Dark Chocolate [Open]

[Myk]

It was impolite to eavesdrop, but a jury would probably be more inclined to condemn Myk for the dead man slumped against the wall of the alleyway rather than listening in on another man’s phone call. It seemed stupid to even pretend that he couldn’t hear the conversation that was being rather casually vocalised by two boisterous buddies – not to mention one other buddy in the background a little later on – but Myk decided that he should probably give the mortal some space. Elegant, purposeful steps carried the white-haired man away from the other, and toward the corpse; tucking the black marker pen into his trouser pocket at he did so. Myk approached slowly like a cat inspecting potential prey; confident and quiet, and on edge the whole while. Of course it was unlikely that the dead man, whose head was hanging almost comically from his neck, would rise up and bite him, but then, Zombies did exist and Myk hadn’t the foggiest idea how those things had come into being. Maybe it was a rogue Vampire bite that had made them turn into the living, chomping dead themselves, and how would he even know the difference? Usually when he’d killed a mortal, Myk was too indisposed by drugs or delusions to follow the aftermath, so it was rare for him to come face-to-face with his crimes. This would require as thorough an investigation as time would allow.

With the toe of his boot, Myk gave the corpse a light nudge before stepping briskly backward – out of the range of any potential lunge. Yet, the body had jerked naturally enough to give Myk the impression that no life – supernatural or otherwise – was in possession of the body. The Telepath crept back toward the hunk of meat, hands fidgeting in front of him as he conspired about his next moves. Ideally he would have liked to dispose of the body, or in the very least he would like to remove all traces of himself. Nevertheless, Myk rather doubted that the CSI team in Harper Rock was particularly interested or invested in solving the mysteries surrounding who was killing whom. The death toll in this city had to be astronomical as it was, and when you start to factor in causes of death, it doesn’t take a genius to know that something is terribly, horribly wrong here. Surely there aren’t that many bears and mountain lions about that could be blamed for all these gruesome deaths, and surely since the military were visibly active in the area, that they knew something even if they didn’t know everything. By now, Myk suspected that he was probably already tagged and flagged as being one of those special individuals that the government were keeping an eye on. Vampire kind really was kidding itself if it thought that the Masquerade had ever existed in the first place, never mind this ******** about trying to protect it at all costs.

Myk edged away from the corpse again, his mind lingering on apathetic thoughts, convincing him that it wasn’t worth the effort to bother covering his tracks. After all, the Telepath had never been particularly careful and no harm had come to him yet. He’d thoughtlessly dispatched plenty of law enforcers, hunters, government agents, and mortals in his time, and he wasn’t even the most violent of his kind. With all this bloodshed, could anyone think that the Vampire populace was totally unknown to the world? It was silly really. A mere two hundred years had passed since their kind had been uncovered to such a degree that a holocaust had ensued. History always remembers atrocities, and in the same vein that no one will ever forgive Hitler for killing all those thousands of people, nobody would have forgotten that bunch of people in Canada either. Whether they remembered them as Vampires or not, didn’t actually matter. Something was weird enough about them that they should have been remembered. Besides, with all the weird **** that was going on day-by-day, it was impossible to suppose that the government – in the very least – were not aware of who they all were and what they were doing. The only thing that stayed the hands of these mortals compared to those two hundred years ago, was fear of retaliation. Vampires were powerful enemies, and you didn’t start a war with a culture you didn’t think you could crush permanently. Humanity had evolved since the days of setting the **** that it didn’t understand on fire, nowadays they let you set yourselves on fire and toasted marshmallows over your embers…

All too readily, Myk returned from the vast side-tracking of his thoughts and became aware of the sounds around him again. Sensitive ears piqued to the dappling of water on cement, to voices rumbling like insects in the distance, and to footsteps echoing around him. A breeze stirred, not near strong enough to sway his hair which hung around his shoulders like stalactites, but enough to tease his skin like a cold breath of death. Myk heard words in a voice he recognised; he wanted to turn around, smile and pretend everything was fine and he wasn’t having another moment, but didn’t immediately. Pewter eyes continued to stare at the corpse as though they had fossilised, as though his whole body had turned to stone. Indecision had turned him into a statue, yet what felt like hours of staring into space to the Telepath was milliseconds to the mortal. When Myk had finally turned, pouring molten pewter into burnished gold, there had been just two words into the man’s comment. A tingle of desire flowed into him immediately, shaking loose his strength and discomfort upon hearing the remainder of those words. They would have the place for hours, would they? And what would they possibly do for hours at a time? Myk might have had an idea or two for every second of alone time they could share, but perhaps he should start with just explaining himself. He’d planned to do that anyway, so, he could call that foreplay.

