Run [Closed]

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse had heard Axel, and something had shrivelled inside.

The fact that Axel thought anything was under control was laughable. This is part of the reason why Jesse had hidden himself away for two weeks. And this whole scene is just evidence that he shouldn’t have come out. He should have stayed there. He should take up the offer of leave; let everyone know that he’s not available to meet but that he can talk on the phone, maybe—or that he’ll respond to emergencies only. He can’t trust himself around people. Around any kind of person. Those he cares about he’ll push away, and those he doesn’t care about will…

…well, maybe they’ll die. Or they’ll take Jesse down. The Necromancer doesn’t seem to care either way.

In fact, the whole thing seems to fall into some kind of chaotic confusion and Jesse laughs. He laughs at the woman and her retort to Axel. Laughs because she thinks she can say when enough is enough. He laughs because the dog’s teeth have sunk into the denim of his jeans, into his flesh, tearing through both to draw blood. The pain in his leg is enough distraction for the human—because he doesn’t smell or feel like a vampire—to jerk back and smack Jesse across the cheek. Hardly fatal wounds from either the human or the dog, which is exactly why Jesse laughs.

Maybe it is Grey’s admonition that keeps Jesse from spinning around to break the dog’s neck. Or maybe either way it’s just a deep understanding of the animal’s instinct; of his loyalty toward his master. Jesse deserves the dog’s bite. The dog hadn’t sought to kill Jesse. It had sought only to pull him away from his master. Either way, the dog is allowed its escape. It hurtles ahead of the human, who Jesse has let go. The human stumbles and begins to run, first clumsy but then picking up speed.

But Jesse’s curiosity has not been sated. There are thoughts flinging through his brain at a million miles per hour. He should leave. He should let the guy go and just be done with the whole thing, but he had succeeded in doing what he had wanted to. He had been assured of the human’s canines—that they were not human canines at all, but vampiric ones.

There’s not enough time to think about it properly; to reason it out in his head. There’s not enough time to realise exactly what the human is, or what he does. And Jesse still wants answers. With nothing to hinder him but a flesh wound on his calf that sends a stinging sensation through his entire leg, Jesse lunges after the human.

”Keep her away, Axel!” he calls out. He wants to be alone with this human. That’s how he thought it would be. Telling Axel to deal with the blonde is his best way to ensure some quality alone time with the human, which Jesse is soon catching up to. His breath heaves in his chest as he reaches for the jacket, intending to pull the human up in a choke hold. Intending to ask him just one simple question: What are you?

[Axel Rosen]

Turning just in time to see the fangs as the skin of the lip is pulled back, a look of wonder comes over his face. A human with fangs is something that is, as far as he knows, unheard of. Not only unheard of but incredible and he wants to know more. Kidnap the kid, do stress tests, see what the kid can handle, these are the things that Axel has in mind. He thinks better of doing it right here. The blond, persistent one she is, obviously didn’t get the hint that there was no need for her here. Her retort is just barely heard, but enough to have Axel wave his hand at her. It’s as if he’s dismissing her to go play in the street. “Perhaps you should mind your own and people wouldn’t have to lie?” His tone is cold, unfeeling, as if a warning not to interfere; especially after her outburst.

The animal that was in front of Jesse quickly maneuvers and makes its way behind him, so that it can dig it’s teeth into the leg. Sacrilegious to harm a God, at least in Axel’s opinion of his sire. He doesn’t even have time to analyze the thought of his sire as a God. It’s not the first time he’s done it tonight or since he’s been back to the city since leaving. Even before he left he felt it but tried to conceal it, push it down.

The human, fanged human, rarity, is commanding the dog to release and run. It’s a good idea. Axel would have chased it down but things are happening rather quickly, and Jesse’s just been smacked. That same part of him flares up. The human runs and Axel mutters, getting ready to sprint after him, “If I catch you, you’ll beg forgiveness.” He goes to take a step, moving forward to go in pursuit, but he hears a laugh. The laughter of a familiar voice. Jesse’s voice. A little part of him is trying to tug at his reason, that something is wrong. Laughter isn’t the response that he’d have expected from this. Honestly, Axel would have expected to see the dog dead, the human crippled and the woman motioned along as if nothing happened. This isn’t what transpires.

