--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
<Elliot d’Artois> The armchair was there because Elliot had dragged it there. A splash of colour, snavelled from a nearby op-shop. He had liked the look of it - the old upholstery, worn in some places but not so bad as to be rendered useless. Maybe once it was a deep burgundy, but now it's just a light red. Maybe once the flourished were a shining gold, but now they were just an off-colour white. Whatever the case, after this, the chair might need to be re-upholstered. The red would now stain it in splotches - blood, dribbling from god knows how many different wounds. Gunshots, the lot of them. Bullets lodged beneath the skin, scattered across his torso, deep in the abdomen, a couple in the leg. They would heal, he knew. Give it time. Which is what he was doing - giving it time. Sprawled, legs out in front of him, arms draped over the edges of the chair, head rested against the back of it. Hair stuck and glued together with muck. His own blood? Someone else's? He didn't know. Didn't really care. He licked his lips. Sighed. Hissed. And then remained absolutely still and unmoving.
<Pi d’Artois> Pi had been spending more time in the Den, this time for Cartis who had weighed her down with items he’d wanted her to create for him. He was turning into a right breaking and enter guy, which was good because she sometimes needed things to help make traps. Traps, that would help keep them safe. It kept running through her mind, this mantra about their lineage maintaining or having a modicum of peace somewhere in this city. It might not be something they would reach for immediately, but one day, maybe one day. She hadn’t looked up when she heard Elliot enter.
She was hauling supplies to the crafting table, setting them up before turning to get another load, when she spied him. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline, one gently arched a little higher than the other. Cartis was close, but not speaking but no one needed to. Pi walked towards the man, her gaze steady. She wasn’t panicked or worried. He was there and he was alive. He might be all shot to hell, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to live. Whatever he’d been doing he’d come out the bad end of it and she figured at this point he didn’t need lectures he already knew the tune to, but rather a helping hand to replace what those many holes had let leak out of his body. She shook her head as she got nearer. “You… are a mess.”
<Elliot d’Artois> It was hard sit completely still. Discomfort was rife throughout his long limbs, and he wanted to wriggle and shift to try to dislodge it. But, he knew that moving would only make it worse, so he just sat there. It was comforting, listening to Pi do whatever she was doing in the background. It lulled him, in a way. Yes, he knew he'd have to replace whatever was lost but he didn't ask for it. Not straight away. And maybe he wouldn't. He'd learned how to heal himself; he just had to get up and make his way to the shop where he'd purchase those expensive, shiny black little orbs that would give him the voodoo energy to help himself. He focused on the sound of Pi's footsteps. Was aware when they stopped in front of him. The corner of his lips curl, even though his eyes remained closed. For a moment. He blinked, then, and arched his own brow. "That hurts," he mumbles. "I thought I was pretty well groomed, thanks very much," he said. Then laughs. Which caused the bullets to shift. He coughed, then sighed a groan.
<Pi d’Artois> “Is this a new look then?” Pi teased, taking her cues from him and rolling with it good naturedly. Oh she’d offer her wrist/neck/femoral artery to the man soon enough but he could probably do with a bit of a distraction. “What would you call this? Blood stained sieve?” She said with a small smirk he obviously couldn’t see with his eyeballs closed like they were, but it made her feel good to lift her lips and give him ‘that’ look, even if he wasn’t aware enough to see it. Except she wasn’t a complete masochist (or was it sadist?) and she couldn’t tease him for too much longer before her protective nature got the best of her. “Come on then.” She urged, placing her small hand on his arm (hopefully somewhere he wasn’t shot up) and rubbed once. “Lets get some blood in you first and then I can tease you about all of these holes you’ve managed to get in you.”
Blood Stained Sieve [ Pi ]
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Lancaster
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Blood Stained Sieve [ Pi ]
C U R E D || siren - enhanced empathy - sweet blood - liar liar
some things just don't add up
i'm upside down i'm inside out
some things just don't add up
i'm upside down i'm inside out
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Pi dArtois
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- CrowNet Handle: Pi
Re: Blood Stained Sieve [ Pi ]
--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--
<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot opened his eyes. Come on then, she said. Did that mean 'come' as in 'let's go somewhere else'? Or just 'come, now, let's get this over and done with'. He reached across to take Pi's hand in his own. Curled his long fingers around her more delicate digits. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, before pushing those same knuckles against his cheek - feeling the smoothness against the roughness of his cheek. "I am demasculated. You have succeeded already," he said, still smiling. "Are you suggesting we move? I don't really feel like moving..." he said, pouting like a child.