Having already been kidnapped tonight by a Human – one that may have seemed just as harmless as this one if Myk could remember – alarm bells should have been ringing in his head by now. It shouldn’t have been this easy to lure a Vampire to a private space, to manipulate a powerful and intelligent creature as easy as it was to mould warm clay. Unfortunately for the Telepath, fear was just not a great motivator and paranoia certainly wasn’t a major contender among his psychoses. The white-haired male followed the mortal like a foolishly loyal pup. Whistling away like he was, the mortal had Myk practically summoned to his heel the whole journey. They crossed the street, away from the café, and Myk almost felt relieved when they kept to alleyways and side streets. It was best to stay out of sight, even if Myk was potentially walking toward his demise. It wasn’t arrogance that carried in his steps so much as it was indifference. Even if this mortal had somehow been tricking the delusional Telepath all along with friendliness and charming naivety, Myk would willingly go with him. It was the promise of an adventure that staved off the threat of danger, of alarm, of worrying. Myk could take a punch, he could tolerate his skin being set on fire, he could stomach the tearing of muscle and the crack of bone, and he would greet death when it came like a long-lost friend.

“So, what is your name, stranger?” Myk asked after a few moments. “You have my name temporarily tattooed onto your hand, but I don’t know yours…”

[Jack Flynn (DELETED 7737)]

To Jack the whole thing was, once again, surreal. It wasn’t hard to guess that the strange, ethereal being he was now guiding down side streets and back alleys he’d only seen on a map once, was anything but human. Yet there had been almost something fragile in the expression they’d worn while staring at their own masterpiece, and oddly Jack had felt a pang of pity. Whatever they were (Jack wasn’t ready to make too many guesses yet; he probably wouldn’t ever be ready) they weren’t without some level of regret for their own wrong-doing. Jack wanted to tell them, this ‘Myk’ according to the etching on his hand, that it would be fine. They’d be okay. Even if he didn’t really know for sure that that was the truth. He didn’t say anything of the like in the end, but it was there in his eyes, a sort of sympathy as he tried to make awkward light of the moment. The air smelled sharp of rain, indicating a coming storm. It was quiet between them, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d expected.

Jack didn’t even entertain thoughts of mistreating the delicate but deadly figure, especially after watching Myk rip the throat out of a guy with a good deal more weight than himself. Aside from the fact he wouldn’t stand a chance, it just wasn’t his style. He was the kind who, instead of being worried about monsters, wondered at them. A bit of a mixed up melody to say the least, but it was just the odd little path he rolled down in life, not caring about the spike pit at the bottom. He’d roll with the punches, and in that odd way he and Myk were almost similar, taking life for what it was with less worry and concern over what lurked around the corners. Like blood-feasting beasts of prey, for example. The crisp air of evening had the unique effect of dulling his senses, yet keeping him energized and awake. He felt at ease in Myk’s presence, and likewise couldn’t help a light skip in his step even as they hid from public eye. It almost felt like some extreme mix of hide and seek and tag, and they were halfway towards the finish line in their deadly race when Myk spoke up.

Jack blinked owlishly, almost stopping where he was. Feeling a little sheepish, he let his palm bounce lightly off his forehead with a cheesy grin. “Crap, totally flew out of my brain. I’m Jack. Jack Flynn.” He picked up the pace again, giving a glance to the somewhat smudged marks over his hand. “Nice t’meetcha... Mike? Mik? Myk, right?” He felt a touch silly he couldn’t quite figure out the pronunciation, but he had to admit that it was a nice name, especially in writing. M-Y-K, three letters that looked like art next to one-another. He stared at it for an extra few minutes, then took a glance around their location. “Shouldn’t be too far.. I think. Never actually taken this route... Usually we just take the Ban Van, but I looked at a few maps so I.. Think we’re not lost.” Jack laughed a little, not really minding. Better to be lost in good company than found in bad, his dad used to say often. It was one of his favorite sayings, and so had become Jacks.

“Should be another few blocks that way,” he gestured ahead. Passing a knocked over trash bin, he stopped to straighten it before moving on. A small, easily unnoticed thing, and yet whenever he saw storm-beaten signs and the like, he couldn’t help stopping to straighten them. It wasn’t something people usually noticed him do, nor did he care if they did. It was just the right thing to do in the end. “It’s not perfect but it’s a decent place. Got a shower and all that, ‘nuff beds for the band.. It does the trick. Not like we’ve been there long either...” Aware that he was probably babbling on, he quickly shut his mouth and feel into an awkward silence, broken soon enough by an apology. “Eh, sorry.. I uh... Get a little carried away chatting, especially at night so uh, if I’m being annoying feel free to tell me to shut it.” A hand found the back of his neck, rubbing along the side sheepishly as his eyes locked on a bit of alley ground ahead of his feet.

[Myk]

It was always handy to have a name to assign to a face, even if Myk was unlikely to recall these things later on. Ordinarily, Myk would appraise an individual on sight – a reflex or habit that came from his exemplary curiosity. Myk just had to know everything about everything, and he couldn’t stop himself from utilising his supernatural gifts in the process. More often than not, these things happened without Myk consciously willing them into being. Scrutinising a target was done automatically in order to figure out what kind of person they were, and usually because he needed a reason to be bothered with them. Myk couldn’t explain how it worked exactly, but just by looking at someone he could see if they were the sporty sort, could tell if they were bookworms or thieves or gun-toting maniacs. It was like the little truths of the universe were whispered silently into his ear. The experience was intuition on steroids; a direct perception of fact that was independent of any reasoning process. It was the immediate apprehension of a person not inferred or determined by any experiences Myk had had of them before. The Telepath could simply know these people without ever having met them, and the more he wanted to know, the closer he had to look. He could read surface thoughts too – sometimes unintentionally – and could even pierce the skin of latent memories to feast on what squirted out. It was usually how he could appear psychic, knowing a person’s name without even having to ask for it, but it was always better to ask for it.

