Path of the Vampire forum

His first conscious thought was one of detachment, each observation catalogued, assessed, and unceremoniously either compartmentalized for later review, or discarded. There was a common misconception - perpetuated by Hollywood - that there’s a single conscious thought when rousing from a period of unconsciousness. The reality was closer to amnesia in reverse. Aleksei’s thoughts were sluggish to form; fragments that slipped from his grasp the moment he tried to focus on them. There were gaps in his memory; swaths of the last six hours neatly carved away from his memory with a near surgical precision. His immediate focus was on the dull pressure against his temple; as if several layers of gauze circled his head, dulling his senses. He rose his head gingerly, and immediately regretted the action. The room swung abruptly out of focus, a sudden rush of vertigo forcing him to shut his eyes against the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat.

It was only once the irregular rhythm of his breathing grew even once more that he risked lifting his hand, gingerly pressing his fingertips to his temple. The skin there was swollen; a sallow shade that had begun to darken to a mottled shade of purples and rich blues. The questing touch only served to heighten his headache; a persistent throb that took up residence behind the sockets of his eyes, embedding in his molars like a twin heartbeat with arrhythmia. It was only once his vision cleared, the room stilling, that he was able to take in the unfamiliar space. It was tastefully decorated; the walls were darkly paneled in neutral shades, with carpeting to match. It was windowless, he realized a moment later.

Or perhaps not quite. Running the length of the far wall was a thick pane of opaque glass. He smiled grimly at that, before sitting further up on the bed. He considered, weighing his options, before he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, gingerly resting his feet against the floor. He rose unsteadily a heartbeat later, feigning a disoriented stumble as he made a show of exploring the confines. Every so often, however, he’d reach up, fingers curling to tug experimentally against this frame or that. Searching for something that could easily be taken down and disassembled.

Captivity was similar to an abscessed tooth. In its infancy, it was characterized by a mild discomfort. The sufferers of both were aware of the situation, but rarely to the point of rash behavior. Given enough time, however, the decay would spread. Done correctly, witnessing the collapse could be fascinating; even a rat, trapped too long in a maze, will eventually go shrill with its frustration. Leks hadn’t yet reached that particular breaking point. As fruitless as his endeavors seemed, they survived one, specific purpose; rattling the cage. The bedframe was solid beneath his fingertips, much to his frustration. There was no give to the material; no sudden thinning to suggest a weakened or false core. Nothing, in other words, that he could exploit. He turned at the sound of Baxter’s voice, sinking onto the mattress as he was addressed.

There was neither guilt nor remorse in his posture. His gaze rose, settling onto Baxter’s own with a cool and practiced apathy. “You’ve gone through quite a bit of trouble on my account. I’m almost flattered.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “Traps,” he repeated, amusement coloring his words. “At least it won’t be a tedious captivity.” He paused, eyeing him for a moment before speaking. “Something I can help you with?” The question managed to be relaxed and imperious all at once, as if Baxter were interloping, imposing on his domain.

“Ah.” The response was mild, borderline serene in its noncommittal nature. His gaze rose, his expression neutral as Baxter recited his name in a litany. The sound of it cascaded past his lips like the beads of a broken rosary, the shape of the word almost sing-song in the other man’s mouth, the mockery clear in the cadence. The rictus of the smile Baxter wore would doubtless have been unsettling to most. Aleksei’s gaze, however, was fixed on his movement. There was something in the fluid, leonine gait that caused something to flicker in the depths of his gaze. Calling it a spark of recognition belied the violence of it. It was closer to a canister of gasoline upended over a fire pit; equal parts calculation and something else, poorly subdued and primal. If Aleksei had been anyone else, the tactic might have worked. The words would have found their mark, sinking into his psyche like stray splinters embedded beneath his nails with the dull edge of a chisel. He might have recoiled, disarmed by the display of his personal history. Instead, he waited for a lull in Baxter’s recitation, before lifting his hands, bringing them together in slow, rhythmic applause. The sound of it was polite and scattered; meant less for sincere appreciation than the wry acknowledgment of an achievement. In short: applause meant for an awards ceremony.

“Well done. That is the reaction you were going for, I hope? ...No?” He smiled thinly. “I’ll just have to hope your voyeurism is just as titillating if I manage to trigger one.” It was only once the silence had begun to verge on unnerving that Baxter spoke once more. His shoulders hitched sharply, the shrug almost indifferent. “That depends on who you ask.” The scientific answer to his question was fairly straightforward: they didn’t. The Corvidae family could adapt to captivity in theory; it could be tolerated, if not abided. But to cage one was to break it. A crow kept confined, unable to forage, to take flight - would, given the opportunity, choose death. Voluntary starvation wasn’t uncommon. Admirable, he supposed. Aleksei, however, was no garden variety crow. He would batter his proverbial wings bloody to pluck the eye from his captor’s socket. “Do you know why I chose the name ‘Crows?’” His tone was conversational; almost pleasant, as if the question were an idle one. “Fascinating animals, really. With a very specific quirk, as it turns out.”

He paused, considering. “Kind of you. But I’m downright cozy.”

