Down the Drain [Grey]

[Jesse Fforde]

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

<Grey> She had been covered in dry guts. She had spent hours in the Flats, slicing and shooting up Zombies before taking a nap on the offered couches. It wasn't long before she was hungry, stalking humans and feeding on the streets of the City. She had roughly $130 in her pockets now, along with the hairs at the back of her neck standing up a few times in the sense that she should take her stalking of humans elsewhere.

Having scoured the city, she barely made it to Larch Court. It was one of the places that Jesse had offered her months ago when he had turned her. He explained that the apartment was basically a go-to for safety, rest, and shelter. It wasn't like her apartment that she shared with Jesse. No, the apartment she considered cold and modern compared to this family camp ground. However, they were up against the door and she had just told him that he smelled. Because, in truth, he was still wet with whatever it was he had hunted. But, his kiss was blissful. She had teased him that she was going to go read. And she had every intention she was going to. That was, until curiosity had gotten the better of her. After the impromptu meeting with Abigail on the Crow and the fact that she shut down whatever conversation the woman wanted to have with her; Grey teetered.

She didn't want to question Jesse. She didn't want to know. However, she opened that bathroom door and spoke to him while she played with the hem of her gore coated shirt, dry cotton flaking old crusty blood around the seat and the floor as she set in her jeans and bare feet. "Jesse. How many women have you had? Well... I mean is there any more I should know about? Not that I care... Because I know you have had past ladies. But... Is there anyone else maybe that I should be aware of? For... Future meetings or ah... Words. Or situations."

Grey wasn't good at this. She looked down now instead of looking towards the glass encased shower stall. She took a deep breath, her hair was half matted to her scalp and she hadn't even had the energy really to move around the apartment. No, she just collapsed back against the door upon entering the suite and managed to smile at Jesse when he stalked to her.


<Jesse Fforde> The raid had nearly been cleared. Jesse might have stayed there to the very last, but he’d been in it for days. Catching some shut eye in corners, staying awake during the day as he’d forced himself to be able to do where everyone else dropped like flies. Zombie wolf after wolf dropped beneath his gun, or his blade, or whatever the hell he felt like using. Whatever his clothes had been before, after a couple of days they were unrecognisable.

And after a couple of days without Grey, he was missing her terribly. Longing to see her, to touch her. It was a heaven send, stepping through the door to Larch Court and finding her just there, just inside. As if it were always meant to be. She’d asked him to kiss her, and he had. And he’d have been willing to continue kissing her, if she hadn’t swatted his *** to the bathroom. Yes, he stank. He couldn’t even smell it anymore.

His entire body is covered in soap suds when the door opens. It closes again, and Grey asks her questions. Jesse slips beneath the jet stream of hot water; it sluices over his skin and the muck and gore hurricanes down the drainage pipe. She has a point, poor Grey. He hesitates to answer, pausing with his hands splayed against the tiles as water pours over his head. But the way she’d asked, she doesn’t sound angry. Merely curious. He clears his throat.

“I can’t give you an actual number, dove,” he says. Not that she seems to be asking for one. Jesse’s not the kind of guy to keep notches on his bed post. He hasn’t kept count, over the years. But, she’s not asking for all of their names. Just the ones that matter. The ones that are still around. He takes a breath, and spits water from his mouth.

“Abigail, you know about now,” he says. He’d been waiting for her to ask about Abigail, to say something. Anything. But she hadn’t brought the subject up. Not until now. “Aaahm, Felicity. You haven’t met her. Yet, I mean. She came back… but now she’s gone again,” he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. “AJ. Aysel… though she doesn’t seem to remember me or anyone else anymore, so I don’t think it’ll come up in conversation. Unless I remind her. Which I won’t,” he says. Should he mention Yekaterina? Perhaps not. He hasn’t seen her for months, and she’s not the kind to get attached. He can’t see Grey through the misted glass – just the outline of her body. He watches it, anyway.


<Grey> "So..." She says that word, a word that can mean so much. So. Her train of thought sort of levels off, running into the ground as he answers her question. She looks down at her bare feet which had blisters, trails of smeared blood soaked into her socks that she had managed to take off before hobbling to the bathroom. Her crispy, dried denim was uncomfortable as she sat there upon the toilet seat. Her t-shirt was the same, scratchy against her skin as she shifted back and forth. As if she had a stomach ache and her body sort of rocked itself ever so slowly to the pain. But, of course, she wasn't in pain physically.