Instead of running after the human, he’s in a slow walk behind his sire, as if waiting for Jesse to take off first. Jesse finally does begin running, and just as Axel’s about to follow in behind there is a command given. His speed slows, he nods his head. Obedience from him to his sire is as if it’s something that’s been conditioned into him at this point. Turning around he grins at the woman and stands between her and the pair sprinting down the street. Axel would love to chase down his sire as well, figure out why he’s laughing like a bad movie villain… but that wasn’t the order.

“Just you and me.” He’s amused and eager to do his sire’s exact words. He feels like he has a bit of his spiritual energy left at hand, enough to teleport her across the city a few times if he needs to. If it were to land. He doesn’t want to do harm to her, just hold her back. A distraction.

[Charisma]

I’m frozen by the fear in me.

The line had never be as true as it was in that moment. The second the vicious claws had emerged, fear had caused her to be rooted in place. She had been so engrossed in the monstrosity, that she had forgotten for a second that she was supposed to be protecting someone. What good are you to him, if you cannot control yourself, Melody? This is not how you were raised. This is not you! The soft vibration of the voice in her skull broke her concentration, and as if remembering her situation, her gaze snapped back towards the towering man. She had come to just in time to see the dog run into the night, and she wasn’t surprised to feel the relief as it flooded her system. She had always been an advocate for the innocent, and animals were among the most coveted and protected. Hippy.

Opting to continue to tune out the voice, she instead focused on Jesse. Out of the trio, he was the one that screamed disaster. She felt it to her core, the unease he brought with him. It was in the tautness of his muscles, the clenching of his jaw. Though his eyes were hidden, she was more than certain she would see something akin to insanity dancing in the unknown depths of his gaze. She did not have to possess the powers of empathy to know that this man was battling a demon bigger than her. If he was able to hold his own against the darkness, there was no hope that she could pull him out. He was a virtual stranger, and yet she found herself unable to walk away. Instead, the urge to curl her fingers into the human’s shirt and pull him away overpowered her own self-preservation, but it hadn’t mattered.

Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, the human had run, leaving her to stand in shock. “Merde, vous êtes si très stupide,” she snapped under her breath as she shoved her fingers through her hair. She had forgotten about the claws, and thankfully, they had seemed to disappear. With an agitated sigh, she watched as Jesse took off after him, his growled command causing a brow to raise. “If you think you can control me, you are sorely mistaken,” she said quietly, her arms crossing over her breasts. “This has become quite ridiculous, I hope you realize this. Yet, I find myself unable to turn away and abandon him. It is rather odd, and I am certain somewhere, Velveteen is laughing at my predicament.”

In truth, she believed that her killer watched her every move. It seemed like something the other would do, and she had yet to been proven otherwise, as she seemed to be everywhere. “Forgive me. I hope you understand, sir, that I cannot leave him to his fate. It is not right.” She offered the stranger a reserved smile before her eyes closed. Focusing her attention on the path ahead, she grit her teeth as the power took control and brought with it a rush of pure energy. The world around her blurred as she ran faster than any mortal could dream, her feet feeling as if they barely touched the pavement. She hadn’t a clue what other powers the man possessed, but she knew she had to try. She was far too stubborn to simply sit still and smile.

You are such a foolish little girl, Melody.

Translation (Rough): ****, you are so very stupid.

[Grey Weston]

He ran. He ran until his lungs burned, the air thin and brittle in his lungs. He ran faster than logic dictated should have been possible. For a human, at least. It was a small mercy, granted by the residual side effects of his most recent feeding. The donor in question had been indulgent, if not precisely willing. The effects of which had been all too brief. They were rapidly dwindling, leaving his body to war with its fatigue. The fatigue that was sharpened by the sudden twinge along his ribs. It was a sharp pain; enough to force his breath to hitch. His lungs struggled to compensate for the sudden pain, drawing in air in shallow gasps. It did nothing to lessen the gradually blossoming discomfort that raced up his side. He was slowing. The realization was vaguely resigned.

