Avoidance + Denial [Gresse]

[Jesse Fforde]

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

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's still clinging to her like a bad smell, though. Frowning at her.

<Grey> She’s frowning back at him, coming awake slowly. She has her arms up, stroking them along his back. And she’ll ask him what’s wrong and bring her lips to peck at his.

<Jesse Fforde> He'll blink and the frown will go away and he'll tell her nothing is wrong. And kiss her back, with a shifting wriggle of his body.

<Grey> She’d smile a little bit. And she’ll continue to kiss him. His lips. His face, starting at his jaw to his earlobe. To nip and suckle. before kissing over his temple and then his eyes. Just ever light, feathering touches as her hands soothe down his back. And he’ll get an “Mhmmm” From her as an answer.

<Jesse Fforde> "Mmmm..." is all she's going to get out of him, his eyes closed now as she kisses his face all over. Ther frown is gone completely, to be replaced with a serene kind of smile. Because in the grand scheme of things, really, there is absolutely nothing to frown about. Everything is under control. All of it.

<Grey> She’ll shift her hips just a little. Ease her legs up to let her pelvis rub against his. She’s so naughty. Dirty, I’d like to think of it. And she’ll drop her head, pressing slow, soft kisses to his neck. Her hair is all a mess, that body bare and covered with quilts.

<Jesse Fforde> Naughty, indeed. He'd have thought she'd not need any sex for a month, given their last interaction. But he'll tilt his chin upward, almost eager for the touch of her lips on his neck. It tingles, where she had gnawed at him those nights prior--there's no wound, but it's the memory of it that he can feel. He'll swallow and glance up at the headboard--neither of them had removed the ropes yet. They're just dangling there. "Not going to work tonight then, hm?" he'll ask, curious.

<Grey> “Nuh… Less you’re going to let me up.” She murmured to him. Of course, truth be told, she forgot about work. Forgot. There was no alarm set, she wasn’t even sure where her phone was, and the sex was too good to do anything else but antagonize each other. She nibbled at his throat, letting her fangs running over this throat as her tongue flicked that delicious tasting flesh.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse tests her. He flings the quilts away so that their bodies are open to the brisk air. His leg comes down off her hip and his arms release their hold. The expression on his face is almost challenging. Of course he doesn't want her to get up, but he's teasing. As per usual. Seeing if she actually will.

<Grey> “MMmmhhhhooooohhhIdunnnnwannnaaaa….” She gave a heave of a sigh and squilched a fit. She reared up and attempted to get those warm quilts back, naked and exposed and hating every minute - no, second of it. Warmth. Jesse. Security. Oh. Angry Grey.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse mock frowns at her. "But who's going to make the money to support us, if you don't go to work, huh?" he says. Trying to be reprimanding but it's not working so well given the large grin on his face and the silent arch to his brow. It's slightly satisfying, seeing how much she doesn't actually want to leave.

<Grey> She gives a deep breath and sighs. Of course, she knows that Jesse is teasing. But, he is right. She has a savings account for a reason and that’s not to be dipped into if it doesn’t have to be. So, she makes a bit groan. A production if one will, only because she needs to convince herself too that she doesn’t want to get up. Blinking her eyes, she shudders and makes an attempt to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “Blagh.” Is all she says.

<Jesse Fforde> He doesn't quite expect Grey to actually get up. So when she moves away from him, he reaches out to pull her back. His arm curls around her and he pins her to the bed underneath him. Not only that, but he grabs the blankets and pulls them over the top of both of them, heads and all, tucking the edges in around Grey so that she cannot move. Jesse himself is literally strapped to Grey with the blankets tight over his back. Snug as two bugs in a rug. "No, nope," he says, voice muffled in the pitch close darkness.

<Grey> “But you are right. I should go to work. Need the money.” She murmured to him with a soft sigh. She easily, willingly even, went with him. Cocooned in the renewed warmth of the blankets and her lover, she smiled to the man of her dreams. Now in the darkness, she feels her fiance, stroking her hands up the dips and plans of his body she can’t see from his back to his sides down to his bottom and grips it. “It helps buy things. Needs. Share it. Have you seen your friend?” She asked. The fae. She wondered if they rekindled. And she didn’t know why it bothered her so much. But it did. That the fae not coming around upset her more than Victor not opening up to Jesse.

<Jesse Fforde> "He hasn't," Jesse says, knowing exactly who Grey is referring to, uncannily. His own hands have less room to roam, what with keeping himself balanced so he doesn't completely crush Grey - even if he has done that before, though he couldn't help it, then. He'd been utterly spent. Now he just breathes her in, while his fingers run from her thigh to hip and back again, over and over. "I think maybe if I go burn down Auto Doc and do so with glee, he might come back," he says. Truthfully, he hasn't been lighting too many fires lately. Maybe he should.

<Grey> “Oh. Well…” Grey’s voice trails off. It isn’t as if she wants to tell Jesse what to do. After all, the man is capable of making his own decisions. But it makes Grey upset a little that he still hasn’t made amends with the little beast. “You don’t want to burn down that place of business though. S’my job. Brock’ll be so unhappy. And then I’d just work more trying to get his business back up off the ground. Would you want me not to come home during the day?” She teased him quietly with an impending absence.

<Jesse Fforde> Truth is, Mandy is a Fae. A creature Jesse knows nothing about. One who never talked to him--they seemed to communicate through understanding alone. Except that Jesse never did understand the creature. He was just a thing that used to hang around. He wouldn't do Jesse's bidding. The thing would act as it wanted to act. Jesse has no idea how to make amends with it. How to even find it to make amends. The only thing he can think of is to worship it - or fire, that which Mandy had thrived upon. "During the day? I would certainly hope you were home during the day or I'd have to summon your fine ***," he smirks.

<Grey> Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She remembered back to a time where it felt like forever until she could make out the nuances of the shadows in the sewers and the night. For a moment, she regaled Jesse’s words. She felt them for what they were. She had been scared to death that day, her arm cut off swiftly to the bone by what she later understood were fae. And yet, she still had trouble with trees. Not so much with staying away from large cats and all. It wasn’t as if Grey worked with them every day. Her mind was jumbled that night, slinking from one topic of thought to another. Trees. Solid… Wood. She seemed to frown a bit, shaking her head. “I know you would summon me. That night… That day. That was hard without you. When I thought I was texting you.” She said, letting her thoughts drift off. It was painful to remember. Even though she still considered herself fresh blood… Fresh death - she certainly had been even more of a green thumb six months ago.

<Jesse Fforde> It was not Jesse's intention to dredge up old memories. His statement had been uttered in jest, thinking that Grey just hadn't adjusted yet - that she was using 'day' where she should have been using 'night'. Although he can't see her frown, he can hear it in her voice - even lifts his hand so his fingers can flutter over the expression on her face. "Don't think about it," he says. "It's not going to happen again. I won't let it," he adds, in all seriousness. He has been making sure that he's home before dawn every morning; has been making sure that Grey is there. And if she's not, he WILL summon her. He doesn't care where she is or what she's doing, there's no way he'll ever let a day go by where she's not by his side.

<Grey> She closes her eyes at the feel of her lover's touch. At his gentle shush, her breath is taken. Partly, because she loves the smell of him together. To be without Jesse in any fashion was almost physically painful for Grey. Her arms tucked into him, curling against his chest as she hugged her legs around his, tangling them together. "I am still scared sometimes. I get bad dreams. All that blood..." She mumbles, tapering off. Her body shudders under his and she remains thankful for his cocoon.

<Jesse Fforde> Blood. All that blood, she says. And Jesse recalls all the blood he has spilled in his time. All the blood he has consumed. He'd drink this whole city dry given half the chance. He shifts, stretching one leg and curling the other, his fingers curling around behind Grey's neck. He has to curb his lust for blood, and remember why Grey has mentioned it. Her blood. No. He wouldn't see that spilled, or drained dry. He shakes his head. "They're just dreams, Dove. Conquer them," he says. He doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't know how to soothe her.

<Grey> "Yeah..." It is all she has to offer him. It is all that she can do to give him the benefit that he knows what is right for her. After all, his is her lover, fiancé, and Sire. She, however, felt so self conscious about the thoughts her mind had. Whether they were right or wrong. Half the time, her dreams were quickly turned into nightmares and left her speechless upon waking. In his arms, she just relaxed though.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse can't stand not being able to see her face. Balanced on his elbows, he flicks the blanket back so that the dim light from outside can bathe them both. His hair is mussed; there's no product in it, so it's soft and floppy. There's a frown on his face as he looks down at his lover, as if trying to discern what she's thinking from her expression. "Why do you want Mandy to come back so much? If you're still having nightmares, wouldn't a Fae in the house be the last thing you'd want?" he asks, quietly. It's hard for him to understand--he seems to thrive on nightmares. On pain, sometimes. Although he tries to step into Grey's shoes, he's finding it to be a difficult task.

<Grey> Grey doesn't have a good answer for him. Connections shouldn't be important to Grey. However, they are. They are important to her when they are important to Jesse and she can feel a burn in the pit of her stomach. It is an unease when a change has occurred. "She never did you wrong, though." That is the way Grey looks at it. In a white and black world. Grey grew up loving in darkness. Living in a hell that she had wished every day would change. She stayed quiet. She didn't even really learn to make eye contact until she had escaped from the house that she would let Jesse burn to the ground in a heart beat. Her voice held a conviction as if it wasn't about her. Her nightmares were her own after all, just as Jesse has said... She needs to conquer.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse opens his mouth to correct Grey. Mandy is male. But then, he doesn't actually know that, does he? It's not as if they lizard had dangly male bits. Mandy is just short for Salamander. Maybe he should call the thing 'Sal' instead. Is that still feminine? He shakes his head. It doesn't even matter. "No," he says, though he's still frowning down at Grey, his brows furrowed in concern as his fingers push through her hair, brushing it from her face, his fingers idly tickling at her scalp. He's suddenly awkward, like he wants to push the point. But push it where? Grey still has nightmares. That can't be helped. Maybe that's what irritates him - that he can't help.

<Grey> To see his face has Grey's own eyes adjusting. She hadn't opened them at first to see him when he threw the covers back. She had to get used to the fact that the draft was back. With a soft breath, she finally did look at him. "I'm sorry." She could tell he seemed befuddled. As if the grey aura around him darkened lightly. She lifted her hands and gently brushed them through his hair, enjoying the product free softness of his hair. She apologized because he looked not upset, but as if he didn't know what to do now.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse shakes his head, trying to shove away all the niggling little emotions that he can't decipher. He doesn't want to make Grey feel like she's got anything to be sorry about, because he doesn't believe that. That's where he struggles. He nudges a kiss against the rise of her cheek, and the downy hair near her ear. His stubble tickles at her skin and he closes his eyes, a small hum rumbles in his throat. "No, don't be sorry," he mumbles. "Don't."

