Path of the Vampire forum

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

<Pyper> Either thumb pecked at the corresponding number. T9. A baffling vomit of sporadic, random numerical sequences. Yet it's something that drew her in. The blonde recalled the patterns of numbers, rather than the letters that created her words. Now, she wrote, "Do we have time?"

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse, feeling oddly restless, had taken to the Quarantine Zone. He'd given all his zombie ears to Ursula, and now he needs more. Micah had asked for some, and for once, Jesse had nothing to give. He didn't like having nothing to give. Zombies are easy. Maybe a little boring, but at least they give him something to do. He takes a half a minute to answer his phone; he feels it vibrate in his pocket, but has to dispatch of the zombie in front of him, before wiping sheathing his weapon and wiping his hands. Only then did he check the text. Pyper. He arches a brow, and responds. "By my calculation, we have eternity."

<Pyper> Pyper nearly asked to see the numerical data to support such a definitive statement. Do vampires really not age, as in some Hollywood movies? Or did their cellular structures endure more time, but ultimately deteriorate until they become nothing more than piles of toxic organic material? Maybe Jesse did know but the explanation would have certainly taken more than a six page limit text. "Eternity is unfathomable. Now is more realistic. Where are you?" Pyper abruptly asked the question, unable to ease into it from the daunting concept of forever. Transitions had never been very important to Pyper.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse keeps the phone in his hand, sauntering toward the exit of the Graveyard - his blue eyes darted to and fro, keeping a close eye on his surroundings so as not to be caught off guard by some creeper. It would be embarassing, to have his *** kicked by a zombie just because he isn't paying attention. The phone buzzes again, and he finds a spot near the gate - he has his back to it, and a view of everything in front of him. He smirks. "Graveyard. QZ." He responds. He can be equally as prompt.

<Pyper> The door to the asylum always groaned loudly whenever a person came in, or left. Underneath the low rumble, a high octave squeal. Pyper's shoulders came up, neck sinking into the gap that eventually descended to become her torso. Relatively clean by Leah's persistent chatter, her arms held none of the bite marks like before. Her skin had been rubbed raw and without climbing very far into the sewers, remained untarnished by the grime. Phoenix's clothes were too big for her; so settling for the sleep t-shirt and sweatpants panned as the only option. A tie held her hair up. Kinky curls spilled over the bunched hair.
Jesse is an unmistakable character, and being that Pyper only knew so few, he's spotted immediately after she closed the distance from the asylum to the graveyard entrance. "Good.." her eyes dart up to meet with moon, ".. night, Jesse," it didn't make sense to say good morning, or evening. It wasn't either.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse stands with his shoulder leaning against the brick post of the Graveyard's gate. The iron gates themselves had long since decayed, twisted and broken, laying in the grass at their feet. His own feet are clad in black and white Vans, his legs in a pair of dark jeans, his torso in just a black shirt depicting the tarot card for 'death'. He has one ankle crossed over the other as he waits for Pyper's response, and while he waits, flicking through the thread topics on the Fforde Crownet. He's not expecting Pyper to all of a sudden appear; his head snaps up as she greets him. "Goodnight?" he asks, straightening up. "Normally that's like saying goodbye," he says, followed by: "Hi."

<Pyper> Pyper assumed goodbye was more like saying goodbye. It was why goodnight was selected as a more viable option of greeting. None of it explains why 'hi,' wasn't among that list. A bag swung, skimming over the rumpled looking cotton pants bunched in odd places. A collection of rat tails and zombie ears. The smell aided to keep her motivated to hunt, it reminded her of it when her mind grasped the idea of finding another hunter to maim herself with. Phoenix was already fuming at her hours ago about it. "I didn't have time to bring the pictures. They smeared when I took them hunting. Yesterday. Letting them dry on Phoenix's bed." And how she'll love it.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse also has a bag slung over his shoulders; a tartan messenger bag. One that he used to use to carry around his sketchbook and supplies, but whicn now has been commandeered to stuff zombie ears and vials of feral blood into. He puts his phone to sleep and slips it back into his pocket, where his hand also remains. He gives a shrug. "That's fine. Perhaps in future keep them in a safe place, rather than take them hunting with you," he says with a smirk. Only then, really, taking notice of Pyper's attire - it's curious, to be sure, but he supposed it would be up to one of the girls to get her some better clothing. Still. "Is this your hunting get-up?"

