Down and Out [Invite]

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



<Grey> She wanted a tissue. She needed to blow her nose, but continued to wipe it once more on the coat sleeve. Yes, she knew it was childish. However, it worked in a pinch and it had her smirking on the phone to the man. Jesse Fforde - he certainly was a master at distraction if he wanted to be. She thought of the ways that he had tried to get her to succumb to his pleasure in the past. Nothing had worked, truthfully. Nothing had worked except the time that he had come to her, brutally honest and questioned her about the other female. Oh, it had pissed her off. Her temper had spiked and she had wanted to throw the wrench she was using at his head. But instead she used her words at him. Yelled. Hollered at each other. And they had come together in a fiery passion that exploded upon Auto Doc’s floor. Albeit, briefly until she convinced him that they needed a more secure place to swap kisses and lurid, hurried gropes.


“We play dirty very well together, Jesse.” Too well? Was there such a thing? They came together often in an intense passion. Or it was a slow, long drive of stroking each other’s pressure points into oblivion. She remembered waking up to him inside of her, and the beauty that overtook her in his intense gaze. His gaze… His eyes… The frown came, stealing a quiet moment between them. Soon, she would be home. Soon, she’d have the comfort of her oh so minimal existence around her.


“It probably would be easier if they were dogs. Least they would get you were focused on something else entirely and they’d go mosey about their own business. Letting you free to listen to what I was wearing, what I was peeling off of myself, and how I was doing all the touching instead of you.” She thought, hoping to get a smile onto his face. All she wanted in that moment was to touch him. To hold him. To kiss his lips and lay with him. Yes, she knew he was a grown man. Yes, she knew he no doubt might have sustained worse injuries than what he had explained to her over the phone. But, that all did not matter when it felt like she was not doing her part. She wasn’t playing his better half. No, instead - the person that had him locked up and looked at constantly was keeping several eyes out for him at once.


Inadequate was certainly not a new feeling to her, however. It made the flashbacks just all the more sharp and the cigarette ridden, scratched voice of her mother snidely sound in the back of her mind that she would never be good enough. The wind whipped, tossing her hair around her bruised face as she paid the taxi, took that smirk of a look, and shook her hand that she did not need any change. “I… I don’t know what to do together, Jesse. I want you to kiss me when I see you next. I want your arms around me.”


Her voice was soft as she nodded to the night clerk in the lobby. Without pause, she stepped onto the elevator, the ding sounding in the background as the doors slid shut and she started to lift. She half collapsed against the panel, breathing heavy from the exertion of keeping her demeanor as she tried to hide her limp across the floor. “There is so much to do, Jesse… You know I like everything you do to me. I… I want your mouth on me. I want to try… Well… You inside me back there.”


Her voice was hesitant, quiet. She didn’t know if she could do this dirty talk bit. She could barely say ‘pussy’ and ‘****’ unless it were directed at a stubborn alternator or a rust bucket of an engine. Her face flaming, she struggled to not have a meltdown in the tiny hallway as she started to unbury her keys.



<Jesse Fforde> Jesse loves it. He loves the way her voice hesitates and trips over the things she’s trying to say - the things she imagines he could do. To begin with, very tame - of course that’s what they’ll do, the first time they see each other. They’ll come together like magnets that have been kept apart for far too long. Like an unstoppable force they’ll slam together, lips on lips. That’s a given - and he can’t imagine that he’ll be too tender about it, either. He doesn’t know how long it’ll be before he sees Grey again, and he laments now, as he imagines the minutes and the hours and the days stretching out in front of him.


What surprises him is Grey’s next admission. What she would like him to try. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice, but from past experience he’d realised that there were quite a few women who hated that kind of play. And with Grey, he’d prefer to slowly broaden her boundaries rather than to scare her away from him. She’s so innocent to him, so damned alluring, the way she asks. Even though he can’t see her he can imagine the hot blush as it paints her cheeks. He laughs, the sound low and strained. Strained, because he hates that he’s stuck here. But simultaneously glad, because it means they’re able to have this conversation. He leans forward, shoulders slumped and head bowed.


He can hear the keys. He had heard the ding of the elevator. She’s nearly home, and he feels like he can relax, just a little bit.


“All you have to do is ask, Little Dove. I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he says. The laughter, combined with his statement, would tell her that he’s not at all laughing at the suggestion. That, instead, it arouses him to no end. He licks his lips.


“Imagine that I’m right there behind you, as you walk through that door. That I slam it behind us. And that I slowly start to peel every item of clothing from your body. And as I do, I’m going to lead you toward the bedroom. Can you imagine that?” he asks. He’s sure, that if she doesn’t want to continue, she will tell him. She’ll tell him she wants to go shower, or have a bath, or eat. Try to relax. He sits there, with his head bowed, waiting to see how she will respond.