<Grey> "The salamander never hurt you, I guess. That's what I mean to say. Mandy didn't strike first." The conscious that Grey had was amazing. She looked at things from a perspective of her human life. Even though they were creatures of the night now, it didn't give Grey a sense of being able to cause harm without guilt or remorse. They killed sometimes. It was Grey's choice not to kill. It was her choice not to turn another to this life. So, with Jesse's soft kisses, she turned her face into his. Her lips sought his. The kisses she needed.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

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



<Jesse Fforde> Whether or not Grey might have intended it, her words have an adverse effect upon Jesse. Mandy didn't strike first. Jesse hears is as judgment. He understands the context; that Grey wouldn't fear a creature that had never hurt Jesse without provocation. He's not about to defend himself and try to say he never deserved it. But still, his body tenses and his lips veer away from the kisses that Grey seeks. "No. Mandy didn't strike first. I did," he says. Is that guilt that he feels? And if he feels guilt for this, than what else could she make him feel guilty for? He doesn't want to feel guilty. There's an addiction that he has that cannot be sated without doing some harm, sometimes. And he enjoys that. And if he's guilty, he doesn't know how he'll cope. He shifts from Grey, as if to get up. Maybe to get dressed. To go where and do what? He hasn't thought that far ahead. Except that he just doesn't want to feel guilty.

<Grey> Grey can feel the air around the room change. It is as if there is a swirl of distaste that slides around Jesse. It is as if the it in the room is slowly sucked out, creating a vacuum. She doesn't want Jesse to feel bad. That wasn't her intention at all. She knows how important bonds are to him. However, maybe she misjudged. Maybe animals aren't upon the same plane as their like kind. Perhaps Jesse doesn't live by the same rules of 'do no harm' as Grey had assumed she did. After all, she wasn't one to lash out in a fit or rage unless provoked. She wasn't one to crush and slather and maim first. She did not need to step on people to get ahead. At least, in Grey's mind an honest day's work made for a healthy mind. But, their kind was inherently good. Or... Not? Was she completely wrong? Everyone had a touch of evil in them instead? Grey didn't say anything more. In fact, when she felt Jesse pulling away from her, she pressed her ignored lips together. She had done it now, she thought. Her hand left his back as he sat up and she made no move to drag him back for she was sure she had upset him now.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse crushes and maims. He used to do it more often. Now he does it less. Maybe because he's been in a better place and hasn't felt the urge. Even as he rolls away and stands, he knows that if he stopped it wasn't because he felt guilty, or ashamed. It was because he was going too far, too much. He couldn't let his habits lead the authorities back here, to him. Or to his family. Or to vampirekind. He is a keeper of the Masquerade, but that does not mean he stops being what he is. He is a creature with superior strength to humanity. The thoughts swirl and kick. No, that does not mean he has to slaughter and maim; he could be kind about it. But he can't help himself. If he dreams, most of the time it's about blood. The taste of it. The smell of it. The thick deliciousness of it. He doesn't murder people because he enjoys their pain. He just wants their ******* blood. All of it. The latest were those two young hipsters in their caravan out in the wilderness. They'd nothing to hurt him, or to hurt anyone. But he'd done it, because they were out of the way, and there were no witnesses. Grey's seen him do it - drain someone dry and drop their corpse like it's nothing. He glances over his shoulder, as if he's going to say something. But he doesn't. Instead he stands as he rolls his shoulders, trying hard not to think, now, about how much he wants to go drain someone dry.

<Grey> Grey's eyes fall to the bedside clock. She knows that the time since sunset hasn't been long. She still has a couple hours before she would be even showing up at Auto Docs. But, the more she stares at the clock the more she chastises herself for speaking to Jesse the way she has. He is a grown man. He has every right to start, maintain, and end whatever relationships he wants. Grey had, perhaps in her mind, no real reason to speak anyways. She had fought the hunters and the threat to their kind in the sewers. She had gotten into an altercation with a security officer before. She had used her words, but they had opened fire and cared not to hear what she had to say. Grey knew that Jesse pulled away a bit, and she let him. She didn't want to smother the man. Biting her lower lip, she just turned over onto her hip and continued as if they were both getting up eventually and going about their day. "Do you have any appointments today?"

<Jesse Fforde> There are things that Jesse doesn't tell Grey. And now he knows he never will. Though, he does wonder whether he should... lie and keep her or tell her everything and risk losing her, risk that she might pull away? But he had told her, hadn't he? In the beginning. He had warned her that he wasn't a good man. What did she think he was talking about? By the time she asks her question, he's already reached into the draw to grab a pair of boxer-briefs and pull them on. Now, he's staring at a pair of jeans, considering. He shakes his head. He has no appointments, but he should go into work anyway, shouldn't he? "No. But I'll go to the shop anyway," he says. The sentence tapers off, his voice cracking. Not through emotion, but because he's craving blood. Now he can't stop thinking about it. He stoops to pull on his jeans, and rifles through the drawer again to find an appropriate belt.

<Grey> There are things that some couples do not divulge to each other. The past is the past after all. Grey had told that to Jesse when they had first met. Everyone had baggage. Everyone had issues and expectations and regrets. Grey certainly was not perfect. She had lived a life where for a long time she was ruled by others. Every action, every word, every look was waited with a baited breath of complete fear. Perhaps the leeway she had felt with Jesse was so freeing, she had not learned to hold onto a filter. Hating herself as she laid there, Grey simply managed a bit of a nod that Jesse certainly didn't see. It was an acknowledgement of her fiancé's reply. Jesse's irritation to Grey is almost palpable, but she doesn't let on. "If you see Micah, tell him I said hello."

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse pauses once the belt is buckled. Paranoia seems to be a side-effect of whatever this is; as if 'saying hello to Micah' is a way of saying 'I'm going to ask Micah later, and if you didn't go into the shop, then I'll now you were doing something else'. From the dresser, Jesse pulls on his watch and does up the clasp. "Sure," Jesse says without looking at Grey. For a breif second he thinks maybe he should go talk to Micah, see what advice he might have about this situation - but even Micah doesn't know the extent of Jesse's tendencies. Micah might tell him to stop completely. He's not irritated with Grey; he's just avoiding the topic. Steering so well clear of it that he's turned a cold shoulder. He moves away from the dresser and into the closet--one of Grey's favourite places--to find himself a shirt.

<Grey> He was upset. She knew it. She could feel it. His demeanour, though quiet, was like complete ice. She shifted, pulling herself up in bed and she didn't want him to think she didn't care. Grey doesn't know all that Jesse does. She doesn't want to know all that Jesse does. He is, after all, a grown man. He doesn't really even answer to get. So, she pulls herself up naked from the bed. It only takes a few steps to cross the room and walk into the closet. Coming up behind him, she dropped a light kiss to the back of his neck. "Please be careful out there." Where... She didn't know. The city was a dangerous place after all. It held vampires. She gave herself a mental shake and let her hand trail off his shoulder even though he had turned away from her earlier. She started to gather her own clothes. Underwear. Jeans. A hoodie for work. She was just going to get dressed and head in.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse can feel Grey enter the closet; it's like a shift in the atmosphere, or that shadow moving in the corner of his eye. He doesn't know why he is tense, but it's there. She kisses the back of his neck and he feels the urge to turn around and kiss her full on the lips; to show her that everything's okay, even if he can't say it. Instead, she tells him to be careful, and the words that fall from his lips are ones that he immediately regrets. "I'm not a child. Of course I'm careful," he says. There's no reason for his snappy attitude, but it's all part and parcel. Somehow, it's how he gets; he used to think he gave no shits what anyone thought of him, but these days if anyone even hints at any kind of weakness or ineptitude, he snaps like a taut rubber band. He doesn't mean to sting those he cares about, but he does. And he's too proud to take it back. He bites his tongue and roughly pulls one of his regular t-shirts over his head - the one that says 'Psycho Killer 57' on the back. He'll grab his leather jacket on the way out the door, later.

<Grey> Though she has moved away from him now, her words obviously had touched Jesse the wrong way. Though she had meant the mood of the very adage to be soft and loving, he had interpreted it as her treating him as a child. And the flinch was made inward, careful to keep that ever expressive face set to Poker status. She easily pulled on her clothes, from her bra to her underwear. She silently pulled on her jeans and t-shirt, all her very own. The hoodie was to follow and her hair went up with a couple easy twist and she moved to pass him. "Love you." She said, and leaned in to him to brush a kiss to his temple while up on her tip toes. Soon, she was out of the closet and grabbing up her satchel and coat to head out the door. Grey never tended to dally too long in the early evening.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse leans into the brush of Grey's lips, his eyes closed and a low mumble emitting from his lips. A mumble that isn't coherent, that doesn't shape any words, but an echo of Grey's sentiment regardless. For whatever reason, Jesse has woken up on the wrong side of the bed and he shouldn't be taking it out on Grey. Which is why it's a good idea, maybe, if they go their separate ways for the evening. Just for the evening, to clash together again at the end of it. Even though, as soon as Grey leaves the closet, Jesse's slowly following, watching her retreating back with regret. Already longing for her to come back but saying nothing to make it happen. He grabs his own boots to pull them on, retrieving from the front hall table his wallet, his phone, his keys, and his tome.
He'll go to the shop for a while. But before he does, he's going to go hunt - so along with the usual, he also takes his sword and his gun, strategically hidden beneath his leather jacket. He catches Grey at the elevator, just as the doors are opening to let them in. He still doesn't say anything, but wraps his arm around her waist to tug her close, and to press a lingering kiss to her temple. "I love you, too," he whispers. It's what he should have said in the closet.

<Grey> Grey knows that she shouldn't take Jesse's withdrawal so hard. The man had every right to be moody. That is, at least to be upset with her. She tried to rationalize what happened only moments ago. She felt the emotion welling up inside of her and needed a fast exit strategy. But, grey rarely took the stairs, suffering from claustrophobia and her own delusions once upon a time of stairs. Grey is so wrapped up in her mental chastising that she doesn't even hear Jesse come up behind her after another soft closing of their door. She startles, a jump coiling underneath her coat as muscles go rigid for a moment. But, as the elevator doors ding open, she turns her head to give her lover a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes though - she's so distracted with her own newly filtering thoughts. She steps into the elevator, quiet with him now.

<Jesse Fforde> Grey is quiet. She doesn't react to the small hug, to the kiss to her temple. And so she ought to be, too. But Jesse can't make things better with her without opening up a whole other can of worms - and they're in the elevator. The elevator stops, and now they're in the lobby. They can't have this discussion here, can they? No, best not. Not with the doorman right there, and other occupants of the tower coming and going. Not when the discussion involves murder. So Jesse's arm retracts. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He's not going to get his bike. He's going to walk - he feels the need to walk. "I'll see you later," he mumbles, parting with Grey there and then. He knows the awkwardness is due to his own behaviour, so he can't be angry. But he's frustrated none the less.