Jack Flynn had been interesting enough to the Telepath that any need to appraise him was withheld (and Myk had obviously been too distracted by all that was happening to focus anyway). Besides, this mortal seemed like too good a puzzle to be forced open and Myk was happy to wait for the pieces, clues and hints to be divulged as time went by. Learning that Jack was a member of a band was both intriguing and disconcerting to Myk, and it really didn’t take him long to remember exactly why boys in rock and roll bands made him anxious. Apparently, the white-haired male had a type, which just so happened to include amber-eyed men who liked music so much they made a career of it. The Telepath felt his stomach knotting as visions of his former lover flashed before his eyes. It was a terrible curse to have selective amnesia and not be able to have the power over the selection. There was plenty that Myk could happily forget, as well as things that he would love to remember, but most of all he longed to stop feeling like his heart was being pulled through his stomach whenever he recalled red hair and cat-like eyes. Myk would have to stop comparing Jack to Vasik if he was going to keep his lunch in place. Ordinarily he was rather apt at controlling his gag reflex, but such was the strength of mind over matter that such a thing might not be possible.

Although the Telepath felt the need to force a smile and take deep, calming breaths, he managed to pacify himself pretty easily. It was something about the way Jack had tried to pronounce his name that amused him, bringing this Cheshire cat smile into place on his pale face. People often had trouble with that three letter word and sometimes Myk wondered what his parents were up to when they decided to name their child that. The origin was questionable enough, convincing him that either his parents had made the moniker up to begin with, or they’d morphed a similar name into their liking. A little research had brought various possible contenders: Myka, Mykal, Myke, Mykel, Mykey, Myki, Mykhailo and Mykola. The predominance of which were Hebrew in nature and variations of the name Michael – associations and definitions included. All of these names could be shortened into the correct pronunciation too, which was basically M ih k, or Meek when his accent went a bit awry. So it really was understandable when people often thought Myk’s name was a contraction of a longer name, perhaps something normal, at least when it wasn’t written down. The spelling just threw all that logic into the air as the cross-dressing letter y, who liked to play vowel one day and consonant the next, could just as easily make sounds like sky and yellow and family. Jack had managed awfully well, at is happened and Myk gave the mortal a nod of approval.

As time moved on, it turned out that the Telepath wasn’t alone in his obscurities and eccentricities. As they’d continued to walk, Myk noticed that Jack had made time to straighten a knocked over trash canister like it was the most natural thing in the world. The psychoanalyst in Myk characterised the behaviour as a latent symptom of OCD, but then what was the difference between a small onset of a mental illness and being concerned about cleanliness, the environment, and the pride of one’s community? Maybe Jack didn’t need to recover the trash can because he was compelled to have everything in an orderly fashion, rather that he was polite and wanted to express credence to this new city. A little touch of civility and kindness can make someone’s whole day brighter. Instead of the waste disposal team coming upon yet another pile of waste, another capsized canister, they would find that this one was in its place. The relief here might just have been the difference between the team calling a strike or taking their anger out on innocent parties. Negativity easily festered in the hearts of man, and it is often the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary people, that can help keep the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love, like the small deed of putting a silly old trash can back in its place, can ripple outward and inspire the world to be better. Myk felt very fortunate to have found Jack, a torch guiding him to a better future, even if the location wasn’t entirely known.

“I like hearing you speak actually,” Myk offered, his low voice sitting like a layer of velvet on the cold air. “It’s… comforting.”

And it was. It was comforting because for once it wasn’t Myk doing all the talking, and for another, he actually knew the person was there, was corporeal and not some figment of his imagination or ghost of an undead creature he couldn’t see. Though, as much as Myk might have liked to explain what he meant, he didn’t want Jack to realise he was a nuttier than Christmas stuffing. The result was probably a little more forward than intended, like Myk may have some obsessive attachment to the poor guy. There was obviously a tingle of attraction toward Jack from Myk’s point of view, but such things were fleeting when you had an attention span equivalent to a fly’s life expectancy. Myk fell in and out of attraction quite effortlessly, usually sparked and extinguished by small acts and responses that the other party made. Since the Telepath was usually enticed by certain personalities, it was no wonder why extended contact with individuals would either excite him or turn him off. Commitment and clinginess were such traits that repelled Myk as readily as the calm precedes a storm.