<Grey> She was so warm now, her coat was roasting her from the inside out. She could feel the sweat beginning to blister along her back and tease between her breasts. Her skin heats up as if he is right there whispering in her ear and she knows that he has this power over her to completely distract her. He has done it numerous times before, and in that moment she dropped an arm to unzip that winter coat. The slick material slid to the floor in a lifeless mass once she got her other arm out as the iPhone switched to the bruised side of her face. She turned around just as she always had to lock the door behind her and slide that deadbolt into place. “I’m home.”


Her voice, though quiet, almost sounded ragged. As if that shared desire even miles away from each other was a living, breathing connection on that telephone. Swallowing tightly, she wanted to turn towards that bedroom and go throw herself down upon the mattress. But she stalled, turning towards the kitchen for some pain relievers and some milk from the fridge. She, of course, drank right out of the carton. Though it was not a particular pretty picture - why waste a glass when she wasn’t sharing it with her lover to begin with?


“I… thought about it before. But we were busy.” Yes, they were very busy. They certainly did not seem to be bored together in the makings of their evenings with one another. She slumped into the door of the fridge. Pressing that ice cold carton to her face not only to chill the painful bruise there, but to also cool off that temperature that seemed to rise while she was on the phone with her lover.


His voice trails into her ear. She shudders. She can actually feel her body responding to him, nipples hardening and her pelvis tightening as if she is anticipating his very actions. So, with a ragged breath after gulping down the pills - her breath hitches over the line. “Yes, Jesse. I can imagine it. I can see myself reaching for you. Distracting you. Wanting you out of your clothes as much as I am naked against you. I want you… I always want you.” She admitted to him, whether it was to be wrapped around him or to be by his side, she let that confession slip while a hand came up to run through her hair and the fridge door closed behind her.



<Jesse Fforde> He can hear her pottering around. Can hear the fridge door, and the rattle of tablets in a jar. Oh, the things that he does not miss - though he does wish that a few painkillers could dull the throbbing pain in his own head. He sighs and slumps over where he sits, curling up on his side on the hard floor as he talks to her. It helps him, to talk to her; he’s no longer thinking about his missing eyes are what had transpired in the alleyway. He’s no longer thinking about how he’s pissed off Micah and Velveteen, and no doubt lost their respect. He’s no longer thinking about the fact that they’ve locked him up here, preventing him from using any power that might help him to escape - and thus also robbing him of any power that might help to ease his own discomfort. Punishment, probably.


Instead, he’s focused on Grey and wanting her to relax and to be comfortable. He rolls over onto his back, one hand resting over his chest while the other still holds the phone up to his ear. “Do it, Grey. I can hear you in the kitchen. Go to the bedroom. Make sure the heater is turned up - strip down, crawl under the covers. You’re exhausted,” he says. He doesn’t have to be with her to know that she would be exhausted. How late is it, now? And she’s been out looking for him, after a long day at work. Of course she’s exhausted. Even if it means ending the conversation, even if it means their dirty talk doesn’t reach its conclusion, if he can talk Grey to sleep, he’ll be happy. There’s plenty of time for the rest of it.
“And imagine that I’m under those covers with you - you’ve helped me out of my clothes as much as I have helped you out of yours. I’ll kiss your bruises. I’ll make you lie on your stomach and I’ll massage your shoulders. Go to bed, Grey, and imagine I’m massaging your shoulders,” he says - there’s a hint of command in his tone.



<Grey> “Okay.” She paused for a moment, knowing that the tone of his voice was enough to set her on her way. “I’m going right now.” She informed him, no doubt he would be satisfied to know she was moving because he nudged her along. Grey swallows hard as she works her way across the open apartment. She stops only briefly to free herself of those jeans. She walks out of them, intent on crawling into bed in just her underwear. Now that she was home, her defenses seemed to lax some. With Jesse on the phone and the doors locked, her eyes seemed to be half mast. She looks at that big bed and knows it will be empty. She can feel herself shaking just a bit at the prospect of being alone. And really, truthfully… It should not bother her. She has been alone for years. It was Jesse’s fault, she thought to herself. It was his fault she was so used to curling up with him now and sliding into sleep after they pleased each other, spoke together, and drifted off with their legs entwined.


“I can feel your cold feet already.” Even though it was not the most endearing of things to say, she’d laugh and yelp playfully when he made sure to run those toes along her calves. It made her smile. It made her do as he said and slowly make her way to the thermostat. She upped the button by almost six degrees, managed to juggle the phone long enough that the clothing rustled in his ear and she’d shudder as she climbed into bed under the covers. “Stay with me, Jesse… I want to wrap my arms around you and lay my head on your shoulder. I want to run my fingers over your skin. I don’t need my back rubbed when you are with me. When you are already touching me. You’ll just try to get me worked up.”


She smiled as if she sensed an ulterior motive. Of course though, Jesse would hear the light shift of the mattress, the bare rustle of the quilts and blankets and the way her hair hit the pillow. She sighed. It was a blissful sigh trailing into the hint of a moan when those Egyptian sheets caressed her bare skin. “It feels so good. Laying here with you.” She murmured, fulfilling her wishes to him.