<Grey> All Grey can do is give the love of her life a smile. She reminds herself on the way down to the lobby that she shouldn't impart her views onto others. She reminds herself that she doesn't know what the hell she is talking about most of the time. Jesse affords her the right to speak her mind and this morning's words were just recognition that she had too much of an opinion. With her hands jammed into her pockets of her coat, Grey gives a nod to her man. "Tonight, Jesse." She assures him. Even though they are walking out together after the sun has settled, Grey had adapted that a human's morning is really their evening. And so, the mechanic gives the tattoo artist a quick grin as if to say all was right with the world. She was, after all, a fantastic liar. Hopefully Brock would swarm her with work and she wouldn't have to think about how much of an idiot she was. And what she had to do to make up for her impulsive words. So, she headed west, towards the mall.

[Jesse Fforde]

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

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<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's urges are strong, but he resists them. Rather than go find some hapless victims to drain dry, Jesse instead finds one of the blackmarket shops from which he can purchase a few bags of blood. They are not satisfying. They aren't satisfying at all, and it seems only to make his mood worse - but he tries to put it all out of his head. He does not go hunting - not yet. He goes instead to the shop. It's still early, and now is the best time to work. It's when they get their walk-ins. So he sits and sketches until he gets a customer; he focuses on his work. Head down, concentration sharp. He's there for a few hours before he takes to the sewers. The hunters aren't so much a challenge anymore, but they do spill hot blood and they are suitable for Jesse's current frenzied mood. But, with each severed head and crumpled body, he still does not feel any better. If he comes home covered in blood, what will Grey think of him? No, nothing. She hunts in the sewers all the time. All the time. But this is different, isn't it? Regardless, Jesse makes sure to shower elsewhere before he goes back to Veil Towers. He has to, anyway - the last thing he wants to do is go traipsing through the lobby covered in blood. So, he showers at the Eyrie and dressed in a different set of jeans and t-shirt, though he pulls on the same boots and the same watch. Up in his hut, he waits for a while. He sits and thinks. He's talked to no one, asked for no advice. But that's no surprise, really. This isn't something he really wants to discuss with anyone, in the end. Just Grey. He sighs as he rubs at his face with his hands. He has to go home. One quick portal takes him back to Larch Court. From there, he traipses out through the brisk night air, crossing the road to Veil Towers. He nods to the doorman - a different one to the beginning of the night - and takes the elevator back up to floor seven. It's a couple of hours, still, before dawn.

<Grey> Grey isn't home. She hadn't returned to Larch Court or Veil Towers. She had told Brock that she was going to take off early, leaving just a couple hours after midnight and he didn't seem to mind. Grey didn't take much time off, unless for an injury. Instead, she was sitting at a bench at Cherrydale's station. She watched the busses go to and from, portals whisking away vampiric kind that was kept oblivious from the human eye. Her mind was full, drowning her consciousness in the thoughts of what she was. Who she was. A mistake. Of course, she had just been a runaway. She had been a young girl that knew the life in front of her was going to be short. Occasionally, a grimace for to her face. She knew what she was, but a part of her didn't know who anymore. What right did she have to lecture someone else? A twenty-something year old woman who liked clean sheets and showers and gave her heart to a man. Weak. Pathetic. She could hear her mother's voice in her head and she couldn't bring herself to search for anymore wallets or slay any enforcers. See, her energy had dwindled. Grey trained until just minutes away of blackening out and she had made it this far. To tome home in a way made her begin to feel as if she were taking the cheater's way out.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse walks in circles around the apartment. Grey isn't there, and it doesn't seem as if she has been there recently. Not since they'd both left, anyway. He sighs, though it sounds like a growl. He has his phone in his hand - he hasn't heard from her, and stares at the screen as if contemplating texting her. But he doesn't. Not just yet. It's avoidance. A whole **** ton of avoidance. Maybe they could just pretend like it never happened. They could go on with their lives, and pretend like this little hiccup doesn't exist - this major difference in their moral fibre. But would that only make it worse down the track? Jesse flops back onto the bed, a deep frown settled into his features, his phone against his chest as he stares up at the ceiling. And the there he waits. Though every now and again he glances sidesways at the digital bedside clock; he keeps tabs on that inner clock, the one that seems to know what time of night it is and when the sun is coming up. If she's not back within two hours, he'll summon her. He wasn't joking.

<Grey> Grey doesn't dare stand up. She knows she won't make it home. She knows that she won't set enough motion to allow her in doors at the Court or Veil Towers. Grey cannot, for that moment, fathom why Jesse had wanted her. Oh, they had that particular argument until her man was proverbially blue in the face. And yet Grey couldn't seem to comprehend the glory of death. She swallowed tightly, the bullet wound to her legs would heal. The dust on her clothes was barely able be seen, shrouded with her layer of gore and blood. She had slayed numerous members that stood in her way from the Sewers and catacombs. And she asked herself, why. Why did she think it was okay for her today what she did to Jesse? Minutes tick by. And it's not long as the sky begins to lighten so people give her longer, confused looks by the blood splatter that isn't hers across her face. For some, the overalls she still wore from work said it all: Messy Mechanic. But, not caring for the stares of others, Grey started and pushed herself out of that bench seat and attempts to wipe her hair back. The remnants of enforcers littered the sewers and Grey couldn't seem to grasp Jesse's need to... Destroy? Was that it? She uncomfortably made her way onto the next bus.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse can't lay still. He does so for maybe half an hour before he gets up and starts to pace the apartment. He has put his weapons away and peeled off his jacket. He has taken off his shoes; even changes into track pants, ready for bed. Except he's not going to go to bed until he has Grey by his side. He heats up some blood and drinks it. He even tries to do some cleaning - but it's when he pauses in front of the tinted doors to the balcony that he stops, and swears under his breath. The sky is a deep, dark blue overhead, but over on the horizon there bleeds a lighter blue. Jesse feels the wave of nauseous fatigue - dawn is far too close, and Grey isn't home. He stalks back into the bedroom and closes his eyes; he focuses on his lover, on the colour of her hair and the smoothness of her skin, on the brightness of her eyes and the lilt of her smile. He wraps his consciousness around her, reaches out to her, grabs a hold of her. And forces her to his side.

<Grey> Grey was just down the street. The blood had stopped oozing from her leg, soaked into her jeans and it had destroyed the muscles too close to her knee to function properly with walking. Oh, she could limp. However, so late in the human's morning she didn't want to draw attention to herself by limping and having anyone of the early shift get a closer look at her. And that's when she felt it as she had stopped at the corner for a rest. Blood packs in her hand and made obtuse by the crinkly brown bag. Her olive green carry all was slightly bulged, indicative of a busy night. Jesse's presence was felt. Her skin tingled instantly, battery down to a single line and her hands were full.

The touch, mentally, was like a soothing caress even though their words earlier had sent them apart. She was coming home. That was her plan. The warmth around her changed. Her messy bun no longer took swipes at her face in the cold breeze of the morning while she stumbled into Jesse's arms. Her right leg was lame and the crunch of the brown paper bag between them sounded loudly in a very quiet apartment. It was easy to melt into his arms. Her shoulders dropped instantly and her eyes were wide, but so drowsy. "Another block and I would have been home. I promise. I was coming home." She said to him in a rushed gasp. The burning pain from her calf all the way to her thigh in those blood soaked jeans reeked. It was her blood. Grey blood. Lips pale, her face a little ashen and wind-chapped, she swallowed deeply. "I was coming." She assured him again, as if needing him to know that she wouldn't just not come home.

<Jesse Fforde> When they had parted at the beginning of the night, Grey had been healthy and robust. Not a mark on her, with clear skin and plump limps. The first thing Jesse can smell as she emerges in front of him, however, is her blood; though it is easy to wrap his arms around her in a greeting embrace, soon enough his fingers close around her upper arms so that he can hold her back. So that he can stand back and look at her. He knows it's not going to be long before sun is vibrant in the sky and Grey will sleep. He feels the pressure like a weight at the back of his chest and the frown that settles upon his lips is sharp. He has too many assumptions, and they come tumbling through his head.
Why so late? What has she been doing? Jesse holds her steady and still before he drops his hands to take the bag from Grey's grip and toss it on the bed; to begin to strip her of her dirty clothing. Not because he's lusting for her, but because he wants her clean and bandaged before they go to bed. He cares for her well-being, regardless of how much he does not want to discuss things with her. He won't have her thinking otherwise. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?" he asks with a harshness that sounds so much like a whisper, though it's not. "Is this... are you trying to punish yourself for something? What is this?" he asks. There are those assumptions, coming to light.


<Grey> “I’m okay. It was an accident. I just didn’t watch where I was going. It will be gone by tomorrow… Not that deep now.” Grey was so thirsty. She hadn’t ever had a hunger for blood before. Perhaps because she had spilled so much of it on that bus bench that her system was craving. The brunette lengths of her hair were all wrapped up, piled atop her head and haphazard. She licked her dry lips, gasping out a little as Jesse’s hands were insistent. “That was my dinner…Some of my dinner.” Grey doesn’t admit to being dizzy. She can begin to feel the room grey out a bit, but she forces herself to remain standing. “Just sitting. Thinking. At Cherrydale’s bus station. His questions are rapid fire and Grey’s trying to process it all when he pulls down the denim, stripping her and revealing a blood soaked leg. The wounds were nothing, skin still stained from tortured bullet powder and trauma. Flesh was puckered on two of the wounds, obviously through and throughs whereas the third seemed to have entered just above her knee and made a mess of her leg. “I made you made this morning. I preached to you. I shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You were providing for your faction mates and friends and things happen. I should have shut my mouth sooner. I… I’m not a good person either. I am not a holy person. I’m not someone … I didn’t think I had expectations. I just want you happy.” She whispered to him with almost a fierce determination that she would get out the conclusions she had come to before pushing herself up and slowly limping her way home. She eased down onto the bed, as if she was okay with dirty sheets and sullen clothes now. She reached for the paper bag and she pulled out the black market bags. “Virgin blood… Maybe. I don’t know. Peace offering.” She spoke, closing her eyes as her innards battled with Dawn.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse doesn't let Grey stay seated for very long. He knows she's probably tired--he can feel it, too, but he pushes against it. He resists, as he has learned to do. It's as if he can feel the power draining out of him, slowly, but his alertness is still there. He is still awake. And he can stay awake all day, if he needs to. With each touch of his skin against Grey's she'll feel the thrumming energy--Jesse's trying to heal her of her blood loss before she falls off to sleep; trying to bring some colour to her skin, some health to her lips. His own lips are slightly parted, listening to her, watching her sharply. "Thank you," he says, gruffly taking the blood offered to him but putting it aside again. Not tossing it on the bed, but placing it there. He'll drink it later. For now, he thinks Grey should be clean and her wounds, though she says they'll be gone the next night, should still be bandaged so as not to stain the sheets. Even if she passes out, he'll finish bathing her. He'll dry her, and tuck her into bed with him. For now she is still awake, however. Still lucid, and she's speaking the words he'd hoped to avoid. "I'm not mad," he says, reaching beneath Grey's legs and her arms to lift her up, to cradle her against his chest. She looks too tired to do much of anything, so he'll do it fo rher. "I'm anxious, and I don't like being anxious, so I get frustrated," he admits. He could keep going, of course. He could tell her why he's anxious, but that would be admitting to the things that he's not sure Grey wants to hear, or be reminded of. That he kills often for no reason at all. For no good reason. To help no one. Maybe it's always been within him, this murderous urge, but he'd never acted upon it. But vampirism had brought it out in him, and now he can't do without it. Or, maybe he can. But, like all addicts, of course he's not going to want to. He'll deny that it's a problem. Which is exactly what he's doing now - the exact reason why he doesn't tell Grey why he's anxious. It'll be admitting that there's a problem.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