<Pyper> To Pyper, Jesse gave the external evidence for her to conclude he always adorned that smile. It's crooked, like one side got lazy in its posture and went slack. It wasn't a displeased expression, not from the ones other have worn in the past around her. She took his advisement under vague consideration; in order to do that in the future, the blonde was required to draw more pictures. These last two nights taught her that sitting still wouldn't be tolerated. "Get-up?" Amid her forefinger and thumb, the t-shirt's pinched and stretched out from her form. Let go, it bounced back into place. A minute tent as remaining evidence of what she'd done. "I had no clothes. Phoenix's throwaways."

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse gives a nod. A slight curious frown. There's something about Pyper - like she wouldn't particularly care too much what she looked like, or even realise that others might judge her for it. It is endearing, in a way. She doesn't care. It's not a practiced and adopted philosophy, however, but seems more like... she doesn't care because she just doesn't know. Blissful ignorance. He had an image of Phoenix just throwing old clothes at Pyper - he had to shake it from his head. Surely not. His nod is slow. "You should get one of the girls to take you shopping. I'm sure they'd be up for it," he says.

<Pyper> If she had a shirt and pants, why would she go and pay the money for more? Every other night, Pyper discarded the torn, beaten clothes from her body, showered and found new clothes. The choices were depleting due to the risky nature of her outdoor endeavors. Maybe Jesse did have a point she could connect with. "I can replace what I ruined," she agreed, entirely missing the point. Although so long as Phoenix's hand-me-down drawer was well kept, it counted as providing for herself. "This is comfortable. They will try to have me wear what they wear. They have too much skin. I just like this."

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse laughs and nods again. "You have a point. You are you, the way you are, and would do no good to turn you into a clone. Practical, is what it is," he says. He has this preconcieved notion that people like clothes that they can go out in. Clothes that will get them noticed. He's often verbally reprimanding Leah for the lack of clothes she wears, especially given the weather, and the secrets they are supposed to keep. But it's one thing Leah seems to fail to grasp; the one thing she doesn't do that Jesse asks her to. "Too much skin. I like that. I'm going to use that."

<Pyper> Jesse reminded Pyper more of Paige than anyone else she'd managed to find an audience with. It irked her, that people needed to keep her bubbled from harm. Protect her, and hold her from indulging in - rather damaging but enjoyed - hobbies. This man, a sibling which was new to her vocabulary, didn't cushion her. Use that soothing, maternal voice. It was a voice used on infants; Pyper was twenty-four years old. During more lucid stretches of time, it infuriates her. "Use it? What do you use the skin for?" Roderic used animal parts for crafts. Her lamp was still settled on the pillow next to the one she used. It had been a rabbit once.

<Jesse Fforde> "Well I don't use it for anything. I mean, I'm going to use that turn of phrase on Leah. She has too much skin," he says with a smirk. Though, knowing Leah, she'd take it as a compliment, and furhter reason as to why she should show it off. On the other hand, Jesse gives a thoughtful frown and half a shrug. "I do like skin, obviously, as a canvas. I don't go ripping it off people or anything. It works better as a canvas if it stays on the body," he adds. He does quite like skin, like an arist picking and choosing between his favourite materials.

<Pyper> The many times Leah and Pyper have had an encounter, the latter had always appeared overdressed for whatever outting, or indoor activities they managed to fall into the natural swing of. "A man had a shop once. I had a tree, a bush. Some canvas. It was blue. It didn't rain on me. The shop had jars in it, the man did art. Like you. In the jars, there were frogs. Suspended but their bellies had markings. Patterns, clear. Frogs were dead." Maybe Jesse knew the artist she was talking about. He had been local but the intricate designs mounted on the underbellies of the anatomy amphibians spread via the internet. Pyper long since forgot his name, or the shop's.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse listens to Pyper, though he's not sure he understands what she's saying. She had a tree and a bush? A blue canvas. No rain. It doesn't sound like anything Jesse's ever seen or heard of before, and wonders whether it might not have been some dream she might have had, that she's mistaken for reality. Rather than assume too much, however, he decides to just go with it. "Can't say I've heard of the place," he says, shaking his head. "But you... do you like to draw?" he asks. He assumed that when she said she would bring pictures, that she would find something close to what she wanted, rather than draw them herself. But now she has him curious.