It was uncomfortable having this conversation with Jesse. She felt it was important though after she shoved him off to the shower. She bit her lower lip and lifted her right hand. A right hand that had been shattered and the hint of bruises underneath dried gunk was barely noticeable. She still, underneath all the Zombie scents, still smelled a little like Fforde blood. The human's bullet wound was still open upon her right shoulder. "I..."

She was trying. She was trying to make sense for him. She was trying to digest the fact that in retrospect, these relationships he had or one night stands weren't important to her. It was his past. Everyone had one. She assured that to both Abigail and Jesse on the internet access. "Well, okay. That's fine. Good, even. It's all good." She said, tripping over her tongue as she brought her right hand up, pushing back slick hair that had dried hours ago. It crunched underneath her fingers as she worried her loose braid.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse wants to laugh. But he doesn’t. He reaches out to wipe some of the mist from the glass. He can see Grey through it. She looks nearly as bad as he had, not long beforehand. He wonders whether that’s it, whether that’s all she really wants to ask. He’s not ashamed of his past, nor angry that she wants to know about it. He does find her awkwardness terribly amusing, however, but wonders whether he shouldn’t. Whether, underneath it all, she has a legitimate concern that she’s not voicing.

“You remember AJ, right? When I told you about her?” he asks. Maybe not the best question to ask. But he has a habit of trying to incite Grey’s irritation; he likes to see her huffy, and angry. And he especially liked it that night, when she threw that wrench at him. And what had followed. Oh, that glorious night, that started it all. He still hadn’t thanked AJ. AJ probably wouldn’t be amused in the slightest. Especially not now, given the back and forth earlier in the evening on the Andras Crownet. But he can’t help, now, but want to ridicule her. It’s easy to ridicule people who take him too seriously when they shouldn’t.

Not Grey, however. He’s not ridiculing her now, but he is teasing her, just a little bit. He knows that he was her first, her only. It’s part of the reason why he is so possessive of her; there’s something special in that. A diamond in the rough, and he loves her oh so much. He wouldn’t want any past fling to come between them – he wouldn’t call them lovers. He has his eyes narrowed at Grey through the glass, skin squeaking as he brushes away the new steam that has accumulated.


<Grey> "She wanted to touch you, right? She wanted to get with you. To... Have sex with you, right?" She took a deep breath even though it wasn't needed. She flattened her toes against the floor in the bathroom and then clenched them. She seemed to be doing the same with her fingers, trying to ignore the dull ache of the human's bullet wound. Being shot was very painful, but she had been steadily getting used to the bite of the metallic zing in her flesh or lodged into her muscle. "She didn't deserve you. I wanted you." She stood now, so slowly. Even though she had managed to feed, Grey did not seem very energetic. Her movements were slow even when her body was full and ripe - filling out the jeans and top without a problem as it had pretty much molded to her flesh.

She stepped closer towards the shower doors. Her feet would drag against the flooring and she'd manage to lean against part off the door for support. Grey was always full of questions. She was always trying to make sure that her assertions were correct. Licking her lower lip - the taste of Jesse was still upon her mouth. She wanted him. She wanted him, but it could wait. Right now, she just managed to stand up and work on peeling her clothes off. "I just want to make sure none of them try touching you again. They can keep their damn hands to themselves."

She certainly sounded flustered at this point. Her eyes had narrowed and there was an edge to her voice that screamed bitchy attitude. She struggled with her button on her jeans before the soft hiss of the zipper sounded to add to the pile of ruined clothes.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse smiles and straightens as Grey does. There’s that itch, that urge to coddle; to help her peel away her clothes and kiss away all her aches and pains. There’s the twitch at the back of his throat, the want to scold her for getting hurt, but he can’t do that. Can’t, because to see her with a gun in hand, or a blade, to watch her take down the big bads in this city, it’s something that he wants to see. Something that she needs to learn; which she has learned, and he can’t help but be proud. So very proud. She is a big girl, a woman, and she can take care of herself. She’s proven this, time and again.

Expecting Grey’s entrance, Jesse makes room in the shower. Although he doesn’t condone anyone hurting any of his childer, he likes the way Grey talks. He likes the attitude. It feeds his ego in the worst kind of way. He licks his lips and considers – to continue, or not? He cants his head to the side.

“She didn’t just want to, Grey. She did. I was all broken and useless in bed, bored shitless. She came in, talking about… ****, I don’t even remember. But she threw herself at me. Peeled away her clothes, peeled away mine. The rest is kind of history,” he says. Yeah, okay, maybe he’s taken it a little too far, now. He knows it, even as the words rumble from his tongue. Technically he and Grey had been together, then, even if they hadn’t slept together. But, since then, he’d touched no other woman and no other woman has touched him. But he can’t help it. It’s like habit, this teasing. Provoking.