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

<Grey> “Ughn…” She complains softly when he moved her again. Just when she thought she would be able to pull her legs up onto the bedding - boots and all, she feels him shucking more of her clothing and inspecting her flesh. She wanted to remind him that it is okay. That she’ll heal. Because that’s what he’s told her. Whenever she was in pain and hurting, he would remind her that it was only temporary. “Maybe you should punish me… Maybe I shouldn’t punish myself. Maybe it would make you feel better. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” She said to him, each blink of her eyes was slow instead of the typical point-something second for a blink to take. “That was for you. Because I know I did wrong. An apology. I see… you know… You give me Oreos. I give you blood. I should give you more. You give me so much though. I’m stingy… Selfish. I don’t do enough for you. M’wrong… All wrong.” She babbles softly now, but Jesse would know when Grey’s in pain that words just tumble out of her mouth. When she is anxious or nervous, the woman can’t seem to ever shut up. And she draws in a breath when he lifts her up from the bed as if the bending of her leg hurts - knee so swollen it looks as if Jesse could slice it open and nothing but pooled blood would spurt out. Grey swears she just felt a shiver race down her spine, a cold energy sizzling and itching across her skin. “I made you anxious. I don’t know how to help you sometimes… Except be. You have to tell me what you need. Have to or I don’t know. Not good at relationships. ******* never had one.” Grey’s filter is skewed again, this time by pain and exhaustion. She feels a bit better though, her muscles not cramping or painfully throbbing as much as they had been before Jesse’s infusion into her of his blood. “I just… Trying to understand that fascination. The need… The urge… I’m trying.” She said, in reference to his fetish with death.

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse carries Grey through the apartment to the bathroom. The glass of the doors and windows is so heavy and so tinted that although one can see thw world through them, it isn't a bright world. Brighter than they're used to, for sure, but it's dull, and holds nothing of sunlit glory or warmth. Grey keeps talking and Jesse doesn't look down at her; he knows she's just tired. Even his own muscles are aching as he carries her, wanting only to sleep but he won't let them. They are reduced to their human capacity, their human strength. But it makes her look more broken than she is. Jesse knows the wounds will heal. It's not the physical wounds that he's worried about. It's this tendency that Grey has to hurt and punish herself whenever he's angry with her. Whenever she thinks he's angry with her, even if he's not. This tendency to think she's no good. Once, he encountered a fiesty Grey. She comes out every so often - the one who'll take a knife to his skin in haste. The one who'll yell at him. Why doesn't she do that now? She obviously doesn't agree with his tendencies. At least, that's the hint he'd picked up. So why doesn't she try to scream them out of him? There's a frown puckering his brow as he lays Grey out in the bathtub. The white tub will be cold beneath her, as will the water when he first turns it on. But soon enough it is warm, and then slightly warmer. And then slightly less than scalding. He pushes the plug into place and watches as the water begins to fill around Grey. He chews on his tongue. She's not all there. He can see it. He can hear it in her babbling. They can't have this conversation now. Will she even remember it? Jesse remembers everything she has said, however. He will remember it. Maybe he'll bring it up again the next night. Maybe he won't. The only reassurance he can offer his fiance right now is the tenderness with which he uses the sponge to wipe away all the dried blood and gore from her skin. The way he cares for her, before bed--the way he could not stand to leave her out in the world. He had to bring her home. That has to say something, right? So he says nothing, choosing instead to think, first, before responding.

<Grey> The wetness is soon around her. She shudders in the tub, cold and trying to shake off the feeling of being depleted. Jesse has once again fed her, taking away the thirst her tongue has. But soon, she gives a big yawn, the blood splattered over her face and caked in clots underneath her nails perhaps had been a symbol that she did more than just try to stem her own blood flow. “I know… I know you don’t know what to do with me sometimes. And I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m so ******* pathetic. And weak. She was right sometimes. Mother was always right to some extent. ‘No man ever loves a woman who can’t just smile and nod.’ And then I asked her… You know. I couldn’t help myself. I asked her if she smiled and nodded for daddy and I could just see her turn. One minute she was the wicked ol’ school teacher I heard kids calling her behind her back and the next minute… She was on top of me. And she hurt my head. And I could just remember crying. I think I was ten… Or eleven. It hurt so bad to move then. She was so mean. Not like you…” She said with a deep breath. By now, Grey’s pretty blue eyes normally wide and inquisitive were closed. “She’d cut at me. And burn me. And she’d threaten me with belts… And then she’d do it. She’d use it on me. And I could just remember crying… And then she’d hit me some more for making noise. And she’d never once say… ‘It’s okay.’ Because she hated me. And I think… If you have those kind of pent up emotions… That they just come out. And you do. And you can’t stop.” The water was almost instantly red, soap suds trickling away from her. She tried to scoot lower, getting as much of herself in the water as she could. “I think that’s why you need hurt sometimes… Cause you need it to feel. To know that someone has you.” She murmured, attempting to almost turn over in the water like she was in bed. “I have you though… Yeah. Mine.”

<Jesse Fforde> Jesse has to stop and stare at Grey for a few long seconds. The words just keep coming, even though he has not encouraged them. She tells him things she hasn't told him before; as if she is drunk and there's no inhibitions, nothing. Jesse is shocked dumb, still, his urges numerous and contradictory. He doesn't want to fall on Grey with all his love and tenderness to coddle her and soothe her to tell her it's all okay, because he's done that before. The words are right there, teetering on the tip of his tongue; words that would be uttered like a verbal slap. That he is insulted that she should still think he will leave her, or that he doesn't love her, or that he will fall out of love with her. That she should even consider that he would begin to hate her simply because she does not just nod and smile. ****, he would begin to hate it if that's all that she didn. He doesn't want a docile woman who only does as she's told. He likes a bit of fire with his sweetness. A fire that he has seen in Grey numerous times, but which seems to be doused far too often by her past. But he doesn't want to lash out at Grey; the story she tells only inspires a greate fury for this woman she calls mother. And Jesse tends to Grey's wounds now as if they were the one's given to her by her mother. It's not the same, he knows, and he knows he can't take her past away from her. No, he doesn't know how to help her. In the end, he is struck by her assessment. He himself doesn't know why he likes the hurt. It's not something that he wants to assess in himself, and he slaps himself inwardly for not realising that, of course Grey would want to try to figure it out. There is too much. Too much information in too short a time and he doesn't know how to react to it. "Not now, Grey. We'll talk about it tomorrow," he finally says. He leans over into that bathtub, his fingers hooked beneath Grey's chin so he can press a soft and lingering kiss to her lips. He doesn't want her to think he is dismissing any of this. Or that he is not listening. "You have me," he says, then, sharply--three words that hold the vehemence of the previous verbal slap. The anger, the insult that she could ever think she won't have him. It's a double ententre. Yes, she has him. She keeps him afloat. But she has him, too, to keep her afloat. Once he thinks that he has sponged away all the grime, he picks up the nail brush, to scrub beneath Grey's nails--trying to be as thorough as he can be.

<Grey> “I’m cold. I’m so cold. It was cold out tonight. Just like before… I can remember before when it was cold. And I wanted heat. Can we go to bed? I think… I think we should go. I’m really tired. And my leg hurts. It hurts, Jesse. But, I know it will get better. I don’t know about the other stuff. We can work on it.” She was willing. Even though, in that moment, she was tired. She could still, in her mind, play the way that he turned away from her so many hours ago. She shuddered, not having blacked out yet from the rise of the sun in the sky. There are so many thoughts that Jesse is not privy to. It isn’t that Grey hides them. It, however, is just that she was sure he’d run the other way if he knew all and everything that was constantly upon her mind or a flash back of the past couple of decades. “Daddy said that he’d love mother always. That they were supposed to be soul mates. And he’d smile. And I’d just remember this smile and think of the horrible woman mother turned out to be. She was wrong. So wrong… Mother’s are supposed to be nice. Caring… Compassionate… They’re not supposed to hurt you.” She said, her voice trailing off as he shushed her softly and the furrow between her brows were back. She opened her mouth to tell her lover just what she thought of shushing, but soon was distracted by his soft kiss. He tasted like mint… And she let out a soft sigh. “Okay… Okay…” She let her body have a shuddery jitter as the water cooled around them and she tried to attempt to move within the large tub. “Yeah. You. Mad… Disappointed… Happy…. You. All of you.” She said softly right then and there, her eyes still closed as she said that with a conviction that she’d never impose her thoughts on him again. Perhaps just a light hearted opinion. “I’ll be quiet now… I think. Oh… Okay.” She said, as if her eyes were dancing around and she were having a conversation with herself and yet three different entities all at once.

<Jesse Fforde> If this were any other normal situation and Grey were just a little drunk, Jesse might have laughed at her babbling. But now, if he had blood running through his veins it would have drained from his face and left him cold. She knew her leg would get better. But she didn't know whether the other stuff would. Maybe he is reading too much into it, but Jesse almost wants to roll Grey up in his arms, then and there, and shake her awake. Keep her awake so he can ask her what she means. What does she mean?! They're getting bound, but how can they if there's this gulf of things between them that won't ever be okay? Jesse hadn't thought there was any rush, but now all he wants to do is get Grey out of the tub and into bed because then, then she might fall into the oblivion of sleep. Then, she might be quiet and stop saying and doing things that are only making him more anxious. Terrified, even. He doesn't know what's going on inside of her head, even through all her babbling. "Mothers are fallible, just like everyone else," he mutters--both to himself and to Grey, unsure whether she's actually hearing him. At this point he's reached into the tub to lift her out, water dripping from her and down over his track pants. Cold shouldn't mean anything to Grey, but she seems to be shivering in his grip, and Jesse is now anxious that she isn't just riddled with bullets, but that something else might be wrong, too. He's never seen her like this. Never. "We're going to bed now, Dove. Just let me get you dry..." he says, lowing Grey down to the closed toilet seat so that he can help to prop her up. He snatches the towel from the nearby rail and pulls it around her shoulders, using the fluffy dryness of it to mop up all the tinged-pink drops of water. He leaves the towel pulled tight around Grey's shoulder as he retrieves some gauze from one of the vanity drawers, hastily wrapping the stark-white fabric around the wounds on Grey's leg--already healing, but he bandages them anyway. When she is dry and bandaged he takes her into his arms again, holding her secure against him as he carries her back through their apartment. Back to the soft, voluptuous bed that is waiting for them.