<Pyper> Not knowing what places Jesse's ever known aside from Harper Rock, maybe he didn't know the park in Chenney, Wyoming. For a couple years, she'd lived in a crevice near the edge of a thicket of woods, hiding beyond sight of streetlights and the sharp attention of the police. As was said to Phoenix earlier in the night, Pyper's powers mutated and evolved. Although a chaotic disaster from start to finish, her thoughts could drill into another's mind. Some part of her wanted to show Jesse the park from her memory. So many others were shouting to be heard. Not a good idea anymore. "I'm not good, I like to. My fingers need to move. I like the guitar."

<Jesse Fforde> "Most artists thing they're not any good," Jesse says. Though he knows that he will be seeing her work, now. Soon. "I can be the judge of that. Though, you should never trust just one person's opinion, either," he adds. He knows that people's tastes differ. he knows that art to one person is just scribble to another. It's a hobby that he himself could never give up. Even when blind, he still tried. He failed, but it was still a soothing endeavour. "Guitar is good. Can't say I've ever played an instrument."

<Pyper> Hands position themselves as though cradling a guitar now. Despite nothing there, no weight to aid in hovering off the ground, the act was convincing. Overactive hallucinations twisted and bent her reality without warning signs. Auditory functions interrupted, sounds of her old guitar as background noise. A soundtrack. Her fingers strummed, wriggled. It made her smile; it's the only thing that could make her smile even years and years ago. "If I had one, I could teach you. Same as when you see my art. It needs teaching. Willing to learn. I prefer paints."

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse smiles, watching her. There's something completely different about Pyper. She doesn't deter him with her oddness. Rather, she is a breath of fresh air. And it is nice to see her smile. "I prefer ink, obviously. And charcoal. And watercolour - but I do have some paint lying around, too," he says. He dabbles in a lot of things - whatever is required to bring the picture in his head to life. There's a sound nearby - a lazy shuffling. A zombie - it hasn't seen them. "I think it's how I keep a journal," he admits, turning his attention back to Pyper. Again, he leans his shoulder against the brick. "The drawing - it's more cathartic than the writing," he adds.

<Pyper> Regardless of still having to outrun one out of every six zombies, Pyper's level of awareness of the surrounding areas diminished. One could have come up beside Jesse without coverage and still bit into her neck. Pyper would have still been taken off guard. "I try a journal. No drawing in it. Just words. I have a hard time, figuring days. It'll help. Can I see your journal?" Interest showed in the way the invisible guitar dropped from her grasp and she stared. It isn't an intense, unblinking stare. In fact, Pyper perpetually looked on the verge of slipping to sleep, if anything. So it held expectance. Of an accepted invitation or the decline of allowing her to see more private thoughts.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse arches a brow; his other senses are all on alert. He won't be taken off guard by any shuffling, ambling, stupid creature. He regards Pyper's question in silence for a while. It seems such an innocent question and for a second he's almost tricked into considering it. He slowly shakes his head, though. "No," he says. Neither the written one, or the one with all his drawings. There are too many of Grey. And he wouldn't risk it. "Maybe one day. Not right now, though," he adds. "Would you let people read yours?" he asks, out of curiosity.

<Pyper> A journal came more as a notebook, a record of events to turn back to. First headshot wound, the sunbathing experience. Things to be nostalgic about without having to repeat. To have any person come up and rifle through its contents didn't stir an unwell fit in her. "What I write. I say. The book is for me. I don't write things other people can't know. You can read mine. I left it on the bed, though. When you're ready. Switch them. Leah is in it. You are."