Renato’s presence incited a curious chain of events. The first of which was the way Aleksei abruptly stiled. There was a palpable tension that coiled in the minor degree of separation the glass partition afforded. For all that he was, to all intents and purposes - catatonic in the absence of movement, Aleksei’s gaze lingered on the vampire, his gaze remote and unreadable, vaguely reptilian. It was the nature of the stare, however, that communicated his intent; broadcasting a curiosity similar to the rapt fascination a tiger displays towards a toddler at a zoo. The precise moment it recognizes a vulnerability in the youth; a taut war of instinct playing itself out beneath the inattentive gaze of its parent. The look Aleksei wore was similar; a hunger mingled with a dull frustration. The resignation behind realizing your prey was just out of reach.

But it was the scent of another variety that arrested his attention, bringing with it the memory of cold autumn mornings, frost heavy against the kitchen window panes like antique dollies, the perfume of autumnal decay in the air; vivid in its sharp spice, half sugar, half rot, with veins of copper beneath it all. The way his feet didn’t quite reach the crossbar of the stool, toes pointed down towards the emptiness of the air. It gave him a quiet thrill, that lurching sense of vertigo. There had been crisp potato cakes, sometimes drizzled with honey. He remembered the sting as his wrist was slapped with teasing admonishment as he reached for one. He approached the tray warily, against his better judgment. If it hadn’t been for the hunger that roused with the scent of the food, he would have refrained.

He reached for one of the deruny a moment later, bringing it to his mouth with a mild wariness before biting into it. The flavor of grated garlic and butter coated his tongue; the potato at the center soft and airy. A lick of steam curled from its center, very nearly singeing the roof of his mouth in his haste. “A crow that senses a threat will alert its flock.” He smiled wryly. “But that isn’t why I chose them. I chose them because they mob. They’re relentless when it comes to the elimination of a target. At least one of mine knows I’m here.” He finished, biting off a rounded edge of the cake pointedly. “It’s only a matter of time before the rest will.”

“Cagey? Not at all. Merely stating a fact.” He had no dubiety that his instruction would be obeyed. The Crows were disciplined; a great deal of their charm stemmed from their ability to adhere to a command, no matter how it may grate against their personal code of ethics. He mirrored the shrug a moment later. “I wasn’t expecting you to be. But I wasn’t making an effort to instill fear.” His tone had shifted, growing flat in its inflection, as if he were prematurely bored with the conversation. The mention of Monroe snared his attention once more. His jaw tensed for a split second, a subtle darkening of his gaze serving as a herald to the wordless turmoil that seized his thoughts. There was a curious tightening at the pit of his stomach; a dull pang. The sensation crept upwards, dragging along spine, pressuring against every subtle knot of vertebrae like the edge of a dull razor. It heightened the instinctual rage that settled over his thoughts like a veil. “I can respect the decision.”

There was a lightness to the words; a flippancy that did nothing to suggest the slightest internal unbalancing he was currently experiencing. Touching him would be a mistake. The thought was an idle one, communicated in the thin-lipped smile that he focused on the other man. Not unlike fastening the noose yourself. “Mm. I’d be careful, Baxter. You made the mistake of underestimating me once before, and it nearly ended with your entrails around your ankles. Fortunately for you, I have restraint. And an appreciation of what a waste it would have been.” He brought his thumb to his mouth a moment later, idly sucking the lingering sheen of grease from its tip before advancing, his steps measured as he skirted around the tray, stopping inches from the glass. “The Crows will likely keep their distance. They haven’t deluded themselves into believing that this was luck. More than I can say for some.”

The smile he flashed him was sardonic, though he allowed the man to exit without comment. It was only once Baxter made his exit that he retreated as well, pacing towards the bed. He settled onto the mattress a moment later, gaze focusing on the far wall for a heartbeat before he succumbed to a more genuine exhaustion, drifting off into a light doze.

"Is this necessary?"

"Hold still. I'll end up hitting a nerve instead of an artery."

Renato scowled and lolled his head away from the sight, closing his eyes despite the blindfold already obscuring his view. They were in the kitchen, under the bright lights over the marble counter with the vampire lying down on top of it, on his back. He had been for the past hour now and as more and more time passed by, he grew both nervous and impatient. Baxter was seated on a stool at his side, an old copy of Gray's Anatomy left open on his lap. Renato had bought it as a joke with the punchline being that Baxter needed to brush up on his anatomy, as a ribbing towards the man's tendency to not ever seem to have paramours. But, naturally, the joke had gone awry and the book was now used for more unorthodox purposes.

"This wasn't in my contract."

"You don't have a contract."

It seemed simple a first. He'd been to the blood labs many times in his life for checkups and all the nurses did was poke around against the crook of his elbow with a finger before sticking a needle in him. Easy. But the six bandages on Renato's arm already said otherwise.

"It would be easier if you just let him drink directly from you."

The vampire's head turned so fast to fix him with a scowl that Baxter got whiplash. "I am not going in that madman's cage. He's basically a starved lion."

Baxter shrugged and sank the tip of his needle into Renato's arm with more force than the other times. A small stream of crimson splattered over his cheek, making him squint before his eyes brightened. "Ha!" His victory was quickly overturned though as the blood began going everywhere except the hollow point of the needle. His eyes widened briefly. "Oh…" he murmured, a troubled expression casting over his sallow features before he reached over to grab a glass off of the counter, trying to catch the blood in it.

"What? Did you get it?"

"...yeah, I got it alright."