<Pi d’Artois> She shook her head with a smile “Oh no, I’m not sure moving is an option either.” She replied appreciating then ignoring that pretty pout of his. Although it was very hard not to tease him some more just to see what else he would do. Squeezing his hand gently she opened her palm so the soft side of her finger tips trailed across his cheek. The action brought her closer, her belly at the same height as the hand he held. “I’m sure your d’emasculation won’t hurt a bit.” She coughed then, her attempt not to laugh, manoeuvring her hand sideways so it brushed his lips. “No moving, but maybe a little bite?”
<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot was aware that they weren't exactly alone. This deed they indulged in didn't really need to be hidden, but that didn't matter. Elliot glanced over his shoulder - but he was the one who'd suggested being unable to move. It might be better in some private nook somewhere, but here would do. Yes, a little bite. Elliot kissed the tender skin on the inside of Pi's wrist; his free arm snaked around her waist. Fangs elongated, and finally pressed into the skin, opening it up to allow the gushing, sweet blood to slide over his tongue. He closed his eyes again; he revelled in the taste, in that singular sensation that he had grown to love. That he had grown addicted to. Canines extracted from the skin, so as to cause Pi less pain, but his tongue massaged the skin, pushing, pulling the blood from the wound.
<Pi d’Artois> Pi ran the fingers of her free hand through his messy mop, bypassing whatever gunk had managed to collect itself on one side of his head and threading her fingers knowledgeably through until they became entangled. She sifted his hair, pulling him gently closer and holding him close as he drank. So many would denounce them for how Elliot fed For reasons only the Elders who had died before them understood, with their ancient rules, apparently this was so very wrong. An act they called unnatural. But Pi didn’t understand why. It was like those who believed once that their world was flat. Technology and medical advances had helped create a scenario where they could feed one another without the need to feed on ‘humans’.
That their secrecy could be preserved better by feeding as she did for Elliot and for her to drink blood bags as she had done for months. She hadn’t gone near a human in over a year, maybe more. When he was done she pulled her wrist away, freeing the other hand (and wrist) to him. “More?” she offered… knowing that his wounds (what she could see of them) would surely need more than what he’d taken. No. She didn’t care what the Elders thought, or the rational behind their antiquated rules. It was a new age, a hundred years and more past the time when those rules were created. This wasn’t wrong at all. In her mind. This way of feeding, was very… very right.
<Elliot d’Artois> The act of feeding wasn't healing Elliot in any way, per se. With each swallowed mouthful, however, he found his energy coming back to him - his robustness. The burn of hunger in the back of his throat became more of a simmer than a desperation; the feel of Pi's fingers through the lengths of his hair was a comfort. When he fed from her, he felt connected to her in a way he wasn't connected to anyone else. Her life sustained him, and made him whole again. The wounds themselves would heal in a night or two, the body naturally ejecting the bullets that did not belong. He would have to deal with the discomfort that his mistakes had lumped upon him. He should have stopped and recuperated after the first bullet had been lodged, but he was stubborn. And he kept going. And he got clumsy. Which afforded him more bullets. But here was Pi, making up for the losses. And he loved her for it.
He wanted more. Of course he wanted more. He wasn't sure how much he had lost - it wasn't as if he had measured. But instinctually, he knew that he was not done. That his body had not yet had its fill. He stopped, anyway - maybe out of courtesy for his lover. Not expecting that she would offer again so soon. Elliot mumbled, indecipherable, under his breath, as he nodded. Something about sorries, and love. He took the other hand, the freed wrist, in his grasp. The same ritual was performed, the tender kiss, the bite - not wanting to cause any pain or discomfort. Succumbing to the comfort of the act, the rightness of it, drinking slow, and yet with relish.