<Jesse Fforde> Jesse is as cold as death, but even now a warmth spreads through him. An ethereal warmth, a metaphorical warmth that blankets his soul rather than his physical body. It’s a warmth that could best be described as fondness. The only kind of fondness that comes with love - pure and unabated, a selfless love that cannot be questioned, changed, or taken away. All he can see is darkness, but that’s okay. In that darkness he can imagine exactly what Grey is doing, given the things that he can hear through the phone. The muffles and scrapes that indicate the removal of clothing - that squeak of the bed that he hasn’t yet fixed. He knows where she is, and can even picture the underwear that she’s wearing. Nothing to frilly. The practical kind - but she wears them well. And he would have her wearing nothing different. He would have nothing differently.


His intention had been to tell her exactly how he would go about giving her this fantasy of hers. Instead, she wants only to imagine curling up next to him. Her head on his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her. The exact position within which they slept, the majority of the time. As much as his depravity wants only to continue the massaging, and the way he would slowly work his way down…


… he doesn’t. He will imagine it himself, later. Over and over, will perfect it so that the next time he sees her, he can show her, rather than tell her, all the things that he will do to her. He takes a breath that he does not need and slowly releases it. Again, he curls over onto his side, his free palm splayed against the cold floor. He imagines it, the way she has described it.


“Your warmth gives me warmth. I’m right there beside you. I’ve got my hand curled into your hair - I’m tickling your scalp, soothingly. And I’m running my fingers up and down your back. I’m waiting for you to fall asleep so that I can watch you,” he says. That’s what he does often, too - he waits for her to fall asleep and watches her, touching her in the same way she she does him, when he doesn’t know it.


<Grey> Her underwear were hicut, black cotton. She had worked, after all. She had not even managed a shower while she waited that evening earlier for him. No, Grey had wanted to take him into the shower. To drive him into the warmth that he had just told her about on the other end of the telephone line. She took a deep breath and sighed out softly. It was a sigh that mirrored a sound of being content. As if, he had just rocked her world and they stretched out into each others hold. She could not imagine the day when she could not go to him. When she could not seek comfort and peace in his arms. Of course, she briefly thinks about the items they had argued over. The different sides they had gentle if not passionately attempted to get each other to see for argument’s sake.


Never the less, they had both been wrapped up in each other’s touch. Without it, she felt as if she were missing something. She reached out to the pillow that Jesse often laid his head upon and she snagged it. She dragged it over and gathered it close to her, wrapping herself around that pseudo person. Her shoulders fall, her stomach relaxes, her muscles seem to melt into that position. It isn’t perfect, but it would do. It had to do. She would not tell him she missed him. He was right there on the phone with her. She would not ask him to come home again. He would do that when he was ready. When he was healed. When he was no longer in any danger.


“I can feel you. I can smell you, Jesse. My fingertips stroke your tattoos. My nails tease along the edges of your arms, tracing the outline of your tattoos along your side. I love your ink. I love looking at you. Sometimes, I feel like I find something new every time I look at you. You let me relax. You make me feel safe, Jesse. You make me feel… worth something.” She said to him softly, her whispers were slow and heavy. It was as if she were making a deep confession to him and growing all the more tired at the same time; letting the exhaustion beginning to take over. She doesn’t tell him her knee is killing her. She took another pillow and propped it between her legs. Though most of her entire right side is bruised up, the ugly colors are spreading and absorbing back into her skin slowly.



<Jesse Fforde> The smile curves the corners of his lips as he imagines, remembers, even, the gentle stroke of Grey’s fingers over his skin. He is a peacock, and he has ruffled his feathers - the colours have drawn her to him. He has ensnared her in his trap and now she is caught. The smile falters a little. How many times had she told him she isn’t ready? But now, everything has come to a head. How much longer will she be allowed to tell him she’s not ready before he’s going to have to be forced to do something she doesn’t like? Even he is not stupid enough to


think, now that the secret is out, that everything is going to be fine. Trepidation makes his skin crawl.


What has he done? He never should have engaged in this kind of relationship. He should have turned her the first time the thought crossed his mind - at the point of climax, in the middle of their heated passion, he could have done it. And now they wouldn’t be in this position. Of course, she might hate him. She might have walked away to join the others, who prefer not to speak to him, or see him. But she would not be in danger of losing her life.


And now this. This, talking her to sleep because he can’t be by her side. It’s killing him, one erosive thought after the other. One at a time, they work together to disarm him completely. He swallows his fear and curls a little tighter into the fetal position, the phone growing warm against his ear.


“It’s because you are worth something, Little Dove. As you trace your fingers over my skin I’ll tell you that, just as I am doing now - you are everything to me. You are my anchor. You are the piece missing from my soul. You are my Little Dove, always mine. Forever…” he says. He licks his lips, happy to keep going. To continue whispering those sweet nothings into the phone, to soothe her, calm her, to buoy her spirits before she drifts into the darkness of sleep. He doesn’t want her to have any kind of nightmare. He wants her to be completely and utterly relaxed.