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse chortles, but nods. "Sure. I don't know where your bed is, though. I might look it, but I'm not a creep who goes stalking through people's bedrooms," he says, an odd glint to his eye. There really isn't much in his written journal, but there are things about his past he'd prefer not everyone know about. His drawings? A lot of them would be open to interpretation. A lot Phoenix's dying, really, from a while back. Recently, quite a few snakes. A lot of fire. He's not really protecting anything but Grey. "Leah though, huh? What do you have to say about Leah?" he asks, again curious.

<Pyper> A first show of reluctance in furthering the conversation. Leah had become a very consistent part of her day although lately, it's been her will to become a semi-permanent fixture. "She acts peculiar. Because of feelings." Their sire hadn't appreciated Pyper's open book policy. It was a safe assumption that Jesse didn't need to know every event in his childe's life. Vagueness had a delicate touch, needed for these types of subjects.

<Jesse Fforde> "Her feelings?" Jesse asks. He's not usually curious about this kind of thing. But Leah is very protective of Pyper, and Jesse himself tends to be very protective of his own spawn. He might not show it so much, but it's invisible thing, a rankled hate for anyone who might want to take them away, or hurt them. Given recent discoveries about his own peculiar curses, he finds himself strangely attached to those he turns. "Are they reciprocated? Do you... feel the same?" he asks.

<Pyper> Phoenix wondered these things to but Pyper wasn't in a position to understand Leah's sights on her. Many nights, it was the same questions. Every one, the same answers from the hispanic. "I don't know. Never thought about other people. Like that." A palm ground into her jaw, fingers all splayed out from one another. "I like her company. To know things about her. See her. It's like Paige and Phoenix. You. Want to understand platonic connections. First." It frazzled her nerves, this particular topic. Mainly because Leah's advances were unrelenting and speaking to the person who made her - despite sibling status equality - was like speaking to an authority figure.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse has no idea how Pyper's brain works. He has no idea how her thoughts connect one to the other, or whether her emotions come into play. She has a lot of curiosity, yes, but he has yet to see her upset, or angry. Or jealous. She says she wants to understand platonic connections, first. As if she's never had any of those before. He wonders whether Leah knows that. He cants his head to the side, considering. Pyper does act a lot, sometimes, like a child. Does she have the capacity for that kind of love? It's probably none of Jesse's business. "Yes, well. Platonic is easy," he answers. And grins. "There's no peculiarity. Because of feelings," he adds.


<Pyper> Another roughly practiced smile manipulated the edges of her mouth, corners twitching but lifting all the same. Jesse could get it; he's shown to her that he understands and rather encourages some of her queer behavior. Not being looked down on, but being looked equal to - not something to be fixed - made her chest warm. Or perhaps it was something imagined in that bustling head. "I agree. No complications." Worrisome, they were. Leah did want more and had become vocal of her desires, if not very blunt about them. It made Pyper nervous, her knowledge of the areas Jesse's childe wanted to trench through were a trial and error process for this telepath.

"You don't coddle. I am a person, not to be swaddled and cooed at. You get that. Thank you." Not often but nights when other members of her family tried to protect her from hunters, or herself, flared a simmering anger in her. Never completely surfacing enough to cause conflict, it still lurked behind the placid expression like a phantom using a curtain as coverage to hide appearances.


<Jesse Fforde> "I don't think I know how to coo. And I don't coddle. Ever. Ask Leah," he says with a grin. Oh yeah, he knows how they are with Pyper. There was a whole conversation - nay, argument - about Pyper the weekend before, at the impromptu gathering that just so happened to take place at Larch Court. Vaguely, Jesse has an idea that he might invite Pyper along to the next one. At least, then, she'll be there to defend herself against those who see her as someone to be swaddled and cooed at. "Besides which, I'm sure Phoenix does enough of that," he says. Maybe testing the waters. Is she a sire that others might desire, and turn to? And had it just gone wrong between he and Pheonix due to circumstance and a clash of personality?