<Grey> They can be in the same room without lunging at each other. Though Grey was certainly one to want to touch Jesse, at times she could keep that need under control. She struggled for a minute with that shirt. She wasn't about to rip a shirt that had the possibilities of just being stained after a wash. She battled with the cotton for a moment, blood draining away from her face as the pain from moving her arm above her head seeped into her body. The hiss of her breath was sucked in between her teeth and she refused to whimper as the wound oozed a little fresh redness onto her skin. A couple more steps and she was inside the wet warmth of the shower. She brushed against Jesse, reaching for the soap. "Stop. Stop talking about her. **** her. **** her for touching you."

Her attitude flared. Her eyes narrowed at him. Her hair was still trapped in that braid and she scowled as she brought the bar of soap up to wash her face. She scrubbed at it, nails washing through the dried dirt and grime and moving to clean her ears. "And you let her." Yes, at this point her left hand - the uninjured arm - smacked against his chest. It wasn't to hurt. It wasn't to cause pain. It was to cause awareness. Hers. Jesse was hers. Those bright blue eyes of hers narrowed at his tattooed flesh. "I don't like seeing little twits flaunting over you. I know the difference between a touch and a touch." The soap still in her right hand, she brought it up to run over her skin - the right shoulder exposing itself to the hole and the surrounding bruise to the tissues.

"I hate thinking about your hands on someone else. I don't like it. That's why I didn't want Abigail to say anything else. It makes my skin crawl to know you... You were with others." And though Grey seemed to be possessive over her lover, she also seemed to be realistic. Jesse was a man that knew how to have fun and indulge his desires. He was attractive and Grey was obviously not blind. She shook her head, dropping her chin to continue washing herself off with a scowl.


<Jesse Fforde> There she is. There’s his girl. The one that threw the wrench at him; she’s there, hidden beneath the skin, flashing out of those blue eyes. Jesse himself is mostly clean and he could step out of the shower stall, but he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, albeit moving a little out of the way to give Grey room to wash. His gaze lingers on her wound ever so slightly, hiding his concern beneath a satisfied smirk. It’ll heal, he knows. It won’t take long. A bullet, though. How? Last he’d heard she’d been tackling Ancients. Sewers, then? More hunters? Or cops? Has she been seen, feeding? He doesn’t ask those questions, not just yet.

“Technically she fucked me,” he says. Oh, he shouldn’t keep going. Shouldn’t, but he did. He just said that, and he bites his lip as if to show regret, as if he could take it back. Rather than take it back – because he can’t – he speaks over her, immediately on the tail of his last utterance. “Is that really the only reason you wanted to know…?” he asks. “Which women… to save from future conflict? Or are you going to make sure I’m not in the same vicinity as them ever again?” he asks out of idle curiosity.

He could have reassured her, of course. She is the one he loves, and he’s never loved another before her. She is the only one he will be touching in the foreseeable future. Later, however. He can do that later; he can repeat those vows to her, later. Repeat his love for her, to replace the harshness of her past. They have all the time in the world. He leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Watching her every move, but otherwise keeping his hands to himself.


<Grey> "Yes, and she got your dick hard and bounced on it until you both came, right?" Grey shot him a look of disgust. She stuck her hands all over her skin. She slid that soap all over and then ended up throwing the rest of the bar at him. Well, because he deserved it - again. She had thrown a wrench at him before. The bar of soap was nothing after all. She sighed and smirked. She even threw that soap with her non-dominant hand after all. Reaching for the shampoo, she stuck her head underneath the spray of the shower now.

"Technically. So does that technically mean I can go let someone **** me? And then I could come back to you and say it was all their fault?" Two could play this game, after all. She hid a smirk by turning her back to him and getting busy on pulling the band from her hair and unleashing the wet mop of wavy length across her back. Some of it was sticky. Some of it was clumped together. But before long, she had it all soapy and piled atop her head, massaging it with her fingers across her scalp and a sigh like she was picturing a hot man -doing- her.