As it happened, Myk had noticed the change in the air; how the smell of earth and grit and smog became washed out and replaced with this metallic and thick scent that was akin to having a milkshake made of pennies being shoved up his nose. Some might argue that Myk was just acknowledging the scent of the blood he was still covered in, but, Myk knew the texture of rain better than most. Despite travelling the world in his short spit of a life, Myk had spent a grand proportion of his time in the country known for its damp and miserable conditions. If it wasn’t always raining in Britain, the populace would have nothing to talk about after all. Myk could predict a lot of things, but he couldn’t know for certain when the first droplets would fall – simply that they would. Every rain shower brings with it a need for shelter, because when the rain falls like bullets, nobody wants to get caught in the fire. It was easier to admire a thing from a distance, and many found the patter of rain on the roof and the dappled sound of droplets against windows to be a soothing and glorious experience. Rain was beautiful, but rain was water – cold, spritzing water – and this wasn’t what Myk had had in mind when he’d wanted a wash.

“I think it’s about to rain…” Myk said, pointing out what might well have been the most obvious thing in the world. And, just like that, the first spot of cold found his shoulder before it trickled down his arm. “How many blocks away did you say it was?” he asked, brushing the intruding droplet away as more began to fall intermittently from the heavens. “We may need to pick up the pace unless you actually like the drowned rat look.”

[Jack Flynn (DELETED 7737)]

With Myk’s simple declaration there came upon Jack a rush of relief. It was funny how a few little words could set his mind at ease, whether they were truth or a lie. It was still kind enough for the figure to say them. Simple responses eased the brief tenseness that took over his shoulders, and erased the edge from his smile. They liked hearing him speak. They liked it. It was one thing in the company of a few good friends Jack had known longer than he’d known his own gender with finality. It was a whole other from some stunning stranger from some other walk of life right out of one of his favorite novels. Then again, Myk didn’t really fit the bill of some Romanian prince. Maybe the prince part, but he lacked the proper beard. Jack felt like he was walking on air from that point on, turning his attention forward again.

The simple statement of the obvious jerked him from his thoughts, and his good mood grew. He couldn’t help a short laugh that cut short as if he was embarrassed by the sound of it and the way he snorted briefly like some sort of drunk hog. Still, he was in too good a mindset to linger on something that normally would have hovered in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening. “Are you kidding? I love the rain!” he declared, perhaps a bit louder than necessary. He swung his arms out as he leaped forward a few steps, speaking with a spark of passion in his words. “There’s nothing like it! I’ll take rain like bullets over snow any day!” He lowered his hand again, grinning over his shoulder, only to cover his neck with a slim set of digits. “Uh, I mean, not that everyone does. It’s only another block,” he added. He’d only just realized that while he took a special adoration for the numbing cold and feeling of being soaked from head to toe, there was a lot of people who actually didn’t. “I’unno,” he added as an afterthought. “Drowned rat’s the new black I hear.”

’Laaaame,’ his brain teased, but he shrugged it off. His good mood didn’t last, however. A sudden metallic tang set his hair on end, and a distant flash was quickly followed by the loud, rolling rumble of thunder. The building was right across the street, lazy apartments stacked over each-other like they’d been copied and pasted, but Jack stopped where he was, eyes wide as golf balls. Much as he loved rain, he hated the thunder that occasionally followed. It wasn’t the flash of lightning he feared, if anything it was beautiful. It was the roar of noise that dug right into his core that made him want to crawl under the nearest quilt and cover his ears. A second crack, and Myk was suddenly the last thing on his mind. Jack tore across the street like a wild rabbit that had just scented fox. Rain was soon cascading down on him, and he swiped a hand over his face. His feet pounded up the small set of stairs, but at the third and final step he slipped in a quickly growing puddle. His knee slammed against the top step and a yelp of pain left his lips. Keys he’d groped for a second prior flew from his fingers, sliding across the concrete. He curled over himself, never very good with pain of this kind, and pressed a hand against his knee. He’d hit some sort of nerve for sure, as he could feel the pain racing down to the tips of his toes, and for a moment he forgot where he was, or who he was with, or what he was even doing. It was amazing how two things in combination, pain and fear, could wipe an entire state of mind clean. He stopped where he was, forgetting about the cold, or the fact that he could just easily make it inside if he could only remember how to stand.

Another clap of thunder, and his hands left his knee to cover his ears. He didn’t have some magical tragic backstory for it. He didn’t have any real reason to be afraid. Yet even fireworks, loath as he was to admit it, he hated. It was one of those things he didn’t really tell even his closest friends, because he knew it would bother them, and he didn’t want something like that to be a hindrance. He’d learned to deal with that at least, but thunder was the worst of them all. He could hide his fear around bright stunning colors and close friends, but alone under arching lights and thundering racket, all he wanted was to feel safe again. He cracked his eyes open and shifted his leg, but the reminder of pain made him curl in on himself again with a string of swears, his voice cracking a little.

[Myk]

Rain has always had the most remarkable capability of engulfing all of a man’s senses at once, and such is true even for Vampires – if not particularly more so. Each tiny droplet of water can catch one’s eye as well as disrupt it, inject multi-coloured illusions into the sky, and cast a haze over the world to smother. The rain can also extinguish scents carried by the air and equally wash away those that were imprinted on the earth. More prominently of course, its imposing nature can stifle any other minor sound, causing those significant though unassuming moments to be easily neglected. More spots of unsettling coldness touched Myk’s face and hair as the pair continued to pass down side-streets and alleyways, some further droplets dribbling down his bare arms and even daring to sink beneath his clothing – scant as it was. The rain had the Telepath ensnared, his focus set onto the dark, daunting clouds which dominated the sky. Myk might have thought it appropriate to comment on Jack’s observations concerning rain and snow and drowned rats, but he really couldn’t concentrate. The monotonous sound of raindrops pounded on every surface, on every path, awning, brickwork and window for miles around, beating like a thousand tiny heartbeats in his ears. With the occasional whisper of a breeze growing louder and with this light drizzle becoming heavier, Myk soon noticed that this rain shower was quickly developing into a storm.