<Pyper> Phoenix had done enough. Barring her from seeking out the footsoliders in the sewers, along with the paladins Both of which she still hadn't been educated on. 'Zombies,' Phoenix kept saying, drilling the word into her head so that she wouldn't have to be told more than once. But she did. It wasn't a direct, malicious disobedience that beckoned the telepath from sulking in the rat infested tunnels below Harper Rock. It was from a need that she went against her sire's own very plain orders. Nights of trembling, practicing stitching on the rat tails she collected.

Whenever sold, they were messily bound together by stained thread. Dirt and blood. "Appreciation. From me. Phoenix doesn't want me wasting efforts. She doesn't understand. The want. I need to fill my time. Something faster than zombies. Something lethal."


<Jesse Fforde> "Something lethal, huh?" Jesse asks. He doesn't know, really, how Phoenix would teach Pyper, how she is now, compared to how she was then. Yes, she had helped him through all the stages, and he, too, had started with zombies. But it hadn't taken him long to move on to the bigger, badder things. And he'd done so of his own volition, because it was exactly as Pyper has said. He needed something faster. He's a man covered in tattoos - pain isn't something that bothers him. He's a man who got himself beaten to a pulp and did not back down, seeking death. "We heal. We are like cockroaches - damned hard to kill. You're not going to get anywhere if you don't test yourself," he says, in complete agreement.


<Pyper> Suspicion belied in her eyes despite the passive happiness that someone else aside from Paige understood. To a point. Never, did Pyper allow her voice to betray the infatuation of pain. The stark clarity it brought; it sucked the illness from her bones and left behind only the person she had been conceived to be. It lasted only hours, then the wound sometimes festered, maggots crawled into it and ate their fill while she rested in the sewers. The teeth of the creatures sent tiny tendrils of discomfort - at times vicious in its course - that overshadowed that hallucinated, other self. "Do we kill each other?"


<Jesse Fforde> "Sure we do," he says with a shrug, gaze drifting around their surroundings. How fitting, that the conversation should have shifted toward death while they lingering at the entrance of a graveyard. But that's what they are, right? Beings, creatures lingering between life and death. Neither one or the other. "It's a hobby for some, you might say. But it takes a task force to kill just one vampire. It's not easy. And maybe pointless. They all come back, in the end. Most of the time, anyway," he says. It concerns him that, had he succeeded in his quest those weeks ago, he wouldn't have come back. Not willingly. He knew that he'd have happily stayed dead. The frown is fleeting. But it is a passing expression nonetheless, one that is not hidden, but is quickly masked.


<Pyper> New to the powers that broke out of her from time to time, Pyper tried to look into Jesse's mind for something. He's killed, that much she saw the first time. Some creature, something that could tear her into pieces. That much was a definitive guess. Beyond that, nothing. His thoughts locked in his head but the memories opened as easily as a worn book. "Saige was frightened that I want to see what happens when we die. The Realm, dark. She said people lose themselves. Pieces, chipped away. Could it take the parts we don't like?" A looming experiment, one that Phoenix would turn over in her sleep to find out. "I like to know things. Do them. Have the memories myself. Can you see the things in my head? I think I can share them. Or try. Do you want to see them?"


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse shifts on his feet. People get the wrong impression about him, sometimes. They think him unfeeling. Uncaring. Selfish, even. He puts on a cold front, a mask of carelessness. The ground beneath his soul seems to shift; it doesn't matter that he no longer has the desire for death. He can still remember exactly how it felt. How he had craved that place so badly that it had manifested into another ability that he could not yet control. The ability to slip into the Realm and to be dead, even if not properly. He'd liked going there. People say they hate it. Jesse doesn't hate it. But it is death. And what does it mean, that he likes it? He's always been fascinated by death. It's probably such a grand deal. "She probably means metaphorically," Jesse says. He doesn't know who Saige is.

"Sometimes it's nice to lose yourself. I think," he says, and hesitates. Does he want to see what she sees? "I can't see what's in your head, no. If you want to share...." he gives a shrug.