"I wanted to know... Because I didn't like being blind-sided, I guess. I didn't like her being able to push it in my face. I... I just felt like I could have been better prepared." Decorum. Then again, she was no longer the tiny, quiet girl that accepted everything for face value. Her mind raced, trying to put together pieces and places. "You can be in the same vicinity. But if I see anything more than the casual touch two people are going to end up with broken fingers." A warning, perhaps. A beloved warning.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

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

<Jesse Fforde> It’s hard to keep a straight face. It’s hard not to scowl and growl, to lunge across the stall and remind Grey just who she belongs to. But he has to assume that she’s just teasing; that she’s giving back just as bad as he’s giving. Technically, yes, that’s what had happened. He should have told AJ no, right in the beginning. But he hadn’t, because he’d been bored, and she was offering him one of his favourite past times. And he’d been deprived, for so long…

And yet he couldn’t tell her that, wouldn’t, because that would be crossing a line. And he wouldn’t make her feel bad because she had made him wait. In the end, it had been worth the wait. Entirely, and he should have been stronger. He takes a breath and lets it out. He nods, slowly. Yes, perhaps it would have been a good idea to fill Grey in on his murky past, with the women he’d slept with and left, because they are attached to him. Because two of the women he’d named were turned, are of his blood, of his lineage. He has an obligation toward them, and he won’t watch them flounder, won’t leave them to their own devices because of his own actions.

“Broken fingers, hm? I sure can accept that, given if any man chooses to **** you and you allow it, he’ll be dead and you’ll…” he shakes his head. No, even in that situation he’s not sure he’d want to hurt Grey. He’d have to accept that perhaps he’s not enough and that she was wanting to move on. To see what’s out there that’s different, that he could not give her. He laughs, then. Because this is exactly what he’d always been afraid of, was the exact reason why he’d pushed so many people away, and hurt them on purpose. It’s a vulnerability thing. Grey is the best weapon anyone has to use against him, to bring him down. To ruin him, completely. Grey herself included.

“I’m sorry, yes. You could have been better prepared and that’s on me. But now you know, and now you can be prepared,” he says with a nod. He is of course capable of being serious, too, every now and again.


<Grey> She was surprised she didn't get a physical retaliation. She was expecting a full body clamp up against the wall and underneath that wet spray. She was expecting his mouth on hers and his fingers digging into her flesh. So, when it didn't come, she turned herself around and began to wash out that shampoo from her hair. Dove. She happened to pick up the bottle that promised moisture, humidity protection, and shine. Her eyes opened, focused upon the brooding man in the stall now.

“I wouldn't allow it. Unless, of course, that man is you, Jesse. I only want you." She said to him, so much so that her voice was husky and filled with the emotion that was playing across his face. Murder and grime, passion and lust certainly seemed to be a part of their meetings. "I don't think you need to be sorry. I mean, it is the past after all. Abigail was the past and AJ was the past. You won't touch them again, will you?" She asked him then, perhaps a little self-conscious about her own role in his life. She knew she stood by his side. She knew she was with him. "I mean... You don't still want them, do you?" First of all, she knew that AJ did not please Jesse. She knew that the woman had been a moment's decision with a care to try and get over her. As in, for Jesse to try to block Grey out. And it hurt. Jesse knew that much. It had hurt, she cried, she threw a fit, and then she threw her tool at him. It hurt more than her mother's harsh words. It hurt more than her mother's angry slap or weak punch. It hurt because she had given the man she now looked at all the ability to do her broken heart so much more damage.

She took a deep breath, reaching for the conditioner now. The water was still hot. The steam still crept up to their waists, teasing at their upper bodies and creating a dense fog between them. "I just... I need to know you are thinking about me and not them." Distracted. Grey didn't like being distracted at work or while she was training. Her lips naturally fell into their pout as she squeezed that white, sloppy goo of the conditioner all along her wet hair.


<Jesse Fforde> If she’s self-conscious about being watched, Grey doesn’t show it. Jesse finds it fascinating, the things that women do to make themselves beautiful. He’s not sure that any of it is completely necessary. But if there’s one thing that Jesse loves most about Grey, it’s her hair. She’s tending to her hair, now, while they speak; she lathers it with shampoo, before washing it out. And is now applying sufficient amounts of conditioner. That conditioner is perhaps what he could thank for her hair’s softness.

Does it even matter, now? Does her hair grow? Does it die? Does it need the extra conditioner, or will it always be thick and lustrous, so long as she feeds and keeps herself healthy, robust, full of energy and life? It doesn’t matter, not really. It’s a habit she keeps, and needs, because her hair had been full of gunk and muck and it needs to be washed, just as his had. Though he had far less hair than Grey to contend with.