Pewter eyes looked sharply over from one patch of black sky to another when he was brought rudely out of his distraction. A tremendous noise rippling through the gushing of the breeze and the swelling rain had captured Myk’s attention, though he saw nothing at first. The sound had been powerful enough to stop the mortal in his tracks and he seemed to eye the skies with caution, fear. Myk could hear a very prominent pulse beating amongst the tiny hearts all around him, recognising it immediately as the compulsive tug and pull of uneasy blood. Myk kept his focus on Jack, his metallic eyes swelling with apprehension as the mortal clasped his hands over his ears, anticipating the next wave. It was curious to see such fear instigated by a sonic boom in the sky some miles and miles away when an immediate danger stood just a few inches behind him. Myk watched Jack until the dark skies lit up with a brilliant flash. The lightning bolt tore vehemently through the air and as it forked into blackness and nothingness, that monstrous noise repeated itself, followed quickly by a chorus of roars. The heavens grumbled and Myk looked back to the world around him to notice that the mortal had bolted.

“Hmmm… How interesting.”

Myk’s comment melted into the empty air, only to be proceeded by a gust of wind that tore Myk’s hair from around his shoulders, causing the ghostly lengths to dance like a veil behind him. At least with the wind in his face, Myk might be able to pursue Jack to the unknown destination; the question of whether he should or not remained to fill his boots with cement. It seemed like an odd turn of events that Myk might have come from fearing the mortal’s presence to actually lamenting it. At first Jack had intruded on Myk’s affairs, and now the Telepath was wondering if it was fair enough to return the favour. Jack had invited Myk to his home, so he did technically have the right to proceed, and yet, he was standing in the cold and in the rain for a few moments debating his options. Another lightning bolt illuminated the area in a blinding, white flash. The thunder boomed deafeningly a moment later, making Myk cringe a little at how loud it was. The storm was close and growing closer still, leaving the Telepath to make the rash decision to follow Jack after all. Unless he was going back to his boat, which was now further away than Jack’s apartment, Myk had nowhere else to flee to and perhaps, despite being a monster, Myk could lend some form of comfort to the male who was frightened by storms.

The lightning flashed again, covering the gritty streets with its blanket white before the whole scene faded to an ominous black a second after. Myk might have seemed like a phantom in those eerie seconds as he walked from out of a void and onto the street that faced a line of buildings, but Myk didn’t seem to care or be aware of such a thing. Pewter eyes sought out the hunched figure of the mortal cradling a wound on the foot of a doorstep before quickly clamping those hands around his ears when another howl breached the sky. As Myk approached Jack, he paused to collect a set of keys that had been discarded on the ground between them. Despite the sticky texture of the rain, Myk could still discern the character of Jack’s scent on his possessions – this aromatic sweetness mingling with a tangy, bitter spice that reminded Myk of clementines and anise. When Myk was within touching distance of Jack, he stopped, casting a shadow over him which might block out some of the violent light. Pewter eyes watched Jack shift again, opening those starry hazel orbs and clasping hold of his injury – all the while being completely indifferent to Myk’s arrival as he muttered obscenities to himself. He wouldn’t take it personally, and so Myk crouched down to the other’s eyelevel, inspecting what the damage might be behind the layering of clothes and defensive limbs.

Pale arms were folded over the tops of his knees as Myk settled his weight on his calves. He had to keep himself from reaching out and actually touching Jack, which would only serve to startle him, so one hand held to his elbow as the other jingled the keys. This was no doubt a vulnerable position for the Telepath to put himself in because with the smallest push, he could end up on his back flailing like an upturned turtle. Still, sacrifices had to be made to ensure the other’s comfort, and Myk almost prided himself on being able to bring a ray of sunshine on any kind of day or night. If Jack was afraid of the thunder, then Myk would have to get the boy inside, somewhere he could feel safe and protected from the sound. Plus, it was raining, so getting inside would be best for everyone. Myk was feeling what little heat remained in his core being slowly drawn out of him, and no doubt Jack would get sick if he stayed outside for any longer too. Stressed and injured, his immune system would undoubtedly be compromised by now.

“Jack,” Myk spoke the word with firmness at first to try and capture his attention, but his voice seemed to take on this smooth and sultry eastern European lilt the longer he spoke. “We should go inside. You’ll get sick if you stay out in the rain. We’ll also need to tend to that knee of yours… Can you get up? I could carry you. If needed.”