<Pyper> Saige, to Pyper, was the black sheep of the Altaire lineage. Although she shared blood with the rest, she lacked the luring, captivating persuasion of morbidity in her heart. Calm and collected, at the last family get together, she voiced reason in Leah - however ignored it was later on - when conflict arose between the hispanic and Paige. Pyper didn't dislike Saige. She was nice to talk to, but not if it was to convince her to otherwise change her mindset. Toss away the hobbies she's grown to need to soothe herself, and the catastrophic state of her mind. "I'll ask." Saige probably hadn't meant for it to be metaphorical.

'If you want to share..' Jesse granted vocal permission. Pyper's tremoring hands lifted, rising to pressure the start of her nails to his temples. It's not certain whether this is how it's suppose to be done. The sensation on her end was similar to dumping out a heavy container of liquid. Her body physically sagged where it stood. Images, battling to squeeze into his consciousness. The hospital. Nurses. Screaming, convulsing bodies. The closet. A patient in her arms, neck brittle in a hug. They came too fast, blurred together. She brought her hands back, mouth set in a slack smile. More storage in her head, it wasn't so full anymore. "You saw?"


<Jesse Fforde> The deluge of imagery is at first unwelcome to Jesse's mind; he forces it to relax. Forces it to accept the memories that he had given Pyper permission to share. The muscles in his jaw jump as his eyes close, so as to better try to understand the sequence; but he can't understand. The images are all blurred together, like mush. A slideshow from Pyper's perspective, all very dark, but with moments of light. She pulls away, and Jesse's eyes are still closed; flashes of light still linger at the forefront of his mind. After a few long seconds, he nods. He saw. "I did," he says. And he's not sure what else he needs to say. Whether he is requires to say anything else. His features are bereft of a smile and his ice-blue eyes are hard as gems when he opens them again. "Why did you want me to see?" he asks. Curious. And with Pyper, he believes the question won't be unwelcome. And will be answered with blunt honesty.


<Pyper> Either hand came away, arms slung lifelessly dangling fingertips past her waist. A Picasso-esque smile crooked cracked along her lips, enough to show the very bottom portion of the top row of teeth. So it worked. She didn't think it would; doubt still clouded the young vampire's mind. That magic didn't exist, this was all just figments. That she might still be in the hospital, sedated in the isolation chamber. That was her home, the four cushioned walls. A mattress on the floor because the doctors revoked her bedframe privileges. The metal worked nicely to provide her with an endless supply of weapons against the aides. A needle for a needle.

Upon his question, light brows hunched, wrinkling themselves as Pyper took time to actually consider her answer. "I want one person. To understand. Some people will see and feel bad. I don't want bad. For someone to see what I see, they know me. You are the first. My storage space. Pictures, too fast. I'm sorry. I will practice. Show you one thing. One at a time. Next time."


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse has no idea what it is that he feels as Pyper proclaims her revelation. Just one person to understand. He is the first. He's not used to feeling this kind of warmth. Is it pride? It's definitely not paternal. Pride in himself, that he should be so trusted? Perhaps a specific kind of loyalty, that said trust should not be broken? It's somewhat awkward, but he nods, even as he scratches a stray itch at the back of his neck. "It's a perception, thing," Jesse says. "If you're not seeking sympathy, you won't get any from me. Hell, you probably wouldn't get any, anyway," he says. He licks his lips. A past is a past. Some people have ordinary pasts. Others have extraordinary ones - his own included. You let it mould you. You let it shape you. You accept it, for what it is. But you don't use the past for sympathy. It no longer exists, so why should it be used as any kind of currency? He has to smirk, though. "Storage space. That's all I am to you. I see," he says, clearly not fazed.


<Pyper> People could not own other people. They cannot control them, do the things they want done when they do. So when Jesse accused her of gravitating towards him out of pure necessity only, Pyper's face scrunched up as though she'd taken the lime out of a tequila bottle. Unaccustomed to its acidity. Is that all he was? It would have been nice to have someone act as the house to memories she needed a break from but that wasn't all he was. They shared the same sire and in her blood, it probably meant something even if her conscious self wasn't full cognizant of it. Click, click, click. Her tongue pried off the roof of her mouth several times before her words came out slowly. Hesitantly. "No. Not just .. storage space. My.. " The appropriate didn't immediately come to, a frustrating obstacle. A hand shakily stroked down her cheek, retracting with faint remnants of dirt. Zombie sludge. "Confidant. I share these things. To you."