Grey’s gaze was restless as it swept along the sidewalk. It was virtually empty at that hour, other than for a handful of patrons spilling out of dark doorways, half-choked with the haze of smoke. Further up the block, the throaty growl of muffled subwoofers struck the pavement, the noise like a second pulse under his feet, before growing thinner. More distant, as the car drove on. He shied away from the narrow alleyways, guided by a combination of blind instinct and familiarity. There were things that hungered there, too. Hunkered low and watchful. Desperate people. People who carried grudges. He darted across the street, spurred by the sound of Jesse’s racing footsteps behind him.

The harsh squeal of tires and the indignant bleat of a horn reached barely registered. His eyes slanted against the sodium glare of headlights, but he didn’t slow. His feet hit the pavement a second later, and he started to duck down an alley. It was open at the end; not barred by chain link. A few bins crowded the entrance. Easy enough to slip by. His hand had only just started to slip inside of his pocket, fingers closing around the familiar worn, plastic casing of his phone, when Jesse’s fingers closed around the back of his jacket. His breath hissed from his lungs. He tightened his grip on his phone, intending to smash the thing against the man’s temple if need be.

He was arrested mid-motion. A solid arm coiled heavily around his neck, pressuring against his windpipe. Trapping what thin breath he had left, before it escaped in a low, choked exhale. He could feel the other man’s breath against his cheek, cool and mildly unpleasant. A question rasped against his ear, biting through the white noise that filled his head. What are you? He attempted to draw breath to respond. And couldn’t. A thin, strangled noise slid from him; panic-tinged and shallow. He thrashed against Jesse’s hold; twisting violently and ineffectually. He reached up blindly with his free hand, fingers crawling across Jesse’s jaw, his cheek. Reaching higher, until fingertips found the corner of his eyes. They curled inwards, thumbs attempting to pressure into that small, wet cavity. “I…” He managed, voice thick and grating, “Eat things like you.”

Unnoticed, the thumb of his left hand carefully pressed the ‘2’ on the keypad.

[Jesse Fforde]

Jesse pays no attention to what’s happening behind him. He had issued Axel an order and he assumes the man will follow through, or die trying. Axel has this thing, lately, where he seems to want to please Jesse and whatever way he can. Although Jesse finds it a little weird, how gung ho he is, it’s still better than nothing. Better than the majority of his other progeny afford him. Better than…

…and that’s what he had to remind himself, isn’t it? Here, with this other-than-human in his grasp. Where there are swirling notions of taking blood but giving it back; where he could notice the other’s tattoos and think, just because he has ink etched into his skin that he’s worthy? **** that. No. No, he has to tell himself. Over and over. No more forcing. No more plucking random strangers off the street to make them immortal; to bring them into the fold and give them something they don’t appreciate. Don’t bring in anyone else who thinks respect is a fleeting thing, who refuses to listen, who refuses to stay. The metaphorical knife twists in Jesse’s chest even in that split moment as he realises, yet again, how few have decided to stick around.

But he can’t think about that now. Not in the heat of the moment with this scrawny man trying to claw at his skin. A ragged shout growls from Jesse chest as a nail manages to slice through cornea—he half wonders whether the universe has something against his eyes, wanting to rid him of them completely. His head rears back and his lips curl back. Beneath them, his teeth glint menacingly.

No, he tells himself. No, he won’t drain this body of its hot delicious blood, and feed it back again. Not the latter half, anyway. But, he can prove to this thrashing creature that it is, in fact, the other way around. It should have clicked in Jesse’s brain, then and there, what he was dealing with. He knows about blood thieves, that they exist. He’s never encountered one before, however. Never dealt with one. Never spoken to one at length. He doesn’t know what it would do to him if he were to feed from one.