<Grey> She gave him the time of day. He gave her attention. She had first stared at him in disbelief. She rolled her eyes and tried to send him on his merry way. Instead, he came around more. He hung out. He touched her tools in the garage and she hissed at him that he would get her fired. He just gave her that sexy grin that had her heart speeding up. Their first kiss.


She remembered the look on his face. She remembered her initial reaction. Had she done it right? Had she used her lips? Was it too much pressure? What was she supposed to do with her tongue? Where should she put her hands? Of course, she had seen it all before. She saw the fake passion, the hurried gestures, the gruesome act of swapping fluids. She grimaced almost in the memory all too familiar of years passed. But with Jesse, his touch, his words, his confidence… He spoiled her. He showed her everything. He encouraged her. He dared her to do more and gave her the freedom to try something new if she wanted it. She was wrapped around his finger and he knew that.


“I love you. I love you, Jesse… I never thought I could love someone. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. Thank you. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for wanting to get to know me. Thank you for supporting me. You are beautiful to me… You are mine.” She said to him quietly, clutching the phone as she laid on her left side - the side that was typical for her to curl up against him. She sucked in a deep breath, her mussed up hair every which way over her back and shoulders as she squirmed around in the bed a bit. “Mine, Jesse. I am yours as much as you are mine. I’d squeeze your hip and kiss your neck. Then I’d kiss up underneath your jaw before pecking my lips to yours.”



<Jesse Fforde> If he weren’t twitching at every little sound that echoes in the apartments around him, Jesse himself might have been lulled by his own scheme. Listening to Grey on the other end of the phone and imagining her next to him is almost enough to have him drifting into a vague sleep - not the complete dead sleep that would come with the sun - which isn’t too far away, he can already feel his limbs succumbing to subconscious heaviness - but then one of the thralls will shift something in one of the other rooms, or he’ll feel the floor vibrate as they walk around. He’s not alone, and he doesn’t like that he can’t see anything. It puts him on edge, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep at all.


“Shhh,” he can hear the gratitude in her voice. Can imagine that it might be stirring her heavy words into wakefulness, that she will again proclaim that she misses him, that she wants him to come home. In spirit, he is right there next to her. In fact, he probably can send someone to go and watch over her - his own wraith, Ichabod. The wraith isn’t given much else to occupy him. Of course Jesse won’t tell Grey this - she might be a bit creeped out by the idea of a ghost watching her every move.


“And I love you, Grey. In the exact same way. You caught me in your trap and I’m there to stay,” he says. The idea of love had evaded Jesse for so long. He enjoyed the sensual pleasures of his forays with other women, and was even tender toward a few. But he always moved on, always slept around, was always found out. And of course they never stayed. Maybe it because Grey chose to stay after he told her about AJ, rather than throw a wrench at his head to tell him never, ever to come back again. She wanted him still, even after being told he was a horny, drifting ********. His love for her had come as a surprise - something that had at first made him keep his distance from her, but which had finally driven him back into her arms, until it had finally forced that confession from his lips. And he hadn’t left her side since.


“I’d hold you close, Grey. I’d kiss your lips, slowly. I’d tell you that you should sleep, Grey, because you need sleep more than I do,” he says. It’s his round-about way of telling her that she needs to sleep.


<Grey> Her lips were so dry now. She was breathing through her mouth as she spoke with him. Her words almost stick together, her tongue thick and dry. But of course, she still murmurs to him. She still gets her point and her words across to the man on the other end of the line. She refuses to stop until she tells him what he means to her. In truth, she doesn’t know the hell he is going through.


She can only imagine the pain that he is dealing with. She can only imagine his other senses are heightened and his head is splitting open. She wants to know who did it. She wants to know why. She wants to know what the problem was between them. She wants to know what completely led up to the events at hand. But, she doesn’t ask. It is not her place.


Much like she knew there was something different about Jesse, she does not bring it to his attention. No, she waits to see what will come of it. She waits for that moment that he will break the proverbial silence. She knew he was cold. She knew he did not have a heartbeat the first time she laid her cheek to his chest after their coupling. She knew that he fell into a dead sleep, coiled away from any light the sun would happen to bring in that day. “I am right here with you too, Jesse. Right next to you. You go to sleep too…” She murmured that into the telephone, not wanting to hang up with him. Instead, her breathing thickens while she had her palm laying over her ear which was securing the phone to her face.


She had him close even when he was not.



<Jesse Fforde> He lets the silence thicken. He can hear her breathing through the phone, and he himself an effort to breathe, too, just to let her know that he is still there. He knows he won’t go to sleep - he knows, sooner or later, Velveteen and Micah will return - one or the other will return. This is their home, and the sun will come up soon. He can’t imagine that they won’t come home for the daylight hours. He knows that Grey is safe and so does not care what they are doing. Hardly spares a thought for what they might be doing.