<Jesse Fforde> A grunt is all that Jesse manages; his hand comes back around from behind his head for his fingers to scratch through the stubble ever present on his jaw. His head is still settling after the barrage of images. It still feels a little full, an explosion of light and foreign colour that it has yet to adjust to. Confidant. It's not that he's unwilling. Just unprepared. And still really quite curious. He'd asked her why she wanted him to see, and she had answered. Honestly. There it is. Confidant. And so he asks another question: "Why me?" his head cants to the side. It's not an accusatory question. Just curious.


<Pyper> Pyper toed the line that if she crossed, categorized her as 'overstimulated.' Pulling at the tips of her fingers, the joints popped and offered some form of relief, a release of the antsy sensation that made it hard to stand still. A foot stepped out, off to the right side and then the other followed. Three steps. Two to the left. Three to the right. Never one step, like with Phoenix the night the blonde entered her sire's presence in a extremely irate state. Pensive, and still jerking the air nestled between bones. "Not judgemental. Most want me fixed. You don't. Accepting." The pivot of her neck looked like a subconscious tweak.

Hair smacked into an eye but it wasn't blinked out of the way. "I like to talk. To you. Phoenix fashioned you. In other people's eyes. Made them see you as a leper. I don't agree. Her blood, my blood, your blood. We have something, in it. Similar. Related."


<Jesse Fforde> A leper. Jesse laughs. Of course she has. Perhaps that's why, even though he'd told them all that he was still around if they needed him, none of the other Altaire had ever contacted him, or come to say hello. Yes, sure, it's a two way street but these days he begins to wonder whether it's even worth it. If they want to believe without seeing for themselves, then they aren't worth the time. The grin that he gives glints in the blueness of his eyes. "I like you, Pyper. You don't take people's word. You come and see for yourself. That's a good trait. Don't lose that one," he says. He also likes that she still considers him of the same blood. Related, in a way. Unlike Phoenix, who seems to have the impression that, due to the disenthrallment, somehow all her blood has been sucked out of his system. And there's no point arguing with her, either. "Just because you don't adhere to social convention doesn't mean you're broken," he says. "I think mainly maybe they just want to make sure you stay safe, is all," he says, that slight frown tipping the corners of his mouth as he tries to reason through the actions of others.


<Pyper> A general conclusion after speaking with her. Even after seeing all of the quirks and physical anomalies she had to offer during face to face confrontations. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that if she could, the woman would happily dissect down to the core to study. Not having the mental capacity - the buzzing in her head never truly ceased - she'd never find it sad to realize how foreign a pin drop of happiness was. "I won't lose." Phoenix spoke several times about being careful with Jesse. The telepath could not understand why. This man, a sibling for lack of a better term, never approached her aggressively.

Staying an appropriate distance away, and she's never seen a weapon on him. Never bothered to look, regardless. "But why? You are not safe, for me?" If anything, their interactions paled in comparison - dealing with safety - to those had with Paige. The spots that were painted with an infusion of dyes and hydrochloric acid still itched during the daylight hours.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse cants his head to the side. He's watching Pyper as she moves, as if she is home to a hill of ants and she cannot stand still, lest they all burst from underneath her skin. He hopes that she can sit still for the tattoo she wishes for him to etch into her skin. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs his shoulders, giving the smallest shake of his head. "Are you asking why you wouldn't be safe around me? Why Phoenix might tell you to stay away?" he asks. Better to clarify rather than try to answer a question that he does not understand.