But he can hear the pounding of the blood through his man’s chest; he can feel the heat of it beneath his skin, burning now with the desire for freedom. That peculiar human instinct to survive. There’s an ache in Jesse’s jaw, and a rabid thirst tearing out his throat; there’s an emptiness to his veins that he wants only to satiate. And he’s done playing with his food. He’s done with his curiosity. His patience has run out, and regardless of what’s going on around him—he has gone off the rails completely, by this point—his only goal now is to feed.

Rather than risk being completely blinded by this man’s roaming hands, Jesse uses whatever force necessary to shove his prey up against the nearest wall; he does his utmost to keep those hands from flailing and struggling. And he lunges for his prey’s throat, for the throbbing vein beneath, the entire weight of his body trapping Weston against the wall. There’s blood seeping from the corner of his eye, which is swollen, the lid closed.

He doesn’t have to tell this human that Jesse’s the one who’s going to be doing the eating. He instead intends to prove this by practical demonstration.

[Axel Rosen]

Seeing her preparation to do something, unsure of what it is at the precise moment because he’s unaware of her nature. Just as her body becomes a blur of motion he realizes what he has to do in order to keep her back. He really only has one shot at this. Axel is lucky that most of humanity’s instinct is to stray away from violence when it’s not their concern; thus, the the street is starting to wan from it’s current amount. As his hand is stretched out toward her, he can see the blur of motion to his right and passing him. Her movement makes him almost feel like he is being affected by ma de mer.

With the move of his hand he attempts to rip her from reality and place her further back in the city. His attempt is to place her a few blocks in the opposite direction, concentrating on a specific place in the city. For a brief moment, after he attempts to use this power on her, he turns his head toward the direction of his sire. They’re too far away for him to hear what is happening, but he can definitely see it. Jesse has the human in hand. Axel worries and scans the distant area for humans quickly. Little, again, sheep fleeing from violence as best they can.

Human is forced against the wall, Jesse’s hand around his throat. At least this human isn’t nearly as remarkable as he looks from the external experience. The fangs are what really gets to him and it had worried him for Jesse’s safety for just a moment. Seems that everything is seemingly in order. Not the best order, more like organized chaos, but he’s been given his task. So he’ll stick to it.

Those sunglass armored eyes look also for the woman. The blond. Should he see even a brush stroke-like blur of movement he’ll teleport himself to cut her off. Trip her or attempt to, but should he see nothing he’ll teleport in the other direction. He’s noticed that those not used to being transported in such a way that it can be disorienting. He hopes that be the case if his power worked on her so he can cut her off again. Should he have to this time he’ll make use of his last remaining ability to use his powers to cut off her ability to use hers.

[Charisma]

She felt his power mingle with her own, and her eyes narrowed. He was stronger than her, and the second her heel touched the pavement behind Jesse and his prey, she felt herself yanked back into the other man’s side. Something inside of her snapped, and a low growl vibrated from her throat as her eyes moved to his. “Do not think to touch me again,” she hissed, pushing away from him and dusting off her dress. Her hands shook, and it was clear that she was out of her element. She could hardly control her emotions, how did she expect to be some poor soul’s savior? That were no protecting him, no shielding him from whatever nightmare he was about to endure. It saddened her heart, and she lowered her gaze.

She was powerless.

It angered her.

“Do whatever you wish. Be the villain in this piece. I can see that you have shut down. There is no life in your eyes. It must be a sad, lonely existence.” Biting into her lower lip, she closed her eyes as her sibling’s voice quietly entered her thoughts. For a second, she wondered if he had followed her after all, but as she opened her eyes and looked around, she noted it was still just her and the strange, tall, unforgiving monster of a man. “Do not worry about me. I will not interfere. Velveteen has asked that I continue my training, and my sibling wishes for me to return to his side. I do not wish to disappoint them.”