Only now does he push himself off the wall, to join Grey beneath the jet of hot water. To help her push the conditioner through her hair with his own fingers. To slide around behind her, then, with his arms around her waist and his mouth at her ear. “I only ever want you, Grey. Your are my Goddess, and without you my soul would be incomplete,” he says, nipping at the lobe of her ear. “I don’t ever think about them. Not like that. Not now. Not ever,” he says. "And you... you won't ever think about other men? You won't ever wonder how it could be different, with someone else? I am all you know..." he asks, voice equally as emotionally gruff, strained.


<Grey> As her body was her own, she also shared it with Jesse. She gave herself to the man before her as he gave her his body. She looked at him with a bit of concern. Though her teeth didn't dig into her lower lip that early morning, she felt content to watch him. To wonder. To ponder his response to her. The long lengths of her hair took a lot of effort at times. In fact, Grey was one to linger for an hour if not more in the bathroom for hours on end after Jesse had invited her to stay in the Towers.

It was luxury there at its finest. Never before had she had the pleasure of taking a bath. And it wasn't just any kind of bath, it was a bubble bath. She had fallen in love with the sudsy soap, staying in the water until it had turned icy cold and her human skin had shrivelled. But now, now she still spend time in the bath. Perhaps not as much as she used to because of her rigorous training schedule. She ploughed through work, snapped her fangs at humans, and trained until she could barely move.

"I don't need to think about other men. I only ever want you, Jesse Fforde. You teach me. You show me. You please me. You give me what I am hungry for. You." She whispered as her hair slid down, almost so slick it barely could hold purchase onto her flesh. It slapped its heavy weight against her back and his shoulder now that he pressed against her. Jesse wouldn't need to worry. Her appearance would not change any time soon. The gift she had given him upon his absence before her turning was starting to wear off. A razor kept the stubble at bay. "You let me explore." She said finally, turning her cheek and chin in an attempt to capture his mouth with her lips.


<Jesse Fforde> He holds her close. Though their bodies hold no heat, they are warm in the shower. The heat of the water allows at least that much – to bring back the phantom heat that they had lost. He keeps his eyes open as he watches her. Apparently, it’s supposed to provide and keep intimacy, to watch one’s love as they’re kissed. Slow and secure, he tightens his grip around Grey’s torso, careful not to nudge her wounded shoulder. He’d noticed the way she’d tensed and hissed when she’d taken off her shirt. He knows that though it will heal, it hurts her, now.

The bullet. In her shoulder. He had wanted to ask her about that, he remembers now. Now that they have kissed and made up – legitimately, even though they hadn’t really been arguing – he knows that if he wants to steal her from the heat of the shower and carry her though to one of the bunks, unheeding of the fact that he’s quiet certain Abigail is in the house, somewhere, he shouldn’t bring it up. But he does, because he wants to know.

He indulges, for a little while, kissing Grey, his tongue dancing with hers. Only when they stop, only when they naturally pull apart does he gesture to the wound, whose oozed juices are immediately washed away by the water. “How’d you get shot?” he asks, casually, as if it’s a question that any lover would ask their partner after their days apart. Instead of Hey, Honey, how was your day? it’s How’d you get shot? Just the small things, he supposed, that they get used to, being what they are.


<Grey> As he eased her close, she absorbed the sensations of her skin sliding against his. It was a fantasy come true, really. Jesse was the proverbial man of her dreams. He fascinated her. He supported her. He made her laugh. He goaded her into being more. Into being better... And she loved him for it. Her eyes had instinctively closed, but didn't last long when she did not see his drift shut as her eyelids had.

Instead, she opened her gaze to him, to nip at his lower lip and to tease the line that had been created there. The kiss against the door had been blissful, setting the heat higher between them that early morning. As the conditioner in her hair slowly rinses out in the steady warm stream of the shower. She teased her mouth against his. Her hands are everywhere, sliding against his skin. Though, in truth, she favors her right side. She favors her shoulder and the bones that crunch together in pain every time she moves her arm.

"By a human. Feeding. I didn't realize it. They were packing." She shook her head. She hadn't been quick enough. She hadn't been on her guard. She'd been tired and had tried to impose herself too quickly upon her prey. Leaning against the man a bit, she took his strength even if he too had just come home. "It... I.... Hurts some." She shrugged, and of course the wince was quick to come at a movement she had restrained so since seeing him again.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse grunts. It happens, every now and again – you feed on the wrong victim. A human who gets savvy to an attack and produces a gun before you can say boo. Or a hunter, who has made themselves look like an innocent, easy victim, but turns out to be anything but. Jesse doesn’t like it, of course; can feel his unbeating heart constrict in his chest as he imagines what might happen if it gets out, somehow. If Grey is seen one too many times, if she ends up on that list… what’s he going to do with her? He has his very strong beliefs, and he made a vow when he joined Tytonidae that he would give no leniency, none. No matter who the offender is and how close he might be to them.