[Jack Flynn (DELETED 7737)]

A sudden touch at Jacks arm dragged him back into reality. Wide, uncertain eyes raised to meet Myk’s own, flecks of green catching the light of distant lightning amid a hazel sea. It took him a long while to realize what Myk was saying. How long had he been on the ground? The rain had sunk into his skin, chilling him right to his core, and he was starting to shiver. The clothes he’d worn for the show hadn’t been prepared for rain, and didn’t little to protect him, and his usually fluffy hair now clung to the top of his head, dulled to a faded sort of silver by the rain. He heard the light jangle of metal and noticed the offered keys, but a flash of light made him recoil, followed by the rumble of another thunder.

"Sorry.." he sighed, lowering his gaze. In a moment of fear he'd lashed out, but rather than push Myk away, his fingers had gripped at the end of the others sleeve, as if for comfort. He let go quickly, turning his face away as if he were embarressed by his own weakness. Gradually he started to force himself up, but his leg wasn't having it. By the first step the pain became too great, and he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. It didn't look like a major wound at all, but it must have damaged something because it hurt. He pulled the leg of his pants, trying to get rid of the sticky feeling of blood and jeans and skin in one. Then he looked over at the door.

It was so close, yet so far, and Jack was stubborn. Rather than ask for the vampires help, he scooted along as best he could. It wasn't pride that drove him forward so much as the fact he didn't want to bother the figure, but he'd only made it a few feet when he had to stop. Aside from the pain, a realization of the fact he wouldn't be able to open the door from down here struck him. His head hung, and he covered a hand over his face. "Stupid.."

[Myk]

As those hazel orbs finally seemed to acknowledge his existence, Myk gave a soft smile – the kind that tempered his striking features, making him seem almost harmless and demure. The Telepath’s mind was heavier than his light features suggested, however, as he felt quite preoccupied with the notion that he was trying to talk a cat into coming home with him again, except not to his home at all. At first the soggy moggy pretended like Myk wasn’t there at all, and then when Myk came close enough as to steal the male’s entire focus, the cat gave a pained mewl and dismissed him again. Pewter eyes clouded over slightly at the apology and the shift in the male’s focus again; Myk never did enjoy hearing a string of words in that sentiment, not when the other had no reason to apologise at all. The reminiscence was like a frying pan to the face, an abrupt reminder of all those times he had been in Jack’s shoes and had hated every second of it - apologising because he felt like a burden on the world. Myk couldn’t concentrate on the welt he felt growing on in the inside of his skull, however, when a touch of something warm gripped his arm. Jack might have been reaching for his sleeve, but as Myk had dressed merely in a vest top this evening, there was nothing else for Jack to grip but flesh.

At first, Myk didn’t know what to make of the sensation. The ephemeral press of a warm, wet hand on his own cold, damp forearm felt remarkably unusual – more like the cat had leant forward to test whether the Telepath was tasty or not. It was surely some trick of the mind and nothing more than that, because pewter eyes diligently reported the actuality of these events, so it was mystery as to why Myk was assuming otherwise. When Jack let go of him almost a second later, Myk felt a chill invade the space, encouraging him to rub idly at the area – the keys jingling with the movement. That foreboding chill which had ghosted over his flesh made Myk very uncomfortable, so much so that the Telepath was standing upright again with his head buried in his chest. Pewter eyes glared at the handprint frozen to his forearm, experiencing it in the same way he perceived the Wraith; he might not have been able to see it, but that didn’t stop it from bothering him, pecking at his insecurities like a hungry chicken. Myk also realised that while he wasn’t watching Jack, he was still aware of his movements as the male quietly attempted to climb up to his feet as well.

Neither man said anything for a while, the silence stretching well past the boundaries of comfort, unbroken save for the small, sharp intake of breath from Jack as pain overcame his tolerance thresholds and he crumpled to the ground. Why the male was attempting to make this show of independence was beyond the Telepath, though he tried to liken the events to his experiences the best he could. Pewter eyes finally looked for the male on the small set of stairs, wondering what his reasons were for going it alone. Perhaps Jack was too proud to accept or ask for Myk’s assistance, or, perhaps Jack was simply too shy. It was difficult to pin-point which, if any of the scenarios, made the most amount of sense given the little that the Telepath knew about Jack. Myk regarded the unsuspended marionette with a look of disappointment, and that chill which had sat on his arm – fat and heavy like a toad – now sank into him to swim up his veins and into his heart. Myk drew a sigh, the urge to coddle the stranger and sweep him into his arms was overwhelming, but Myk managed to swallow it. He continued to watch Jack with that look in his eyes now bordering on impatience.

The Telepath was a kaleidoscope of emotions, a roulette of actions, and a carousel of thoughts. Where they would stop was anyone’s guess, but in this case, Myk had decided that he could no longer accept the backseat role. Being left out in the cold wasn’t unusual for him, but if Myk saw the chance to help somebody – even if that help was not invited or welcomed – then he would do so. Myk considered himself a collaborator, a fixer, and a people pleaser as much as he considered himself an analyst. Helping people gave him the opportunity to get up close to his subjects, to study them with a deeper understanding and without the high probability of being turned away. Though, in truth, that wasn’t the only reason Myk indulged in these little whims and fancies. Of course, there was no such thing as altruism, but there was much more to helping people out than manipulating his way into their favours. Sometimes, Myk just enjoyed the look of a smile on someone’s face. He was empathetic, after all, so the desire was purely selfish. He knew what it was like to feel miserable, rejected and alone, and if he could make someone smile, then perhaps they could fight their troublers from a better corner. It gave him hope for a world full of monsters and forgotten souls to find something wholesome to live for – to give him something wholesome to live for.