Shaking her head, she carefully took a step away from him and headed in the opposite direction. She wondered if he would choose to not trust her, to follow her like a hunter stalking prey as she made her way down the quiet street. She hoped he would be too interested in whatever the other man was doing to give her disappearance another thought. Hunger twisted in her stomach as she focused on the ground, and she realized that though the panic had faded, she felt no better than she had when she took off from the Flats.

Instead, she felt a hundred times worse.

[Grey Weston]

There was a sickening give as Grey's nail sank home. The sensation of a strangely viscous damp that crowded underneath his nail, smeared across the first knuckle of his thumb. A mixture of semi-transparent liquid, thick and vaguely gelatinous, trickled across his skin, running across the back of his hand. The residue was slick. Devoid of warmth. He recoiled then, his hand wrenching free, a creeping mixture of revulsion and instinctual horror forcing a shudder to trip down his spine. Jesse's head reared back, the dim light of the streetlamps briefly illuminating the gleam of his fangs. The posture reminded Grey of a documentary he'd once seen. It detailed the life of South American tarantulas. He'd failed to retain much information about the arachnids; spiders never held much interest for the youth. Except for their hunting habits. He remembered, distantly, that the tarantula species rarely formed webs, preferring to chase down and overpower their prey. The telltale sign of an impending bite was when they drew back to expose their fangs.

People think of the weirdest **** in their final moments. He tensed, bracing for the retaliation. The impact of his body hitting the wall forced the air from his lungs, the noise thin and ragged. Beneath his exhale was another sound; muted but instinct. A wet snap, barely muffled through a layer of skin and muscle. A low, pained inhale escaped him, uneven and rasping. Wheezing. There was a crackling to the shallow breaths he took; like the hiss of white noise. His phone, still clutched in his left hand, clattered noisily to the ground a split second later, his grip loosened as Jesse's hands secured his wrists. He couldn't move, he realized. Not with the weight of the other man pinned solidly against his back. Certainly not with what was almost assuredly a fractured rib. Even so, it doesn't keep him from kicking out, hoping to catch his captor in the knee, force his leg to buckle. The motion is blind, and wide of its mark. A last, futile attempt.

The feel of Jesse's fangs sinking home registered a split second later. For a moment, he was still, as limp as a kitten seized and dangled by its scruff, gaze blank. Senses overwhelmed, struggling to properly orient. Largely undecided as to what hurt worse. His breath came as a hiss, sucked in through his teeth. A guttural noise of frustration followed on its heels, and his head jerked, the gesture stiff and spasmodic. Attempting to twist aside and dislodge Jesse's grip. The pain was immediate, skin tensing, threatening to tear. It forced him to still, thoughts racing. His hands. Where were his...? He struggled to focus, battle through the haze settling over his thoughts. His mouth gave a wry twist. Hands where I can see them. His head tipped forward, resting against the rough brick.

Something caught at the corner of his eye. His gaze traveled up, following the line of Jesse's wrists. He considered. It was, on the face of it, ******* insane. Jesse had already proven wildly unpredictable; there was no telling how he'd react if he was bitten in turn. For a brief, grim second, he envisioned himself as a pulpy mass of ruined flesh and protruding bones, left to crumple at the foot of the wall. And then he was stretching, nearly standing on his toes in an effort to reach the inside of Jesse's wrist. His lips peeled back a second later, head snapping forward in a desperate lunge, seeking to slide his own fangs home. There was really only one, persistent thought occupying his mind: to take back what was his.

[Jesse Fforde]

The blood’s heat is divine. Blood bags never suffice, never. Why? Because the blood in them is stale, dead blood. It isn’t alive anymore. Not as alive as the stuff that comes straight from the vein. Not pumping, thriving, kicking with adrenaline and life like this blood is. As if every single minute of this young man’s life is written into the very cells that Jesse now consumes; he is consuming a life, and it is euphoric. The lack of vision in that one eye is forgotten; the very pain is forgotten as the crimson cruor gushes over Jesse’s tongue, as he swallows and tightens his grip if only so that he can sink his canines deeper so that he can drain harder, faster. The human would feel a vibration against his neck, perhaps—a voiceless growl of satisfaction. The only time that thirst ever goes away, the only time that scratching, burning, tortuous ache in Jesse’s throat goes away is when it’s coated in blood.