It’s a selfish thought. But it lingers. “You need to be more careful,” he says, murmured as the water hisses, spray slamming against the tiles at their feet, crackling as it collides with their bodies, dollops of it breaking against the walls. “I don’t want to have to kill you,” he says; although there’s a humorous lilt to his words, and an upturn of his lips in a small smile, there’s another seriousness there, too. Just a small ounce.

Grey is new, and she is adjusting. She has always been an independent woman and he can see her trying, now, to keep her independence. He knows her. He knows that if she breaks the Masquerade it’s not on purpose, or for some malicious cause. It will be by accident, and she will do what she needs to do to make up for it. But he also knows his faction; forgiveness comes only once, an understanding if it’s one’s first slip-up. But the second time around? If it keeps happening? There’ll be no third chances. But nothing has happened. Grey is not in trouble. She is not on the list. For the moment, it is fine.

The way she leans against him, it’s almost languid. The two of them are so short on energy, but he knows that he, at least, still has some in reserve. He pushes his fingers through Grey’s hair – satisfied that the conditioner has all washed out, he turns off the water. “But you are hurting, my love. I think, maybe, we should go rest, hm?” he says, releasing his hold on her so that he could step from the shower stall, so that he could hold up a fluffy white towel, ready to wrap Grey up in its softness.


<Grey> He scolds her softly. His warning is gentle. She seemed to be lulled now by the sounds of the shower around them and the comfort of knowing he is once again at her side. Her body responds to him, it always has. "I thought I was careful enough. I'm sorry. There wasn't anyone else around. No cop. No distractions. And they were sitting there looking so delicious. Then blam." Grey whispered, her nose scrunching at the memory.

"I was thirsty. It had been a couple days. Too busy with work and training. I had lost the blood before. But I didn't have time to catch up. It's the second day. It does look better than the first." She commented, thinking back to the gun powder, the ugly bruising, and the redness to the wound.

The wound had her concerned. She tried to think back to those times when Jesse'd saunter into the apartment, coated in wounds to his groin, his chest, or an arm and leg. He'd smile at her. He'd throw her winks and be a saucy ****. He'd wear those wounds with pride. But, Grey wasn't there yet. No. Her nerves hurt and her muscles were sore from the almost overuse of her body. "Rest. Bed. With you." She murmured, stepping into the wonderfully soft towel he held out for her.

"To sleep?" She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to let him tell her it was all going to be better. Yes, she knew it would be fine. She needed him right next to her, even if they had both just been sarcastic in their quips to each other's sexual preferences. Grey sighed and curled into his holding grip upon her towel. "Bed." She murmured, as if confirming with him her nearing exhaustion. The sun was no doubt struggling to come up.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse can feel it, of course. The sun’s sway. Can feel it like there’s a ghost in the room, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. If he were to lay down and close his eyes and focus on sleep then yes, the sun would have its way and he would fall into the sleep of the dead. But he doesn’t feel the weariness like he used to. Not immediately. He has forced his body into the habit of resistance, so that now, should he choose to, he can stay awake. All day. It’s a self-taught skill that he used, once, to avoid nightmares. Now, he supposes, he can use it to keep Grey safe, should any hunter come to try to find her while she’s sleeping. They don’t expect to meet with a vampire who’ll fight back.

One of the beds in the next room is larger than the rest. Not a bunk, but a proper bed. It’s set apart from the rest of the bunks; hidden behind shelves, with a curtain for a door. It’s not hard to see that Grey is wilting; a flower closing up its buds not for the night time, but for the day. She repeats herself, in short half-formed sentences. He needs to scold her some more, he knows. To tell her that she can’t go without feeding and, if for some reason she doesn’t, that she needs to tell him. He’ll heal her, give her the sustenance that she needs. Or, to at least make sure she comes back here, to Larch Court – he’ll make sure there’s a fresh stash of blood bags always on hand.

For now, however, bed. Comfortable, warm, relatively private. “Sleep? Maybe,” he murmurs teasingly as he leads Grey through into the bedroom, and closes the door that leads out to the hall. There’s no one else occupying any of the bunks. He leads her to the secluded bed, abandoning the white towels in order to crawl beneath the blankets.