<Grey> “Mothers… Stupid.” She said finally. Grey, after all, didn’t have much to say afterwards. Her body was hurting and she was clean now. Soap easily wiped away the blood of hers on her skin. And her knee was so ugly, swollen, purple and red were colors that shouldn’t be part of her soft, creamy pink pale flesh. “So stupid…” She whispered, the water splashed against her face cannot account for the tears that seem to drip from her eyes without any sobbing to indicate her distress. Her breath did catch, tightening in her chest when her lover seemed to ease her down, running the towel against her skin and Grey barely felt the tenderness underneath the memories of horrid moments. Her feet laid flat on the floor as she had her *** plastered to the toilet seat. It was cold and she could feel it rushing through her already cold system. Her chest swelled with the next breath and she shook there as if she had suffered some horrendous trauma - as of shock had settled in across her system in such a way that her body shuddered and her muscles contracted.

“I wanted this… Always wanted a soft, warm bed. You’re coming, right? I want you to come. You have more tattoos than what I thought you would. M’so glad you don’t wear suits… I don’t iron well. Hold me, won’t you? Please? Not like this morning… Touch me.” She said to him as if touching her made him real. Grey’s mind hovered in a place that was dangerous. It was a cruel world, slipping back into the past and acting as if she’d seen Jesse once or twice in her dreams. A prince, perhaps… Taking her away from her hell. She was a rag doll, flopped in his arms and the woman would sleep next to him with her mouth open.


<Jesse Fforde> The sentences that tumble and rumble from Grey's lips seem disjointed, as if the thoughts behind them aren't really coherent. He manages to nod, agreeing with her comment about mothers. His own, alive somewhere - but he hasn't bothered to check where. He doesn't want to. The thought of her makes him sick. But at least she doesn't instil in him the kind of terror that Grey's mother seems to intil in her. Jesse doesn't bother to dress Grey. Doesn't need to. The two of them often go to bed wearing nothing, even if they get up to nothing. It seems to be an unspoken agreement. But the sheets are dry and soft, and the heater is running to keep the apartment warm during the daylight hours. It is especially warm in the bedroom, where Jesse finally lays Grey down; he pulls the quilts down so that he can cover her, and pauses only long enough to shed his half-socked track pants. Only a few seconds pass before he is sliding into the bed beside Grey; only now does he sigh and allow the sun to have its way with him, to let the fatigue curl over his muscles and creep under his skin, to settle into his bones. Although Jesse isn't sure it's what Grey would want after they talk again the next evening, he curls in close to her. He tucks her in so that his chin rests against the top of her head; his legs tangle up with hers, and his shoulder pillows her ear. Fingers splay over the smooth expanse of Grey's back, spreading and rubbing, wrapping his presence around her. The pillows are soft beneath their heads, and the quilt is heavy over their bodies. "No suits. No ironing," he says. Maybe he would have smiled, her disjointed meanderings are somewhat amusing. But he doesn't smile. His eyes close, and the weight of death-like sleep falls over him. His head spins, and another sigh slips from his lips.

[Jesse Fforde]

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

____________________________________

<Grey> Grey’s body was nestled against her lover. She was laying down against his body, her hair feathering against his shoulder. Her lips were still open, her jaw slack and it looked as if the woman were dead to the world. Her body was tepid, heated not from a shower but instead the room around her. Her jaw is resting against his chest. Somehow, some way, she’s scooted down. She’s shifted her hips off to the side to where her thigh cover’s Jesse’s pelvis and her hip was resting against the bed. Her brows furrowed, creasing heavily as consciousness started to tease her body awake. Though it was obvious the sun had started to nestle into the bed of the horizon, her body still ached. The knee was no longer swollen, but the yellow green color upon her flesh had symbolized an immense trauma. She had lost another unit somehow through the night, no doubt from the way her body had worked to heal itself underneath the bright light of the sun’s kiss to the dead of their kind. Her thigh throbbed. And it reminded her even in the hazy consciousness of the time her leg had been broken. Residual muscle spasms, the curl of the tendons instantly seized when she tried to take that previously damaged leg from Jesse’s form and the sharp gasp and cry out had Grey’s body instantly rigid and the sob tore her memories from her lips in her half conscious, drowsy state despite the familiar comfort of the bed and her lover supporting her. “Mo’nma no!” She half sobbed out, straightening her leg herself and twisting onto her back as a sickly coldness rushed against her skin.



<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's dreams are hazy. He knows there's fire and blood but there's no coherence to them. There's no plot, no story. No horror or glee--just fire and blood. The things that he had deprived himself of the night before, due to some ill-gained moral compass that he isn't sure he wants to keep. There's no doubt a frown etched into his forehead as he sleeps. A constant state of anxiety that doesn't want to shift. His body is heavy and it doesn't move throughout the night, except to perhaps relax, just a little bit, like a stone dropping to the bottom of a river. His body is quick to wake, though, when the sun comes up. He doesn't open his eyes straight away. He never does. Not since Grey had taken up a permanent residence in his bed. He liked to wait until Grey woke up. Loved the feel of her body as it squirms into alertness. There's a little bit of that, tonight, and Jesse almost laments. Like he wanted the sleep time to last a little longer. To delay the inevitable conversation. He doesn't want to have to ask Grey if she remembers the things that she said, or remind her if she doesn't. As Grey cries out and tears herself away from him, however, Jesse's body jolts; his eyes wide, he throws the blankets back and sits up. Reaching for Grey's shoulders as if to shake her awake. Because, despite what Jesse had previously thought, it doesn't seem as if she's awake yet. Just nearly there, in that limbo state between sleep and waking, where dreams are most prominent. "Grey," he says, voice a whispered husk. He clears his throat and says it again, a little louder and clearer this time: "Grey! Wake up Dove. I'm not your Momma," he says, grip firm but gentle as he tries to get her to sit up, too.


<Grey> The way her leg straightened out had muscles screaming. However, once her hip was aligned with her knee, the spasms weren’t so bad and it seemed in good conscious that her knee’s color no longer was lime green, but a sickly yellow. The warmth of the room swarmed into her lungs, lips falling open into gasps as if she were human again. “Dream…” She said in an almost breathless mutter. She looked around her, over her shoulder and across the room as the small lamp in the corner blazed, no higher than sixty watts of light and it caused her several blinks for her eyes to adjust. “I…It was a dream… She was there.” She gasped out, her eyes adjusting to the little light in the room. She kept looking around though, as if she expected that evil entity to come strolling into their bedroom. Her eyes darted back and forth from the bathroom to the opening of their room. Then she looked to Jesse and shook her head. She looked down, not recognizing that she is naked at first and her breasts sway on her chest in time to her panting breath. She swallows her dry tongue, saliva pooling in her mouth. “It… I… You got me cleaned up.” She didn’t remember coming home. She didn’t remember climbing into bed. She lurched herself at him. She crushed her lips against his. The wetness upon her cheeks smeared to his skin, but she no longer seemed horrified as she reached her hands up and gripped his soft hair. “Thank you… I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of me.” Him. Jesse. Security. She tossed her arms around his shoulders and clung to him in such a way that she never wanted to let go.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse doesn't look at any other part of the room but that part which contains his fiancé. His sharp eyes focus only on her face, her eyes wide and frantic as they dart from corner to corner. There's no one else there, and Jesse has to wait for Grey to realise this, before she's turning her attention back to him. His hands remain upon her shoulder. As she throws herself around him, Jesse barely contains the groan that bubbles in his throat. Although the embrace that he returns radiates warmth, there's still that same anxiety sizzling on the surface. A tension that will not allow him to completely comfort Grey, or laugh, or tell her it's all going to be okay like he might usually do. He licks his lips and breathes in the stillness, relishing the moment before he breaks it. Before he smashes it by summoning the conversation from last night. "What are you sorry for, Grey? You don't remember anything you said last night? None of it?" he asks. He tugs at the sheet and pulls it up around Grey's shoulders; as if her nakedness is a distraction, and he doesn't want any distractions. The same sheet is still tangles around Jesse's legs, so although his torso is bare, the rest of him is covered. "Of course I cleaned you up. You were late home and the ******* sun was coming up. You weren't here. And then I summon you and you look like death herself, and you say all these things that I can't figure out," he says. "I told you that if it ever got to dawn and you weren't home I'd summon you. I just didn't think it would happen so ******* soon. Why are you sorry? Why did you do it?" he asks. Maybe she gave him the answer the night before. But she was incoherent, then. Maybe now, she'll explain it a little better.


<Grey> Grey can feel that his lips don’t kiss back. He doesn’t wrap his arms around her and eases her down onto the bed. He doesn’t slide his hands down to her breasts and tease her nipples awake as he had a dozen times when they rouse together. Grey quickly tried to shove the memories behind her. She tried to ignore the hints of her mother. She tried to hide the painful bits of her past behind lock and key and mental barriers so high it was impossible for another to climb. She didn’t freely or really, willingly, talk about the past. Instead, she recoiled slightly. As Jesse looked confused and almost forlorn, Grey shifted away from him to press her back against the bed. The sheet seemed to be the icing on the cake, really, covering her nakedness and making that throat feel so very raw with climbing, unwanted emotions. The wetness on her face was smeared, but not renewed and she struggled to keep it that way as she took over and wrapped the sheets around her chest and over one arm. She was starting to protect herself, to don clothing as Jesse had enforced as if it were armor. “I hurt a lot. I took some bullets from someone in the sewers. I… I was coming home. I was waiting for a bus. I had some relics for you. And some blood. I…” Grey’s fingers twisted now on the sheets, unsure of Jesse’s reaction to her. She doesn’t remember getting home. She just remembers falling - literally, off the bus. It took off on it’s predetermined route while the pain in her leg had been so great she only remembered crawling and lots of cement. “I’m sorry because you had to worry. Because I couldn’t clean myself up. I… I would have gotten to it.” She said, as if he wouldn’t have sounded so disgusted with her that it might have made things a bit better last night. “You were angry with me. I was waiting. I figured you might have been asleep if I stayed out longer.” Avoidance… She winced because it sounded so terrible when she actually said it.