It’s Velveteen who found Grey. Velveteen, not Micah. Jesse realises, and had known, of course, that Micah can’t have been the one to find Grey first. He knows nothing about her. He doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know where she works or that she’s living in Jesse’s own apartment. He doesn’t know that that particular apartment belongs to Jesse, does he? Has he told anyone about that apartment? It was empty for so long in Felicity’s absence, and so he never had a reason to visit it, until Grey came along.


Doesn’t matter. And even Velveteen only knows Grey’s name. Now, only what Grey looks like. Unless she had Grey followed. But he is calm. Because there is no mention of a male vampire, with the intention of death in his eyes. Just the woman. Of course, would Micah do that? As furious as the guy was, would he have purposefully taken from Jesse the one thing that keeps him happy? Maybe he would have, completely unaware just how much Grey means to him. But Velveteen would have told him. Yes, that’s what happened. Velveteen intersected. She explained. And now Grey is safe. Jesse will have to thank Micah later.


For now, he sighs a sleep-laden sigh. “I am, Grey. I’m going to fall asleep right beside you. And I’m going to stay right here, all day,” he says, slowly, whispering, slowly lowering the volume of his voice, lulling, like a lullaby through cracked lips.



<Grey> For a long time, the woman on the other end of the phone does not respond. Instead, Jesse’s ears would be meeting with her slowly evening out breathing. She struggles to keep her eyes open, those blue eyes deep in emotion and a touch of pain inside of them. Though, as the pills dissolve in her system, the pain lessons. She has no doubt that Jesse would have thrown an even bigger fit if he was there to see just how the bruising bled into each other creating polka dot splatches along her right side.


And then, there was a deep intake - a sucking sound as if she had very well drifted off to sleep but roused herself out of it. Her calf tightened a bit. Grey forced herself to relax and hug that pillow harder. He was right. Jesse was right. He was going to be okay. And, ultimately, she was going to be the same a-okay. A lick to her lower lip if it could be even called that. The swipe managed to dampen her mouth just enough so that her lips didn’t stick together. “Love you Jesse…”


And with that murmur, it seemed that she finally drifted off into the sleep he was so desperate to get her into.

[Jesse Fforde]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Jesse Fforde> Through the phone, now hot against his ear, Jesse can hear the deepening, the lengthening of Grey's breathing. The last words she utters are whispered, slurred in such a way that he knows not to respond. Let silence envelope her. Let it rock her into a relaxed and comfortable sleep. Jesse himself stays where he is, curled up in the fetal position beside one of the walls - he doesn't know where he is in the apartment in comparison to everything else. His head feels heavy, the throbbing pain a constant companion. His eyes itch, but he doesn't move to touch them. He just lays there, one hand holding the phone against his ear, and the other splayed against the ground. Although he knows he's probably imagining it, it's as if he can feel the branches swaying around him. The tree, bending with the momentum of the Earth - he himself being rocked to sleep as the sun will soon be rising. Normally he'd reach out to the Shadow Realm, but he can't. Someone's followed through on their threat - his powers have been blocked. He can't even summon the energy to replenish his blood, that power taken too. The single blood bag hadn't been enough. But he ignores that particular pain - he sighs, chest heaving. And continues listening to the sound of Grey's breathing on the other end of the line.

<Velveteen> After having tomed home, Velveteen kissed her husband and promised to be in as soon as she took care of Jesse’s dressing. The sun was close to breaking over the horizon and the call of sleep had her dragging herself wearily as she collected the things she needed and went to the table. It took a moment for her to locate him though if it wasn’t for the flick of Scott’s head it may have taken a little longer. Both Scott and Bunny were given instructions to go rest. They had done as asked and Velveteen was grateful but both were likely in desperate need of sleep. “Good to see you are still here, Jesse.” She noticed the phone at his ear and smiled a little. “I see you got your phone call. How are those bandages going? We could probably remove the gauze by now.” The woman didn’t dwell on any one subject instead offering a wide range of subjects for him to comment on. Though she was expecting anger, who knew what would come?

<Jesse Fforde> The vibrations thrill through the floor that Jesse is prone upon. He can feel the movement through his fingertips. So preoccupied is he by the sound of breathing in his ear, and his own drifting toward sleep, that he doesn't realise Velveteen has returned until her voice cuts through the serenity. He knew someone was walking about, but he assumed it was just the thralls. They'd been moving about all night. Jesse's body twitches, a jerk of surprise at being found in such a way. But what does he care, really? If it mattered, he'd have moved himself already. And so he stays where he is. "Shhh..." he says quietly, holding up the phone. Languidly, heavily, he moves himself into a seated position. He holds the phone out. "She's sleeping," he mouths, a whisper that hardly even forms words, but which he knows Velveteen will hear. He gestures to the phone - he needs her to hang up for him.

<Velveteen> Even though he wouldn’t see it Velveteen gives him a look of confusion followed by realisation and then nods absently before verbalising her acknowledgement by way of a soft ‘Oh’ sound. Taking his phone she hangs up without pausing and moves toward the table to place it there. “So...are you feeling better?” She returns to where he is in case he needs some assistance. He hadn’t moved far from where they left him though whether that was because of his lack of sight or the fact that Bunny and Scott had been hovering close by she wouldn’t know. “I need you to come over here though so I can have a look and put clean bandages on. How is Grey then? All good....considering?”