Jesse swoons into the sensation. Cool breeze licks at his hair and dances over the drying blood on his cheek, from where his eyes had been punctured. It flutters against his clothing, his skin prickling beneath. In that moment, he is a monster; his back his hunched and his body tense, legs spread, and absolutely no thought for the man in his grip, and whether he should live or die. Jesse no longer cares what he is. No longer cares that there’s a faint taint to his blood. It is hot and it is living and it soothes that constant itch. The restless rage that he’d been victim to, the very same one that had caused him to flee from his solitude as he had, had only led him to this. Now it ebbs, having got what it wanted. In part. In part…

…A shout crawls from Jesse’s throat as feels teeth slice through the tendons of his wrist. Blood bubbles from the wound he’d made in the human’s neck. Jesse jerks—an instinctive reaction to the sudden sting and tear—which dislodges his own canines from that succulent skin. Blood surges from the wound, wasted as it rolls over skin, and down over collarbone.

The first instinct, of course, is to tear his own wrist away and snap the human’s neck for even daring. But there’s one catch. One simple matter of a second addiction. The only other thing that Jesse craves, now, the denial of which is sending him downwards in a spiral that could lead to inevitable death. The growl of aggression gets stuck in Jesse’s throat as he feels it. It’s not just a bite, is it? This human with his baby canines isn’t just a mere human, is he? A defence mechanism, maybe, but Jesse feels the tug.

Jesse is a monster of contradictory nature. He is addicted to taking and consuming blood, but he is also addicted to giving it away. So, while he should rear back and kick this guy’s teeth in, he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows that growl with the last of the human’s blood—he also swallows the moan that threatens to unleash itself. He stands, his one good sharp eye upon this thief with his teeth sunk deep into his wrist, blood staining lips and chin. And he seems to relax, then. Like a cat that goes limp when grasped firmly by the scruff, Jesse’s clenched fist uncurls, allowing the blood to flow faster, more freely.

Although the itch of thirst slowly builds its strength, Jesse doesn’t continue to feed. Instead, his head falls, his forehead resting on the back of his prey’s shoulder; for, in that moment, the sensation of giving blood is far superior to that of taking it. When a person has several addictions, there’s always one that trumps the other. And, in that moment, Jesse feels as if he is on the edge of something. Yes…if that first gush of hot blood was euphoric, this? This was ten times better.

[Axel Rosen]

After a little bit of high-horse preachiness that the woman has to tell him, he shrugs his shoulder and then turns around. She doesn’t understand, at least yet, that all vampires are ‘monsters’. All vampires are ‘the bad guy’. Why would anyone bring someone else into this life without great tribulation if the sire were a good person? Really siring someone into this life should be something that honestly takes years to decide, and as far as he’s noticed it takes a few months if not weeks. The childer of these vampires are often no better than their sires; they take the lives of others, learn to kill and drink blood. Conclusion - those with little humanity left in them are sired to be vampires, and lose more as they live in the night.

Though his mission is accomplished and he shrugs her off, unsure if she’ll try to return. He keeps his eyes out for her, keeping them glared toward his sire. He’s prepared to, if he sees a blur going past him again, attempt to block her powers and halt her movement dead. His steps back toward his sire, his hands move into his pockets.

Closer and closer the childe gets to his sire as he looks to Jesse. He’s feeding and on a street, Axel panics, looking around. Trying to make sure that there are humans paying attention to what is going. As he gets closer he realizes that the feeding has stopped and that Jesse is bleeding, by his own means. Coming close now, just in ear shot, Axel keeps attention to what is going on, but doing his best to make sure that no one else turns their eyes in this direction. His sire can’t get caught with a violation or that would be bad for both of them.