<Jesse Fforde> "Why would I fall asleep without knowing you were home, Grey? Why would I do that? That's stupid," he says, shaking his head as if he doesn't believe a word of it. He remembers, like a sting, the first mumbled words. When she first started to get incoherent. As if maybe she didn't know what she was saying--no inhibitor, no filter, just a jumble of what was on her mind. "You said that maybe I should punish you rather than you punishing yourself. Is that what you were doing? Trying to punish yourself because you upset me?" he asks, tone sharp. The blood bags that she had got for him were still on the end of the bed, on one corner, unshifted by their moving bodies. The bed is a King size bed. More than enough room for them both, plus some. "We clean each other up so often, I can't believe that's what you are sorry for," he says. Though, yes, it is understandable that she might apologise for making him worry. And so she should, if she's telling the truth; if she tried to stay away longer so as to avoid... well, this. But it can't be avoided. It has to happen, otherwise they'll never move past it. He wants to growl. He wants to shout at Grey, but he doesn't. That tension coils beneath his skin but he doesn't let it free. He doesn't lash out - not as much as he could. That she would deliberately stay away... of course that would cause him to worry. "Why aren't you angry with me, Grey? You should be angry at me!" he says. Isn't this the whole reason for their current disagreement? Shouldn't she question his ways, his murderous behaviour? Instead, she punishes herself as if to try to make herself into something that she's not in order to please Jesse. At least, that's what Jesse assumes she's doing, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it one single bit. He might have an ego, but it doesn't extend so far as to want to turn his fiancé into some kind of sycophant, some kind of empty shell who exists only to make him happy. That would not do at all.


<Grey> “Because you were mad at me. Because you are mad at me. That’s what couples do. They… They ignore each other, right? They walk away. You walked away. Turned away.” She said to him, her voice so deathly quiet that Jesse might have had to strain to hear it. She only knew from the past. She only knew the things that she was taught, seen, heard, or read in a few of those romance books she managed to delve into on her off days. She knew she didn’t want to be a whore like her other, addicted to drugs and using men and their penises to sell her body to get more of that fine white powder and pills in the end. She grimaced slightly, hugging the sheet more tightly to her body while she looked away from Jesse. “Because… Because you were angry. Punish me because you were mad. I could feel you vibrating with it. Just like now. As if you have no outlet. But that’s it… Isn’t it? Fire is your outlet. Murder is your outlet. You don’t take your hand to me. You don’t take your hand to anyone that doesn’t strike first, I guess. And … And I just struggled with that, okay?” She was so used to getting beaten. It was a hard thing not to expect, really. To get a slap across the face for something said wrong or a punch in various body parts. To be hit with a belt or a spoon or spatula - the first available nearest tool off of any counter or bed post. Jesse was speaking so fast, that Grey couldn’t process her thoughts in such a hurry and keep up with his words. Her own thoughts were jumbled between her mother, her vicious kicks, and her dirty words despite Jesse’s angry look on his face and the gestures. “I pushed you. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have said what I did to you. I had no right to question you.” She reverts, in a way, back to the thinking she was brought up with. To be seen and not heard. To abide by the discipline that had been so very thoroughly engrained into her. “We all have baggage.” That, for Grey, is what it came down to. The past. They all had it. She doesn’t expect Jesse to lay it all out for her in any cohesive sequence.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's body slumps forward. His fingers close into fists around the bedding; he's on his knees, with his feet curled beneath him. "You have EVERY right to question me!" he says, his voice rising to a pitch it doesn't normally reach. The harshness of it scratches at the back of his throat, the sound a low rumble like the foreshadowing of an Earthquake. "Push me, slap me, tell me that I am wrong. I am NOT always right," he says, his fists lifting and slamming back into the mattress. No, he will never lay a hand on Grey. If they don't agree he'll argue with her. If it gets to be too much, maybe he'll slaughter a lamp, or a wall. But never will he lay a hand on Grey herself. He shakes his head and leans back, his eyes wild and his hair a mess of soft, straight waves. "I told you. I told you last night. I'm not ******* angry. I'm frustrated," he said, his teeth grinding and neck rolling on his shoulders. Maybe he is, now. Maybe, because he can't get the tension to shift. The bedding had come with him when he'd leaned back, his fingers still clenched. He tries not to release them. To smooth the sheets as he thinks about what he wants to say. "Murder is my outlet, Grey, and not always on those who strike first," he says, lifting his gaze to her face. His eyes are a fiery blue, the kind of cold gleam that might strike terror into the hearts of the ordinary. But his mouth is slightly open, and his brows creased into a worried frown. "How does that make you feel? What do you think about me?" he asks.

What has she told herself about him? That there's some rhyme or reason? That somehow, because of his reasons, he should be forgiven. He shakes his head. "I don't feel remorse or guilt. The first time I've ever felt bad about my behaviour was last night. Because I assume that you don't like it. What if I can't stop, Grey? What then? Will you hate me? Will you walk away from me? Is it something you could never reconcile?" he asks. He doesn't want to know the answers. He's still, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, as if he's expecting a deadly blow.


<Grey> With the raise of his voice, she cringed a bit. Her eyes immediately fell and looked away. Oh, she still hugged that sheet around her, keeping it clear up to her throat with her hair askew as he spoke back to her in that rasped, tortured voice. It was a voice she had loved, murmured softly in her ear and not raised across the bed from her. But, she knew that Jesse was a mixture of emotions, getting his point across to her that she could… and should question him. Her first thought of slapping him brought tears to her eyes. In part, because she grew up that way. She knew that retaliation had been engrained into her in the ever quiet manner. If she cried, she just was beaten harder. “I don’t want to hurt you.” It was plain and simple to Grey. She shuddered a bit, cold despite the heated topic between them and the extra warmth of the bedroom. “I don’t remember much of last night. You looked so worried. And I just remember that I didn’t want you to worry. I was okay. I was hurt. And I was in a bit of pain. But I didn’t want you to worry.” She said softly, as if she were trying to calm him down. Her legs shifted, the right unable to bend just yet but the left ankle tucked underneath her straight knee. As he looked so ragged and so irritable, she simply stared at him.


She watched him as he spoke. She watched him as he voiced his questions to her. “That first night, when we met in the diner and you killed that woman… I didn’t think at all. I couldn’t think because you were beautiful and you looked ravished and I didn’t realize that’s because you had just fed.” She said quietly, breaking the contact for a moment to look down at his outline against the sheet. To take in his whole body’s composure. Looking back up, her eyes met his face. “I don’t want you to hurt Mandy again. I don’t want you to hurt another animal that you form an inkling of a relationship, whether it’s silent camaraderie or if we were to get a cat or a dog. I… I can’t allow that.” She spoke to him in a heated rush. She spoke to him in such a hurried manner that her mouth ran dry and fear took over that he’d be pissed she were putting limitations on him, but she couldn’t have it. “I don’t need you to stop. We are killers, Jesse. We take lives. Fate. I believe in Fate, you know. It was Fate that I met you.” By now, Grey was so very much wracked with emotions that those pink tears started to slip down her cheeks as she spoke. Between Jesse’s frustration and her own well, the dam broke and the wetness dripped of Grey’s chin. “I’m not letting you go. So you can be pissed at me. And you can yell at me. But I swear to God, if you turn away from me again I might just start being angry and yell at you.” Grey fought hard not to raise her fists. Her strength was supernatural now and she fears she could do some true damage and Jesse’d hate her for that.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's head cants to the side, the frown deep and his mouth twisted into a confused grimace. He's trying to understand, and he struggles. There's a paranoia that lurks deep within. Yes, everyone has baggage, and Jesse's baggage consists of being lifted to a great height before being dropped like a bag of unwanted puppies. Stood on and walked all over. Discarded like wet garbage. It's what happens when you let people get close--and when you allow yourself to get close to them. Does he believe Grey? That she should tell him not to hurt animals, but to not care if he murders innocent human beings? "I'm not twisted, Grey. I don't torture things to watch them squirm. I don't... it's not their pain that I enjoy," he says. "Whatever you might think, I wasn't that kid who ran around catching stray dogs in order to cut them open to see what they looked like on the inside," he says, almost vehemently, defensively, as if he can't quite let the anger go, now that it had risen. No, he didn't kill the animals himself, though he did like to explore their dead bodies. In the end, he was actually very interested to know what they looked like on the inside. His lips roll back as he remembers it, as he remembers his childhood and the eccentricities that had set him apart. His eyes close, momentarily, shaking his head to remove the memory. He'd already told her that his worry is compounded if she does not come home. He's stuck. He's stuck on that one topic, and that one condition. The why of it.

"Why? Why will you allow me to go on murdering innocent human beings if you don't want me to hurt animals? Why would I hurt animals? They've never done anything to me," he says. Maybe it's something to do with their lack of conscience, their lack of... awareness. Maybe he just has a loathing of humanity. He's not really too sure, except that animal blood doesn't taste quite as good as human blood. He takes a breath, his chest heaves and his shoulders rise. They fall again, however, and he rocks forward. Forward, and back again. He hasn't ever tried to understand where it comes from or why he should have such an uncontrollable lust for blood. It's as if, in that moment, the act of turning inward has caused a chain reaction of violent eruptions inside of him, like the very act of turning inward could be fatal to him. He laughs, the sound almost creepy in its complete lack of mirth. "You're going to yell at me, Grey? Really? Is that all you're going to do?"


<Grey> “I don’t think that.” She said with a hurried irritation. His irritation was causing her own to grow. His defensiveness was causing her armor to be gripped tighter around herself and her bright blue eyes once clouded in dreams to become crystal clear and flash in irritation before him. Still laying with her back to the headboard, she tried to sit there and have a somewhat civil discussion with her lover. She watched as the gears inside his mind turned. She watched as he seemed to go over her words and sort them out into fancy little piles of what she might think as bull **** in his terms of not understanding. And, with a blink of her own eyes, she listened to him. “Some animals only have one or two defense mechanisms. Some have no defense mechanisms beyond their teeth. I… You hurt Mandy.” And it all came back to Mandy. It all came back to Jesse’s fae friend that he said wasn’t even a friend. And Grey was nearly killed by the fae. Two attacks and her chest was ripped open and she had no ribs for days. And here, she was defending a creature that seemed to have her and what she was. She swallowed now. She didn’t even flinch, sure he was going to come back at her yelling. She pushes her chin up into the air. Her eyes seer into his. She nearly sticks her tongue out him. Childish, perhaps, but she moves to swing both legs over the edge of the bed. And she changes her thought, instead only scooting an inch or two back now. Grey lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “What do you want me to do? Tell you it’s okay to kill humans? Tell you its okay to murder and rage and pat you on the back for it? Tell you not to? How dare you when we’ve blood packs to drink from? Bull ****. ****. Christ… Jesse. I know you need. I know you have to go and slice into someone’s throat. I’m not an imbecile.” She spat out, not caring how he took her words as if she were some sort of tree-hugger.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse narrows his eyes. Like some kind of predator, he's watching Grey's every move; his senses alert him to the shift in her mood--the lift of her chin and the hardening of her eyes and he can't help that small part of him that cracks open, blooms. That whisper in the back of his mind of yes, that's right. That's it. That's how it's supposed to go. His own shoulders straighten. He can see that she's irritated but he can't let the point go. He's not going to accept it. He wants to know she's not just letting it go because it's what he needs. "I'm not an imbecile either, Grey. I know it's not ******* normal. It's not like a man who needs to take a pill because he's... he's got some ******* disease. You really think that makes it okay?!" he asks, incredulous. Why is he even fighting it? It's almost as if she wants to tell him it's not. But that's how Jesse is, isn't it? When it's been too long... when his own progeny drift and are far apart. When it's been... how long has it been? He becomes masochistic. It gets worse. As if he needs to be told everything that's wrong with him so that he can accept that he's not right for this world. That he should be put down. Is that what he's doing? No. Not entirely. "That's not healthy. If that's what you think. If you think that it's all okay because it's what I need. Does anyone ever tell an alcoholic it's okay to drink because it's what he thinks he needs? Or ... or a drug addict?" he asks. His own eyes widen. As Grey shuffles back, Jesse wants to shuffle back, too. Like a cat that's had its tail stepped on, he's lashed out - and now he wants to run. As if he's just realised what he's saying. It's the first time he's admitted it out loud. That he himself thinks he has a problem. He has an addiction. It's not a nice addiction. It's a downright deplorable one. Immoral. Horrible. Monstrous. "I'm just so ******* thirsty all the ******* time," he says, voice tearing from his throat like its some foreign object. "And the blood... when it's fresh, and hot, and alive, ****, I can't get enough of it. Just one single drop of it and I want to drain them dry. I want to tear them limb from limb just to get every last ******* drop," he says, that monstrous gleam in his eye again, as his hands rub at his face and he can feel that familiar ache in his gums.