<Jesse Fforde> "Considering what?" Jesse asks, now able to verbalise his own frustration. In his attempt to lull Grey into relaxed comfort, he himself had been lulled. Now, he's pulled straight out of his fuzzy state of his mind and thrust back into pounding, throbbing pain and frazzled, disconcerted doubt. "Considering she got cornered by a black-haired viper and had the wits scared out of her?" Jesse growls. By the sound of her voice in the room, he knows that she is now standing beside him. He tilts his head up and refuses any help at standing. In fact, he'd stay right where he was if he wasn't aware that it would make him look like a disconsolate, sulking child. It's exactly how he felt, but it didn't mean he had to show it. He pushes himself to his feet and swayed, just a little. The momentum made it feel as if the knife were stabbing him in the eyes all over again. He quickly regains his balance.

<Velveteen> The woman couldn’t help but chuckle. “A black-haired viper ay? Can’t say I have ever been called that before and I don’t know about cornered. I thought I was rather pleasant.” The smirk that adorned her mouth could have easily been heard in her voice. She watched him stand and as he teetered she resisted the urge to reach and steady him. If he wanted to be like that then so be it. In fact it would serve himself right if he landed flat on his ***. “As for scaring the wits out of her she should think herself lucky it was me that found her and someone else. She looks like she has had some trouble recently. How long before she ends up turned or worse, Jesse?” Velveteen shrugged and made her way back to the table where she stood and waited. If he wanted to be stubborn then far be it from her to stop him.

<Jesse Fforde> Anger doesn't last long. It's Jesse's fall-back - when he doesn't want to look weak or vulnerable, get gets angry. Angry mainly at himself, but of course he snaps at other people. It's how he's been for weeks - months, even. He can't help it. But here, the anger breaks. The wave crashes on the shore, the tide sucks it out, and then the weather calms. He hasn't been able to talk to anyone about this, but now he can talk to Velveteen. Tentatively, he takes a few steps forward. He's nearer the table than he was. He won't grope around for a chair, though - he's already made fool enough of himself that night. "Micah. He won't will he? Kill her?" Jesse asks, a hint of that former desperation still clinging to his tone.

<Velveteen> A soft sigh escaped her and she shook her head, dragging a chair out to put in front of him. “No. Killing innocent humans is not something we do unless absolutely necessary, Jesse, but you know he won’t let this go on indefinitely. It’s too risky and you of all people should know that.” The woman perched on the edge of the table and waited for him to sit. “He was angry, we talked. I think he is a bit more understanding of things now but still...And as far as Grey goes if I scared her then good. She has good reason to be scared. Though from what she said you have kept her pretty sheltered. It seems she has no idea of what this could mean for her....or you for that matter.”

<Jesse Fforde> "No, she does," he still doesn't sit. He can't see to know that Velveteen is waiting for him. He stands there, with no idea where the chair are or that Velveteen is perched against the table. "She knows... she knows that my being with her goes against the tenets I uphold," he says. And then he thinks. Has he ever told her that they are both in danger because of it. He shakes his head. It doesn't matter. She knows now. He even told her himself, on the phone, no more than an hour ago. "She looks the way she does because she was fed on. Twice, one after the other. Ended up in the Quarantine Zone," he says, jaw tensing and teeth grinding, fists clenching before he forces himself to relax, to continue. "We argue about it all the time. I had to go pick her up from the bank - I was furious. I took her home. I tried to tell her it wouldn't ever happen again if she would just let me. But she's still not ready," he says. "What would you have me do? Force her, and then lose her anyway? She'll hate me," he adds, dejected.

<Velveteen> It was a risk of course but so it was already. She nodded and hummed softly, something she often did when in thought. “There is a chair in front of you. Sit.” She commanded before picking a pair of scissors , ready to take care of his dressings. “The thing is Jesse, and like I told her, it might be a choice she is going to have to make sooner rather than later, ready or not, before the choice is taken out of her hands. It’s not ideal no but jesus Jesse...I’m sure you knew that when you got into this. And like I said...what if the choice is taken from her by someone else. What if she ends up dead like so many others? How many times have you told her to be careful and still she ends up bitten and in the QZ? Jesus. She is lucky she made it out of there alive at all.” A deep breath was drawn, more for the need for a moment of thought than the air itself. “There aren’t many options, not now. She can’t just be let go. It will either be turned or death or ended up some sort of prisoner here until she is no longer a risk. I know none are appealing but you should have thought of that before getting involved with a human.”