<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot opened his eyes. Come on then, she said. Did that mean 'come' as in 'let's go somewhere else'? Or just 'come, now, let's get this over and done with'. He reached across to take Pi's hand in his own. Curled his long fingers around her more delicate digits. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, before pushing those same knuckles against his cheek - feeling the smoothness against the roughness of his cheek. "I am demasculated. You have succeeded already," he said, still smiling. "Are you suggesting we move? I don't really feel like moving..." he said, pouting like a child.
<Pi d’Artois> She shook her head with a smile “Oh no, I’m not sure moving is an option either.” She replied appreciating then ignoring that pretty pout of his. Although it was very hard not to tease him some more just to see what else he would do. Squeezing his hand gently she opened her palm so the soft side of her finger tips trailed across his cheek. The action brought her closer, her belly at the same height as the hand he held. “I’m sure your d’emasculation won’t hurt a bit.” She coughed then, her attempt not to laugh, manoeuvring her hand sideways so it brushed his lips. “No moving, but maybe a little bite?”
<Elliot d’Artois> Elliot was aware that they weren't exactly alone. This deed they indulged in didn't really need to be hidden, but that didn't matter. Elliot glanced over his shoulder - but he was the one who'd suggested being unable to move. It might be better in some private nook somewhere, but here would do. Yes, a little bite. Elliot kissed the tender skin on the inside of Pi's wrist; his free arm snaked around her waist. Fangs elongated, and finally pressed into the skin, opening it up to allow the gushing, sweet blood to slide over his tongue. He closed his eyes again; he revelled in the taste, in that singular sensation that he had grown to love. That he had grown addicted to. Canines extracted from the skin, so as to cause Pi less pain, but his tongue massaged the skin, pushing, pulling the blood from the wound.
<Pi d’Artois> Pi ran the fingers of her free hand through his messy mop, bypassing whatever gunk had managed to collect itself on one side of his head and threading her fingers knowledgeably through until they became entangled. She sifted his hair, pulling him gently closer and holding him close as he drank. So many would denounce them for how Elliot fed For reasons only the Elders who had died before them understood, with their ancient rules, apparently this was so very wrong. An act they called unnatural. But Pi didn’t understand why. It was like those who believed once that their world was flat. Technology and medical advances had helped create a scenario where they could feed one another without the need to feed on ‘humans’.
That their secrecy could be preserved better by feeding as she did for Elliot and for her to drink blood bags as she had done for months. She hadn’t gone near a human in over a year, maybe more. When he was done she pulled her wrist away, freeing the other hand (and wrist) to him. “More?” she offered… knowing that his wounds (what she could see of them) would surely need more than what he’d taken. No. She didn’t care what the Elders thought, or the rational behind their antiquated rules. It was a new age, a hundred years and more past the time when those rules were created. This wasn’t wrong at all. In her mind. This way of feeding, was very… very right.
<Elliot d’Artois> The act of feeding wasn't healing Elliot in any way, per se. With each swallowed mouthful, however, he found his energy coming back to him - his robustness. The burn of hunger in the back of his throat became more of a simmer than a desperation; the feel of Pi's fingers through the lengths of his hair was a comfort. When he fed from her, he felt connected to her in a way he wasn't connected to anyone else. Her life sustained him, and made him whole again. The wounds themselves would heal in a night or two, the body naturally ejecting the bullets that did not belong. He would have to deal with the discomfort that his mistakes had lumped upon him. He should have stopped and recuperated after the first bullet had been lodged, but he was stubborn. And he kept going. And he got clumsy. Which afforded him more bullets. But here was Pi, making up for the losses. And he loved her for it.
He wanted more. Of course he wanted more. He wasn't sure how much he had lost - it wasn't as if he had measured. But instinctually, he knew that he was not done. That his body had not yet had its fill. He stopped, anyway - maybe out of courtesy for his lover. Not expecting that she would offer again so soon. Elliot mumbled, indecipherable, under his breath, as he nodded. Something about sorries, and love. He took the other hand, the freed wrist, in his grasp. The same ritual was performed, the tender kiss, the bite - not wanting to cause any pain or discomfort. Succumbing to the comfort of the act, the rightness of it, drinking slow, and yet with relish.
K I L L E R || E L L I O T ' S
CANIDAE || d'ARTOIS
CANIDAE || d'ARTOIS