[Grey (DELETED 5068)]

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


<Grey> Grey can feel her defences climb. She can feel that anger in Jesse rile up, simmering and hissing underneath the edges of his flesh. It is as if at any moment he is going to boil up and over. Grey should fear the repercussions. She should fear what he would say and do. But, did he not just profess that he would not hit her? Did he not just swear to her that he would never harm her willingly? After all, it was Jesse that wanted the crack of her hand against his flesh and the drive of a blade across his chest in her anger. He had asked her. He had begged her. To bleed for her, Grey knew that Jesse felt a relief when she made him shudder in a bloody mess. "So do you want me to tell you no? Do you want me to tell you that you can't kill? Because that is absurd! You are a Vampire! You are my lover and my fiancé and how can I tell you what do do?! She looked at him with such an intensity that her mouth fell open. She was breathing through her nose and out her mouth. Nostrils flared and she was almost panting with the audacity that he was asking her for limits! “You are not two years old!” She frowned at him. It was as of her heart was breaking for him and she wanted to wrap her arms around him and bring him close. "Stop being so hard on yourself. We don't ask for this. You didn't ask to be thirsty all the time. It is a wonder that you've showed such restraint as it is. If I could take it away from you, I would, Jesse. You don't deserve the constant reminder and painful need of blood. To suck someone dry is not about the hunt for you, it is about the relief." She lurched forward, and grabbed at him. She -shook- him. "It is not your fault!"


<Jesse Fforde> The point is being missed. Jesse hasn't explained it, really, but it's there, crawling at the back of his throat--a wild panic flitting through his eyes. He nearly pants, like a terrified animal. He isn't accustomed to this kind of emotion. It has its talons sunk deep into his chest and his whole body is tight with it. He had expected Grey to be mortified but she's not. He should be relieved, and he can't understand why he isn't. Maybe that's what's got him to restless and unaccountably emotional. The fact that he can't even figure out what it is that he wants from Grey. She grabs him to shake him and Jesse's teeth grind together; he reaches up to take hold of her hand, to hold it tight, but to hold it away from him. Not because he doesn't like the way she touches him, or her proximity, but because in that moment he doesn't think that he is good to touch. He is bad for her, and his habits could ultimately tear them apart. Couldn't they? That's the question. That's the point. He shakes his head. "We are equals and you have every right to tell me what to do. We tell each other what to do and sometimes we'll agree and sometimes we won't and we'll argue. An addict seeks relief, too. And what if that's all this is? A habit that I can eventually kick? What if it is a fault that I can fix but I refuse to? Are you telling me that you don't care? That all those innocent people I kill for no reason but my own satisfaction. That doesn't bother you? To know that you are sleeping side by side with a man who... you say that we are killers, but do you? Do you do the same thing? Even for vampires this isn't normal, Grey, it's not. Does it bother you? At all?" he asks. He wants her to tell him the truth. He stops talking. He doesn't talk so much too often and his voice hitches. He takes a deep breath and rocks forward again, bowing over Grey's hand, which he still grips tightly, and presses it against his forehead. "I don't know what I want... I don't know..."


<Grey> “You are my lover, my fiance, and my Sire. You gave me the strength I didn’t have to keep on, Jesse. I am not going to stand in front of you and say ‘No’ to you. You can make your own decisions.” She kissed his ear. His temple again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rocked the man that she loved against her chest. She didn’t want him harming established relationships for what it was worth. That was how she saw Mandy, even if the salamander didn’t have anything in common with her man of fire - but that. With a deep breath, she inhaled her lover’s scent. She felt his irritation. She felt his unhappiness. She felt the moment that Jesse’s internal struggle gave up - crashing around his knees and no longer seemed to hover as a weight upon his shoulders. With her arms around him, she takes his weight. She batters him gently, her resolve not breaking. He was a creature of the night and she wouldn’t … couldn’t … had no business ever making him feel wrong for taking the blood of humans. “I love you,” She whispered into his ear. “I won’t let you go.” She would fight for him. She’s not perfect. Grey is hardly the poster child of a Vampire enigma. She gently would cup the back of his neck, massaging gently. This was a conversation obviously for another day.


<Jesse Fforde> "Don't. Don't let me go," he says. That's what this is, in the end - the beginning. This is where he starts pushing others, testing their boundaries, building up walls around himself that they cannot penetrate. But as his arms tighten their hold around his fiance, he realises that she's inside those walls with him. He'd been trying to push her out, to introduce something for which she could not forgive him. To set her apart and give her a reason to let him go. To be able to, when he does. But she did not sway, she did not budge, and now here she is. Still with him. For better or for worse she's on the inside, and Jesse fears for her. But is grateful for her. This argument might be over but Jesse does not immediately return to his usual self; he cannot. He is still morose, still brooding over something that he cannot name. He rolls his shoulders and attempts to right himself. To look at Grey, though his expression is still guarded, so much like the features of a boy who is ashamed, and whose pride has taken a beating. There are moments that Grey will see him at his weakest, and this is one of them. He does not like it. He does not feel like a man that Grey should love, but he won't tell her that. Instead: "I don't want to go anywhere tonight," he says. "I'm going to stay here," he says. Here, meaning the bed. Maybe he'll get up to find some blood, to heat it up. Maybe. But otherwise he doesn't want to leave the apartment. He doesn't want to go anywhere. He doesn't ask Grey to stay with him, though it is something that he wants--because he's not going to tell her what to do either. If she has to go to work, then she has to go to work. But Jesse is going nowhere.


<Grey> “I won’t. You are mine… All mine.” She did not give a second thought to the way her arms were wrapped around him. As if, in a way, she wanted him to feel safe instead of backed into a corner. She wanted him to feel he could tell her his darkest secret and that she would still accept him. Grey, after all, was certainly no saint. She had a dark, ugly side to her and she carried it with her every place she went. It was like an unwanted memory, a hope to divulge and share the load with someone was not something that she really felt could ever be done. It was her protection, those barriers. Her fingers threaded through Jesse’s soft, pliant hair. She took a deep breath, almost a shudder against her very chest and she knew that her lover was hungry. “I’ll get you something to drink. You need to eat.” She murmured quietly, fearful that he kept giving to her and held none for himself. As he pulled back, Grey’s eyes watched his. She had no where to be, the weekend an off time for Grey at work. Or at least, there was no overtime needed right now. So, she just nodded to him and attempted to coax him back down onto the bed. “You don’t have to go anywhere Jesse. I’ll stay with you, okay? No need to leave the apartment tonight.” And truly, there wasn’t. There was no Andras shindig planned. There was no fight night that Grey had been aware of. There was no Fforde event either, knowing that Grey herself had picked up a lot of overtime lately. With a deep breath, she tried to draw Jesse down into her arms. There was a whole pitcher of blood in the fridge. “I’m feeling rather fond of keeping you in bed.”



<Jesse Fforde> Jesse doesn't agree or deny that he needs to eat. He doesn't do much of anything except go where he's coaxed; a complete shell of what he usually is, especially given that the two of them are naked, and in bed, with the comfort of the mattress and the clean sheets around them. It's not often that Jesse isn't in the mood for their particular brand of frivolity; it's not often that they're indoors together and not have their hands all over each other. There's a rebelliousness in him, and for a moment he doesn't shift at all. For a moment he considers throwing off the sheets, pretending the entire mood doesn't exist, and running out the door. Bottling, as Rion and Micah say. Because right now? Right now, he's failing at bottling anything. The bottle has broken wide open. I am weak, he tells himself. I am pathetic and weak. But he doesn't say it out loud, and he does nothing to rebel against the self-loathing. He just sinks into it, like drifting into a sea of darkness, bouyed by it, hating it, but revelling in it at the same time. It is only those few moments of stillness before he is coaxed down into Grey's arms, relaxing into the sheets and forcing the tension from his body. "I'll stay in bed then," he says, with a glimmer of his usual humour. At that moment he might have told Grey to come back wearing a sexy nurse's outfit, but the words stick at the back of his throat and he doesn't say them. He buries his head into the pillow and sighs. They've just woken up, but the fatigue settles easily over Jesse's limbs. He blinks at Grey, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sorry. Say sorry, he tells himself. But he doesn't. Not yet. Not now. Instead: "Thank you. I love you."