<Jesse Fforde> Indignation rankles at metaphorical hackles. Even as Jesse reaches out for the chair, his opposite fist is still curled into a a tense, tight little ball. It seems awfully third world to segregate vampires from humans. To dictate whom one can and cannot love due to race, or colour, or name. The indignation dies as Jesse sits, slumped; he knows that Velveteen is right. It's not about prejudice. Or hate. It's about the safety of the race, and the masquerade. "She's not a risk," is all he can say to defend himself. "And don't you think I told her that? I told her that I'm usually the one that does the killing. I thought she'd walk out on me after that, but she didn't. I told her next time she wouldn't be so lucky. She told me she'd be careful," he says. "I didn't tell her, before that. It's never been a problem before - all she knew was that I was different. It was only after she got bit, and she didn't remember a thing, that I had to explain it to her, so that she could understand fully why she had to be more careful," he says. He's off topic. He bows his head. He doesn't want to think about the choice - about the arguments he's sure to have with her in the near future.

<Velveteen> “So she got a crash course. The first of a few I imagine. I could tell by the way she looked at me she knew, I just wasn’t sure exactly how much.” She tilted her head curiously and her gaze narrowed slightly as she watched him. “So she knows what you do then and why? I dunno Jesse, maybe she isn’t ready because she doesn’t truly understand. Or maybe she does and that’s why, but in that case, I don’t think she will ever be. You know....I wonder.” One arm was crossed over her front, the scissors still dangling loosely from her fingers and the elbow of the other was rested upon her wrist it as she tapped at her teeth with a manicured nail. The soft tapping filling the silence as the wheels of her mind began to spin. “Maybe it’s not so much about the choice as having the right motivation.” She said quietly, more to herself, than the male close by. “Anyway we need to get this gauze out of your eye sockets or you are gonna end up looking all munted or something...I don’t even know. Best we don’t find out ay?”

[Velveteen]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse thinks it's kind of simple. He thinks she's not ready for the obvious reasons. She knows he doesn't eat. She knows he's always as cold as death. She knows he passes out during the day. He wants to explain to Velveteen that she's not ready - and she's said as much - because she doesn't want to give up the warmth just yet, or the struggle of being human. Maybe it makes her feel alive. She's not ready to be dead. Jesse himself doesn't understand it. He jumped at the opportunity. Maybe he shouldn't have. Maybe he should have waited, waited for the right person to... but is that it, then? That's when the explanation dies on Jesse's lips and he understands. "Right. She'd prefer not to be stuck with me for eternity and a day. I'm not motivation enough," he says, deadpan. He lifts his chin - doesn't manage a smile. He really couldn't care less how munted he ends up looking.

<Velveteen> Velveteen just stared at him for a moment. Of course he would come to that conclusion. Again she just sighed. “Hardly what I was saying though in actual fact maybe that is the problem. She does have you. So what choice is there really? I know you love her , Jesse, but as is it is just not gonna work. Until you both see hat, until she sees that this is just going to be a problem. Like I said it won’t be allowed to continue indefinitely. Your time now is limited, and if you can’t make her see it then I will.” With that she reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer she brought up the hand with the scissors and began cutting at the bandage. “But right now I am ******* tired. It has been a long night. Don’t move.”

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse laughs, the sound of it maybe hysterically mirthful. "You've had a long night, huh? Maybe you should have a cup of tea and put your feet up," he says. And there he goes again - he ought to be apologetic, because her long night is only because of him. Was caused by him. But he can't help but compare her night with his - having his eyes stabbed out, wanting only to die, coming here instead out of a sense of honour. Feeling like the light of your only happiness is about to be taken away, and blackmailed to stay inside, no power to abate the ever-insistent thirst. He tenses, and he doesn't move. He bites his tongue, to keep from spilling vitriol. Velveteen doesn't deny it. As he sits there, still, dread falls heavily over his shoulders. She's right. It can't last. And either way he's going to lose Grey. Doesn't seem like much of a choice to him.

<Velveteen> “Or I could just leave you here and let you wallow in your ******* misery.” She snipped the last few threads and dragged the bandage covering his eyes away. The gauze beneath that filled the holes where his eyes should be red with blood. A large pair of forceps were to extract the blood soaked threads and upon closer inspect she was able to ascertain that the bleeding had in fact stopped and he healing process had begun. “We make our choices Jesse. Every choice we have ever made has led us to where we are right now. Sure **** happen along the way that is out of our control, but how we deal or react to such things is always our own. Being sarcastic and giving me **** is not going to change a damn thing. Though if I were you....right now I would rather have me onside than against.” She spoke as she continued to tend to him and once happy she placed several large pads over his eyes before reapplying the bandage.

<Jesse Fforde> The thing about anger, and the way it replaces misery in those who don't want to appear weak, is that it never lasts. It's only ever a mask, and the misery is always stronger, in the end. She should leave him there to wallow in his misery. It's apt punishment - the little speech has an effect that perhaps Velveteen did not intend. But he made that choice to rile Phoenix rather than to try to calm her. His own choices brought him here. All the misery he's feeling is own damned fault. All the **** that he's currently experienced was definitely once in his control, and he lost it. He feels like a failure. He wants to bury his head in his hands and wail. Never before has he had the urge to cry on someone's shoulder - to curl into them and sob, inconsolable, but comforted by the presence of someone who gives a ****. He wants to do that right now, but he doesn't. He swallows hard, and holds his breath. He waits for the urge to abate, and stays absolutely still as Velveteen continues to tend to him - he focuses instead on the needle-like pain, the sparks of bright light in eyes that don't exist - phantom sight? - as pain lashes through his head, radiating from the open wounds. He merely twitches. "I'm sorry," he says, the two words the only indication of any misery.

