can't last. something else seeps in through the wound at his neck, spreading with every panicked heartbeat until he's drowning in it. his hand slips away from Coil, his legs collapse out from under him, and he's suddenly a deadweight dragging them in the direction of the floor.
he can't comprehend anything very well. that's the ingenious part of it; victims will forget they were ever attacked because they can't remember being there. the pain is far away, the monster is a distant dream, and it feels so good to not be held rigid in his own body.
he gets pretty quiet... aside from little sounds, small gasps that aren't entirely voluntary. his body is trying to fight it, but his mind has already given up.]
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he doesn't mind being down here, really; he's glad Zhas is going quiet and still. the floor is safe and solid and dark. he can lean back against the leg of the table and drag this big, warm body close. he can gather him up, hungry and greedy, hold him tight and draw him in.]
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"nice", what a dumb little word. he never uses it to describe anything, but he'd use it now. nice to be sitting, nice to know that Coil is here. in another time, a time with stronger roots in his memory, Coil was his friend. Coil wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.
he tries to move his arm. he'd like to hold him in return, welcome him in. it doesn't really work, what with the heavy disconnect between his brain and his body, so Coil may not even notice the hand that raises up... only to fall weakly against the boy's back.]
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Zhas is heavy and leaden against his chest. he smells like smoke and sweat and now the flooding smell of wet coins. he couldn't be closer to him. he has him. it's perfect.
the only thing picking at his attention, interrupting the euphoria filling flat, cold veins, is the warmth running down his chin. it's sliding down his neck. he tries to shift his prey higher against him, dig in deeper, but his shirt is wet. he's wasting it.]
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