<Grey> “I know it is such a hardship.” She chuckles softly, making a joke of loving her. Because in truth, Jesse is the only one that had ever tried. He is the only one that had ever broken past her defenses and had solidified himself within her life. It was as if she walked into a brick wall one day, and the wall never crumbled. As if to say ‘I’m here and there is no getting around me!’ For that, she would always be thankful. So with a brush of her lips against his forehead, Grey shifted. It took her just a moment to ease up and get out of that bed. She had no problem now with her own nudity. Before, she was sure to steal one of Jesse’s t-shirts and before that, she wouldn’t walk across the apartment without something on top or on bottom no matter how much he had giving her free reign of the place. It was still odd, settling into a routine when you never had one before - let alone a man that had come and went for sex and lust. She shook her head, her feet quietly taking her across the marble floor and through to the kitchen. With each step, she worried about the lover that she had just left within her bed. How did Jesse make her feel better? When she was twisted and hurting, when she was moody or overwhelmed… He held her. He coaxed smiles from her. He touched her and teased her until she opened up. Could it be the same? She had already told him that he was hers. And as she gathered two large glasses of blood, she carried them both back towards the bedroom. Her mind was churning with worry. She had only heard this kind of Jesse’s fear over the telephone. The mixture. The angst. The irritation. The sullen fueled rage. It was all new to her to experience such an implosion. She set one glass down on the nightstand and put her free hand upon Jesse’s chest. “Have breakfast with me?” She spoke quietly now, as if to break into any thoughts he was having.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse's fingers remain clinging to Grey's skin even as she eases herself up and out of bed. When she moves out of reach, his hand falls heavily onto the empty sheets. He closes his eyes and sinks into the darkness. He doesn't think about much. The thoughts in his mind drift with the eddies and flows and the undercurrents of the previous conversation, trying not to dwell or to dissect or to make himself any worse. He doesn't want to think of new things to say. Of new arguments to create. He doesn't want to think about anything at all, so he focuses only on clearing his head. On pushing out every thought and every derision. After a while, his body feels light; that feeling one gets when drifting between sleep and wakefulness. When Grey comes back and places her hands on his chest he jolts back into reality. He mumurs incoherently under his breath; to 'eat breakfast' is to have to move. To sit up again. He rolls toward Grey, pleasantly surprised by the sight of her. Why he's surprised he doesn't know, but the beauty of her body, of her messy hair falling over and around her shoulders, is a soothing balm. More than that, finally, the scent and sight of blood stirs him. He sits up and almost lurches toward the glass of blood on the nightstand. His fingers curl around the handle, but he doesn't drink. As much as his chest heaves and his teeth ache and his whole body WANTS that blood, he forces himself to hesitate. To wait. To not be rude. To not be selfish. Instead, though, he eyes the other glass. He clears his throat. "Maybe... maybe leave that one for later," he says. "Take your breakfast from me, instead," he says, quietly, suggestively, holding his glass tightly in two hands.


<Grey> As she sat upon the bed once more, she balanced the glass when Jesse roused slowly and then again when he lurches forward. Her breath is held and she watched the disheveled beauty of a man seem to become interested once more in the very subject matter that they had quarreled about. Grey cannot help but seem a bit mildly relieved that Jesse has an interest in the blood in the tall glasses. She regards her lover quietly. Never before had she complained about the way Jesse feeds her. His blood was a sweet infusion into her veins. It was a very misunderstood way of Grey not having to rip open those contraband blood packs herself after a furious battle in the sewers and poisoned humans she had thought would be delicious snacks turned rotten apples. Grey, could eat though. She did not get nourishment from the typical human’s diet, but she got satisfaction from it. And here, Jesse could not even get satisfaction from the blood that he drank for more than the few seconds it took to pass his tongue and throat. “Only if you drink both glasses then, Jesse.” She whispered to him, knowing that he was now clutching onto the glass as if by him wanting to feed from him was a consolation prize. Grey didn’t have insatiable thirst. She knew she could stop.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse does drink both glasses. It is the condition--and he knows that by encouraging Grey, soon enough she will get no nourishment from human blood. Soon enough--and he wonders that it hasn't happened already--the human blood she consumes will not be enough. Or she won't be able to keep it down. Jesse can't confess to being an expert on how it works, or how one becomes a Necurat. There he went, from trying not to be rude, from trying to be unselfish, to being more selfish than before. But he can't help it. He enjoys the feel of Grey's teeth in his skin about as much as he enjoys the fresh blood of humans. So, he lifts the first glass to his lips and drains it dry. His eyes close as the Adam's Apple bobs in his throat, a slight twitch in his cheek to indicate the smallest displeasure. This blood is not the same as the blood of humans. Live humans. Humans with lust or fear running through their veins; with that hint of adrenaline. This is old blood, stale, cold, bereft of life. Bereft of the electric heat of a living person; of all of the things that make them who they are. It is bereft of a body, kicking and twitching as it instinctively fights for life, trapped beneath him, or against a wall, or in his arms. Maybe aside from the blood, there is that small pleasure that he is addicted to--the feeling of life passing out of a body. It's fascinating to Jesse, and he feels as if he wants to follow their souls, to see where they go. Does he consume their spirit later, too, when he summons it from the beyond? The first glass slams against the nightstand and Jesse, without even looking at Grey, reaches for the other. That, too, is lifted to his lips and drained nearly as fast. Hasty, with one small hitched moan as the itch at the back of his throat is soothed. The burn is balmed and for those few seconds his head is completely clear, free, light. As soon as the blood is gone and only a thin veneer remains at the back of his throat, however--as soon as the glass leaves his lips--the burn returns. Distraction is what he requires, so he shuffles back against the pillows, leaning up against the headboard. He reaches for Grey's hand, as if to tug her, to coax her to sprawl on top of him--as is often her habit.


<Grey> Silently, Grey watches him. She can remember the night so clearly that they met. She can remember shovelling food and drink into her mouth so fast that she was terrified it would vanish. The night had been early. It was winter, after all, and it was about seven o’clock in the evening when she had stayed for overtime. Brock had kicked her out of the shop some several hours later when he had come out of his office and still found her putting the remnants of an engine back together. She needed money. She needed a job. Her father had always instilled in her to work hard. To work what one wants. And she had, breathing heavily and with only one good eye. She remembered the burn to her face in such a way that it almost caused her to bring her hands up. To touch her face, now devoid of any scar or long-term reminder that she was once human. Even her tattoo had darkened, becoming more rich in color in death once she had been turned. Quietly, Grey let her hand fall into Jesse’s. Though the blood was not what he was used to, it fed him. She knew the disappointment from blood packs and stored blood had on him. She knew that he hated the lifeless, listless read coating on the inside of the plastic which was devoid of the feathering feelings of one’s heart and adrenaline when it was sucked in a hurried venue from their body. Grey got more pleasure from Oreos than she did blood. Truth be told as she rose up on her knees and her thighs would soon hug either side of Jesse’s hips, she curled into him. She easily let her *** rest upon his thighs and no longer feared of breaking him. Though the two glasses of blood barely seemed to give the pink pale hue back to the gaunt man, she felt better that he had drank both chilled glasses and doused his tastebuds in the nourishment his body needed; even if it was cold. Her lips pressed a kiss to his mouth, then his jaw, and then his neck. There, she seemed to settle her cheek against his bare shoulder and just … hold him.



<Jesse Fforde> The weight of Grey's body is far preferable than the weight of his woes. Jesse accepts her weight as it is no burden to him; it is a cloak of protection, almost, as his own hunger is forgotten. Maybe there's something masochistic in the way he craves the twin pain and pleasure of Grey's feeding. And as his hands settled upon her hips, as his fingers slowly curl around the small of her back, as his arms wrap possessively around her, he waits. Intent, he is certain that any second now, those teeth will sink into his skin and he can succumb to a delirious kind of oblivion. His head leans forward and to the side, his lips--damp with residual blood--kiss the smooth curve of her shoulder, and he waits. His neck is stretched, and the vein clear beneath the stubble, a raised agent amongst the inked skin. But no sting is forthcoming. Although he revels in the solid feel of his lover against his body--of the realisation that she's not letting him go--there's a singular impatience bubbling beneath the surface. He wants to gasp it out, as if that irritation were returning and he wants only to snap. He wants to ask her for this. If that other addiction cannot be served tonight, please, please just give him this. Jesse is a man craving one high of many. But he doesn't snap; his body squirms just slightly beneath Grey's, and a shudder runs from neck to tailbone, but he says and does nothing to hurry his lover. He lays there with his lips against her shoulder, with his eyes closed and his hair dry and straight over his forehead, the ends tickling at Grey's skin. His palms lay flat against her skin, fingers clinging only so much as to cause the slightest indent. Desperate to hold her, and to have her. And to never let her go.


<Grey> Grey can understand the intent. She can understand the need. She knows, in part, that Jesse struggles with himself in more ways than one. She knows he struggles with himself in a way she struggles, the mentality of their souls teasing their bodies and trudging victims of the past to present. She prides herself on trying to be a productive member of society for their little family. Though, Grey struggles with relationships. She struggles with attempting to know other people. She struggles with her memory, trying to encompass little details of likes and dislikes and she is absolutely horrible with dates. As she lets her cheek rest upon his shoulder, she tortures herself with knowing that she will slide her fangs into Jesse’s flesh soon enough and feast upon blood that she craves because it is his and his alone. Her mouth waters. The addiction she has to Jesse is almost unspeakable. It is a craving of an addict gone off the wagon. Soon, she will lift her head. Her hair will fall, tickle and tease over the man’s flesh as she lets her face closer to his pulled open neck. Her breath from opened lips will rush across his flesh. Grey isn’t a violent woman. She doesn’t strike unless she’s been bitten first. She doesn’t even raise a hand until the second blow is coming - whether it be in defense or pure irritation that her new favorite pair of jeans had just had bullets sprayed into them by an Enforcer lurking around a dark corner of the sewer. Her teeth extend, fangs sinking in. At first, it is just a slice into Jesse’s flesh. It is punctures down into his skin. Now, now she rips. Grey doesn’t know where the violence comes from. She doesn’t know where the need for more has bubbled up. When she physically feeds from her lover, it is a torrential downpour of need. Like a predator to its prey, Grey’s jaw locks and opens over and over again, slicing into the surrounding meat of Jesse’s neck as if causing the blood to gush forth. He took her. He killed her in this very bed. She never regretted it. The act itself was beyond loving. And she had grown into violently taking from her fiance. Grey let those fangs slice into the very meat of his neck while she let her tongue be bathed in his sweet blood.


<Jesse Fforde> A low moan resounds in Jesse's throat at the first sign of teeth slicing into skin. There it is, that pain that he had been waiting for; it sends a shiver of delight through all his veins, thrums over his skin, dancing like ten million tiny demons that mean him no harm, but promise him the pleasure of their eternal damnation. He does not shy away from that promise, but embraces it, wholeheartedly and without any hesitation. His own teeth graze the skin of Grey's neck as she bites down again, and again. As the waves crash against each other, and the entirety of Jesse's body is subject to a numbness that he only ever feels when at the mercy of Grey's hunger. A hefty sigh passes his lips as his head falls back against the heaped pillows, his lips open, the red of the blood that he had previously consumed staining his white teeth. In this moment, Grey is the predator and Jesse the willing prey. The blood that he had just consumed had filled him, and now it is filling Grey. It is a beautiful circle, and sometimes Jesse wishes he could bite down, too--that she could drink from him just as he was drinking from her. But that would risk the two of them becoming Necurats. That would not work. One of them had to be able to consume the blood of humans. Didn't they? The image is there; has flashed through Jesse's mind. Of latching on to that wondrous curve of Grey's neck and holding her tight against him as her blood gushes over his tongue. The temptation is there, but he does not act upon it. He cannot, with his body so relaxes, and his arms now loose around Grey's torso. Though, subconsciously his fingers trace circles into her skin. Formless circles that follow no pattern. His toes curl, and his leg lazily shifts, crooking one knee. Bliss envelopes him, slips beneath the skin to make him feel as if he is flying. If there's any way to make him feel better again, to make him feel needed? It's this. Selfishly, it is this.