As Myk made up his mind, he noticed that Jack was currently in the midst of performing the ritual that would make him disappear from the world; concealing his eyes and chanting the self-deprecating words that would make his soul shrivel and eventually wither away. Pewter eyes turned to steel, deciding that he had endured quite enough for one evening; he wasn’t going to allow one more creature to suffer in his presence. Without hesitation, Myk scooped Jack into his arms like an unfortunate princess, uncaring as to whether the boy screeched or struggled against him. The intrusion would no doubt be a shock to the young mortal, especially if he spared a moment to consider just what exactly on God’s Great Earth had performed the intrusion. The Vampire had already dispatched two mortals tonight with a flicker of his wicked strength, and Jack had been privy to at least one of these assaults. Myk wouldn’t blame the boy for feeling the tiniest bit frightened or alarmed when the same bloodied creature whipped him away from the rain-drenched ground like a hurricane. Still, there was a simple, practiced tenderness to the way Myk had lifted and carried Jack to the front door of the building. It was no bother for those artisan hands to juggle the keys between one set of fingers and find the right match that would unlock their path, either. It wasn’t until they were inside, the door closed on the shrieking and roaring heavens that Myk looked back to the young mortal with that same demure smile as before.

“So, where to?” Myk asked, that nonchalance in his voice suggesting that there was nothing wrong with this scenario – like he was a freaking taxi service. "We will need to set you down somewhere comfortable and... have you change out of those clothes. Your choice as to where, Jack."

[Jack Flynn (DELETED 7737)]

It was a shock when the sodden young adult found himself lifted in the air. As a reflex he clutched at the front of Myk's vest, eyes wide with shock. He hadn't expected the strange, tall figure to be serious, let alone to life him so easily. Not that he was heavy or anything. If anything he was actually a little too light for his size, and it wasn't his first time being picked up either. It took him a few moments to remember though that despite how delicate Myk looked, he'd seen the stranger take out that human. Or at least, the aftereffects. A shiver crept over his spine, both of cold and of fear. Yet he didn't push Myk away, but rather wrapped his arms around the silver haired mans neck and clung as tightly as he dared, which wasn't very tight. His eyes shifted to the ground, and there was a wariness to the action.

Not that he didn't trust Myk, who showed himself quite capable of managing both the singer and his keys. It was more a mix of sheer embarrassment at needing to bother Myk in such a way, as well as a general fear of heights. True, Myk wasn't <i>that</i> tall (though still taller than Jack), but any sort of elevation always left him a little dizzy. The closeness wasn't so bad either, even though Myk was deathly cold. In truth, of the two contrasts Jack always preferred the cold over the heat. Fall over Summer and all. He liked the way it could numb a person, even their thoughts if left long enough. Better than heat which just made a person all sweaty and uncomfortable. There was also a smell about Myk though, something Jack hadn't noticed before. It was impossible to describe, something underneath all the blood and death. He tried to subtly inhale, and his expression softened.

It smelled like.. comfort. A warm, enveloping scent that made him think of home. Of his dad, coming in smelling of manure and woodchips and chicken feed, and the two of them joking around after a good scrub while setting up supper. Of cuddling under his grandmothers quilt while his dad told him stories about all sorts of heroes and villains, girls and boys alike. Subconsciously Jack lost himself in that familiarity, and it was only when Myk spoke again that he was drawn back into the present with a sharp jolt of surprise.

Jacks jaw worked in a sort of minor gaping-fish imitation before the gears of his brain finally shook off the rust and caught up to speed. "O-oh.. uh.. second floor, sorry.. The elevator should be fixed.." He nodded to the dingy looking metal box, wrapped by a set of ascending stairs. The place wasn't exactly impressive, all tattered carpet and a few busted lights. What mattered wasn't the looks anyways. The place had affordability and charm, in the form of the elderly landlord who seemed happy enough to give them a practice space just a bit away, in the parking lot office, and owned at least a dozen animals from cats to parrots to chinchillas.

[Myk]

At first, Myk had been surprised by how light Jack had seemed when he’d lifted him from the ground. The Telepath had originally likened the experience to sweeping some unfortunate princess off her feet and carrying her bridal style into the building, but he really couldn’t escape an entirely different scenario from hatching like a parasite in his brain the more he pondered. No doubt this new scenario was just as insulting to the mortal, seeing as how Myk was comparing Jack to a jug of milk. Those white plastic bottles they have in the UK do not give an accurate sense of the contents, and so sometimes, when one thinks that there is more milk inside the bottle than there actually is, one puts too much force into lifting said bottle and can launch said bottle into the air. A similar incident had occurred with Jack, where Myk had expected him to be a lot heavier than he actually was and had thus put a tiny bit too much force into lifting him. The jolting motion – though subtle, really – had no doubt stirred enough insecurities in Jack to have him throw his arms around the Vampire’s neck and cling for dear life. Myk wanted to apologise, but decided that it would be easier, as well as being decidedly less awkward, if he just pretended that everything was fine and carry on with what he was doing.