<Velveteen> Once done she leaned back to inspect her work briefly before giving a small nod. “I know.” She said softly on response to his apology. He was like her husband in that regards. Apologies didn’t come easy for either for them so she knew that when they did they were genuine. “I know it is all kinda fucked up right now Jesse...but it will be ok. One way or another it will be ok. Of that I am certain.” She smiled a little then before tidying the small mess on the table and disposing of it. “Now..do you still not sleep? Can I trust you to stay or am I gonna have to chain you up?”

<Jesse Fforde> Clarity dawns, momentarily, like sunshine on the first day of Spring. Underneath it all, he knows that she wants to keep him here for his own good, and he'd prefer not to be questioned too heavily outside of the Eyrie - or even in the Eyrie itself - about how he has ended up eyeless. Not only that, but the fact that he is eyeless will require too much help that he won't want to ask for. How the hell is he going to get around? Time has at least calmed him, and now he knows that there is no other choice. "I'll stay," he says. "And if you don't mind, I think I'd like to sleep. I don't sleep because when I do, I end up in the Shadow Realm," he hesitates. "I figure it's something I could learn to control, but I haven't yet. Seeing as how you've robbed me of all magical ability, I think I can sleep," he says. He hasn't said as much, but he is exhausted, too - he'd been so close to sleep on the floor, with Grey's breathing in his ear. He'd been wrenched out of it, but sleep still cobwebbed his brain. The words were heavy, and bereft of emotion. He wants to curl up in the smallest ball possible and blink himself out of existence, that's what he really wants. But he won't say as much.

<Velveteen> “Probably the best thing for you too. Will help the healing and good, I want to be able to sleep too.” She leaned forward and curled her cool fingers about his wrist. “But just in case, all the security is on as well, so...you won’t be getting out without us knowing. You know...in case you go sleep walking.” She smirked and urged him to his feet with a tug at his arm. “I will help you into the lounge room. You can have the couch which I am sure is much more comfortable than the floor. She did not miss what he said about the shadow realm and perhaps that was something she could help him with later on but one thing at a time. She walked slowly guiding him through the large hut stopping at the couple of steps in their path to let him know they were there.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse isn't only physically exhausted, he's emotionally exhausted. He's suffered so many ups and downs in the space of a single night and he can't bear any more. He wonders out of what misguided selflessness Velveteen helps him; he doesn't ask her why she cares. Doesn't suggest that perhaps it's just some latent need to conform to a social expectation - an obligation, rather than an actual desire. None of it passes his lips as he stands and is led by Velveteen - as he slowly takes the stairs one at a time, nudging them with his feet so as not to trip and fall. He doesn't mention that she should leave him on the floor, because he doesn't care. Comfort means as little to him than the ant he might have just squashed with his foot. His mouth is dry and his throat aches, protests. His head is splitting in two. He descends into the silence he was once so accustomed to.

<Velveteen> Once there she leaves him by the couch. “If you get hungry Jesse, you can feed on Scott, give you a break from the blood bags. Not something I would let anyone other than Micah do but I appreciate that you aren’t going to make this any harder. If not Scott just let me know and I can summon a human or two for you.” She looked around letting her gaze longer on the fire, the soft warm glow filling the darkened room. If there is anything else you need well...unless you can get Scott I am afraid you are on your own.”

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse doesn't have to see the fire to know that it's there. He can hear it crackling merrily in the hearth, can feel the waves of warmth as they billow into the room. Heavily, he sits on the couch and nods. His tongue runs over his teeth; if it weren't for the fact that he is always, always hungry, he might tell Velveteen that it's a bad idea to offer her thrall for a meal. He might end up dead. But Jesse's thirst is a constant, and thus something that he has learned to ignore, if not control. Scott will be perfectly safe, though Jesse knows he'll find it slightly odd to drink from a willing source. One that's not Grey, anyway. And a male, to boot - he thinks he'd prefer Bunny. But beggars can't be choosers. "Thank you," he says. He won't lie down until she is gone. He feels awkward. He feels vulnerable. He doesn't want to have to be reliant on anyone's help, but due to his own bad decisions, the choice has been taken from him. He doesn't know what else to say. And it's only when Velveteen leaves, as he hears her footsteps taken away from him, that he lays back - he rolls over and faces the back of the couch. He curls up, tightly. And tries again to feel the hut moving in the breeze of the tree, a tree that moves with the Earth through the Universe. It's far easier to think of the bigger picture, than to think about himself. Finally, when the sun lifts into the sky, he falls asleep, dead to the world, blissfully unaware in complete, dreamless darkness.