<Pyper> Phoenix never gave a real reason why. Profanity, surely when coupled with his name but it left Pyper very confused. The next hour it'd be brushed away, forgotten until the next time. "Yes. Never said. Just be careful. A lot." The chances that Pyper would never see another wound again were very slim. The hunters taunted her in the sewers, and more reluctance rose every time she fed from a human. Protect the Masquerade. Not knowing what that meant, she only fed lightly. Some nights, though. Even the thought made her start salivating enough to swallow four times before her mouth was emptied of spit.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse drops the crossed arms and instead pushes his hands into his pockets. "I think I broke her heart," Jesse says. It seems the simplest explanation, and given their latest encounters, one that his ego is willing to cling to. "She had an attachment to me that I wasn't aware of. She made me believe I was dead to her - so I disenthralled. She's not so good at expressing her feelings," he says. "As far as I am aware, she is the only one hurt by my actions. The moral, I think, Pyper - don't fall in love with me, and I won't pose any threat," he says. It's that ego speaking again. Teasing, always. He won't admit that it stings a little, that she's warned them against him. But so be it.


<Pyper> That word again. Love. People used it a lot but how did they know when they were captured by the lethal emotion? Leah had said it once, Pyper never knew what to say back. When she tried to recall the memory, it failed her. More than likely, she never said anything back. "Don't think I'm made for it. No worrying." The closest attachment she had of that nature might have been Paige, though Pyper's unaware of what the infatuation to the woman's natural preference to sado-masochism means. "Why did you break it? Her heart. Was yours somewhere else?"


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's brow arches. He could keep stringing this along. He can imagine Pyper going back and questioning Phoenix about it; can imagine Phoenix coming at him with another knife and that furious fire in her eyes. Demanding why he's telling lies about her to her childer. It's so tempting. "I'm just kidding around. I don't know if she ever did think of me that way. Long story short? She wanted me to choose between her and the faction - Tytonidae. She made me choose because I wouldn't answer a question. She didn't like the decision I made. She made me feel as if I were dirt beneath her shoe, so I took myself out of the equation," he gives a shrug. "As far as love is concerned, I don't think I'm made for it either," he says with barely a wink. It's a lie, but a required one.


<Pyper> Blink. It's after the third in the series that the words registered to her. The edges of her vision were blurred. The start of the hunger. Being sated, thinking came when dragged. Not easily, it screamed, like a wailing child not wanting to leave the park. Add in the hunger, and it's impossible to keep one thought from the other. "S-she won't like mine. Wants me fixed. Normal. Relative term. I am me." Exhaling, focus pinpoints words, phrases. They scatter, and try to be collected again. "Then I found the right one. A confidant. In you. I-I... I feed. Need to. May I be excused?" Erratic physical pulsations of her limbs told her there couldn't be anymore waiting. Blood was required. Now.


<Jesse Fforde> There's the urge to reach over and place a calming hand on Pyper's shoulder; to show her a neat trick that he has learned, in return for the one that she has shown him. To feed her, just by thinking about it. Just by focusing, by channeling some kind of magical energy into her, replenishing her blood, abating her hunger. Not wanting to give her the impression that he wants to 'fix' her, however, and rather than have her feel like he is being charitable due to her condition, Jesse refrains. He makes shooing gestures with his hands. "No need to ask. Get off my lawn, go frolick," he says. He's grinning, again. It's somehow satisfying - an Altaire, making a wrong choice. He's sure he'll see Pyper again, and will be made aware of the consequences, if there be any.


<Pyper> Pyper's head bowed to look at the grass, then at Jesse. For reasons she couldn't even articulate, her body hunched down, bending at the knees. A claw hand snatched up blades of grass by the roots and tore them from the earth. Readied at her side, the clump of organic tendrils wiped dirt on her borrowed clothes. "Now some of it is my lawn. Next time. Tattoo. No wounds. No bites, scratches. No bullets. Bye." A queer way of saying farewell without the promise of seeing him again. Pyper knew that there would be a night where she ventured into his presence again. Phoenix would be wary, even irate that her new childe's closest lures were ones of a recognized, dissipated lineage.

Maybe it would mean Pyper is ex-communicated from the Altaires. Nothing of that nature would bother her. Listening to other people all her life planted some rebellion. A simple need to experience more than being advised. Turning away, Pyper's eyes caught Jesse's, staring more through his head than directly at it and smiled. She set off for the only sewer grate in the area, a hand closing around her stomach. Overfeeding was a very high possibility.