They advanced into the room, toward the staircase that spiralled toward the dark ceiling like an ancient dragon wrapping itself around a spire of metal. Myk listened to the explanation that told him to move to the second floor, and wasted no time complying with the order; deciding that he didn’t wholly trust his luck with electronic equipment to take the elevator. They could have engaged in an awkward conversation as they ascended the stairs, but Myk was happier to let the mortal nuzzle quietly into his neck; a cushion of cold comfort that he could melt away in. With his Vampiric senses, Myk had had no trouble at all picking out the unique scent of the mortal, nor did he have difficulty in feeling the man’s mortal warmth permeate the air around him. Still, having Jack this close did give those experiences a new sense of depth, and Myk realised that he could also perceive a lot more than what his nose and eyes told him. Tendrils of wintry hair tickled his shoulders, neck and chest as Myk carried him, damp clothing latched as desperately to Myk’s body as Jack’s arms latched around his neck, and the feeling of the mortal’s skin on his own polished flesh was so perfectly smooth that Myk forgot for a moment that he was not carrying a doll or one of his own, but a living, breathing Human being. Perhaps it was simply that Jack was so young and polished himself that his skin was as smooth and sweet as milk and honey, Myk supposed, before thinking no more about it.

Once the last step of the dragon’s back retracted under foot, Myk moved across the hall toward the door marked with the same number as Jack’s keys. Myk slipped his fingers between the assembly of jagged metal yet again, singling out the key that would unlock the door with a dextrous flick. He did this automatically, as natural as it was to breathe, before opening the door with another flick of his wrist. After he’d pushed the door lightly aside with the same key-jingling hand, fashioning a path for them to walk through, Myk paused. Those delicate features put on a gentle, yet feigned smile for Jack’s benefit, but once again the nerves had begun to creep up on him. A thousand tiny insects were crawling silently beneath his skin, and although he’d barely noticed the arrival, he was nevertheless infested. Each one delivered caustic bites to sensitive flesh as Myk wavered in the doorway, uncertain about whether or not he could enter freely. Vampires were weird like that after all, conforming to a preposterous notion of invitation, and for reasons that seemed beyond logic, science and psychology. Myk couldn’t fathom the notion that made his pores bleed whenever he attempted to step foot into a house uninvited, but he couldn’t deny the evidence. Technically, since Jack had encouraged Myk to come to his place to clean up, then he had received an invitation. Still, that was before the thunder had caused the mortal to bolt and for all Myk knew, the intention might not have been to bring the Vampire here at all.

Proceeding past the threshold took a leap of faith that Myk wasn’t sure he was ready for, but then, he couldn’t stand glued to the spot all night long either. Jack didn’t seem very capable on his feet at the moment, and the fact that pewter eyes had spied the perfect place to set Jack down across the room from where they were meant that Myk couldn’t just dump Jack on the ground an expect him to hobble after it. It just wouldn’t be a very kind thing to do. As it happened, while the Telepath was juggling morals with self-preservation, there was another issue playing on his mind. The solution could have been simple if Myk asked the mortal for permission to enter his house, and yet doing that seemed so far out of the bounds of possibility that it was as if the rules of physics no longer forbade pigs to fly. Of course the Telepath could conscribe his actions to nothing short of insanity and senseless at times, but what possible sense of absurdity could account for asking the mortal whether or not he could enter his private space? Extreme politeness, perhaps? Well, Myk hadn’t behaved in a way that would totally render the curious event uncharacteristic, so maybe he could get away with it if he had to do, or maybe he didn’t have to at all. There was one way he could breach the privacy of Jack’s abode without invitation and without turning into a puddle of blood and agony, one way that could Myk could avoid having to deal with the matter of asking outright.

Whether it was needed or not, Myk took advantage of his secret gift to step by the threshold of the mortal’s private space and closed the door behind them safely and quietly. The Vampire continued into the room, oblivious to décor and layout, feelings and memories, as he made a bee-line for the nearest settee. The haste with which he walked might have suggested that Myk was struggling with the situation, and while that was true to an extent, it wasn’t for the obvious reasons. It wasn’t a test of stamina or strength – Myk wasn’t having trouble carrying the mortal, and indeed, he’d dragged heavier creatures for a longer period of time without breaking a sweat. Neither was it that Myk had an issue about his personal boundaries; frankly, the only problem that Myk had with boundaries was that he didn’t actually have any and often forgot that other people did. No, the Telepath rather enjoyed the closeness that his intrusion had granted, but he wasn’t sure that Jack felt the same way. It was that niggling insecurity that powered Myk’s legs to cross the space and set Jack carefully, yet smoothly, upon the settee. Myk was especially mindful of the mortal’s wound and when pewter eyes found the bright smear of red, they subsequently failed to look anywhere else...