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The first thing Rhea Shields had to say for herself, more times than not, was that she was often the one to blame for the horrible, shitty things that happened in her life.

Except her husband being dead, of course. That was one she couldn’t take credit for. Not that she minded not being able to lay claim to it, except on the rare Tuesday or so when it kind of annoyed the hell out of her that she didn’t get to do a fucked up life insurance scheme. Then it annoyed her even more that he wasn’t around anymore - he would have laughed at that joke, too. She’d been the only one guffawing at his funeral.

Shame, that.

No, Rhea got to blame her sleepless nights and her lonely sheets on an incredibly drunk and also unfortunately dead man that’d been in his mid-thirties. She had trouble feeling any sympathy when the other half of the ‘sudden widow pair club’ started sobbing across from the table from her and protein milkshake made Jerry. Poor, sweet Jerry. First on the scene and assigned to their case.

Rhea hoped he hated her.

Rhea didn’t feel much at all while that chick cried, mostly because she wanted to poke that woman’s disgusting husband right in his stupid beer gut and ask him just who he thought he was to be an idiot and drive so many drinks in. She couldn’t do that, though. Some teeny tiny annoying voice whispered in her ear that it wasn’t only rude to prod a dead man in the stomach - it was kind of frowned upon, too. You just can’t go around poking dead guys.



So while Rhea couldn’t lay claim to that particular sinkhole of a mess, she could still take up blame for other things. Jumping ship and ditching her much emptier house after she started to see her husband damn near everywhere she went was definitely her fault.

Guilty as charged, folks.



She liked to travel, anyway. She was young and dumb and spent her nights holed up in the back of her SUV. It was quite comfortable in her expert opinion, and it was easy enough to say good-bye to each town she crashed in for a while. It was also easy to leave the hole left in her life and the weird feeling that he was doing nothing more than slumbering underground, rather than decaying.

Everyone casually sees ghosts, right?

So here she was and there she went; the girl in pink, round sunglasses, grabbing a cheapo Horton’s coffee. That dark-haired one being weird in her car all night. The chick in jeans looking incredibly cold at the gas pumps while she tried to buy a pack of smokes [menthol, please].

If only she wasn’t such an unfortunate soul.




One Hour

That’s all it takes to find some trouble in a new town. There she sat, a list of names in one hand, cash in the other. Names that shouldn’t exist. Creatures so very few knew existed. Her [very much dead] husband shot judgement eye glances from the wallpaper-peeling corner.

Oh yeah. Abandoned apartments were totally her aesthetic. She’d totally fit in here.

Well, she knew the process. Her and the boy beside her [red hair, something like twenty] listened to what they needed to do to shoot for that same goal. That was a long-shot warning from the pain of that first drink. One shot, vampiric blood. Her uncultured tongue couldn’t make much use of any information it may have held; it was too clouded through thick penny-flavor and an almost-not-quite decay smell.

It crawled into her belly from her throat and turned into liquid fire that threatened to spew like lava, right back out of her mouth. All she felt, saw, and knew was ichor, red-hot under her skin. It spread from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes and made her muscles convulse and clench.

One down.

Several to go.



Sometime between glass four and five, the boy beside her keeled right on over at her feet. He made a kind-of-sorta gagging sound and held his left arm, tried to clutch his shoulder.

‘It happens,’ she knew, and her husband looked at her more pointedly from his corner where she’d mentally banished him.

“Not like you’re here for me to be more careful for,” she grumbled into her next glass, scoring her some confused looks that she ignored like she always did when some energy or another prodded at her temples. She drank.

Six down.



When she was ushered onto the streets later that night [or early the next morning, whichever way you may prefer to look at it], she was homeless, one hundred percent broke, and had a whole ton of knowledge and no clue what to do with it.

A scream. Loud and shrill and followed by yells that came from a not-so-happy sounding man.

Rhea tucked herself further into the shadows and against the nearest building’s wall. Well, ****. It wasn’t like she’d had a game plan, okay, this should be understood. She didn’t really know how to make game plans, and her eyes were trained up and not around her. She was the kind of person to just do things, because she wasn’t brainy enough to know what was going to happen next in her life.

She gave herself very little credit.

A chill ran through her spine, up to taint cerebral fluid to let her brain soak in it for a while. Cold. Unnatural. Nothing felt right anymore, and she had to wonder if it was from the blood she’d been drinking, which she still wasn’t one hundred percent about. Her world wasn't straight. Off center. How could she tilt it back into line on its axis? Either way, the chill struck through to her core.

What was she getting into?

It could have been the male in his pilfered clothes just a couple of corners from her apparently well thought out hiding spot. It could have been as she turned and ran face-first into a half-decayed corpse that slammed her back into the wall and made her see stars. It could have been the oncoming and inevitable way her bone cracked under her hair and skin. Silky dark locks may have protected the blood vessels that broke and bruised from surfacing to the air, but didn’t stop parietal from coming apart under the pressure.

Rhea, not thinking, shoved. She shoved and she shoved hard and desperate, pushing away congealed blood and gray skin at the shoulder, and she stumbled away from it. It was a miracle she was still on her feet, honestly, and she held her head while pain fused her eyes tightly shut. She went along on her unsteady feet until she fell over loose asphalt and ate dirt.

Rhea'd always been proud of her hair. It was dark and thick and it now provided a safe curtain around crimson that dribbled her skull. A string of curses sounded off mentally, and her head tucked enough for that hair to become a drape to hide the new sounds from her view. Footsteps. That disgusting, sickening series of crunches and grunts of bones breaking. She tucked away from it because that was what instinct told her to do. She was hurting, and bad, and she needed her eyes closed anyway. Her fingers scraped and scratched at the road and dirt.

Less than 24 hours, and she was probably going to die.

The footsteps didn't stop. They continued right next to her [now messed up] manicured nails, near where she was warm and laying in her sweater. She lowered the arm that was over her hair and pushed it back from her face so she could look up.

Annnd the first thing she saw was an incredibly dead man. The next thing she saw was a not-nearly as dead man, who was kind of dead, and super inked up. It took a moment of squinting to verify- one wasn't really there. The other was.

Not already.. she thought, while she pushed herself somewhat onto her spine and sat up on her elbows with a huff. The woman cut her gaze up towards him, this male with dilated pupils and that didn't feel right. None of it felt right. The world tilted farther from it's center - she held down bile that threatened to come up. What was the saying? Nausea was a sign of concussion?

Fantastic.

Rhea tried to push right on up to her feet, swaying.

"Sorry for the noise," she grumbled while she did, ignoring every single cell that screamed at her to run.

Jesse Fforde
The head crunched and squished under the impact of Jesse’s bare foot, which was now covered in decayed corpse juice. He flicked said foot a couple of times to remove bits of rotting brain from between his toes, though of course he’d have to have a shower when he got home to get the rest off. It wasn’t as if Jesse were unaccustomed to being covered in gore, so he ignored it for now – at least the rising scent of death smothered the scent of blood. And the urge to rip into this blood thief’s neck wasn’t quite so severe.

Jesse Fforde
“I feel like this is your lucky night, Rhea. I’m not sure I feel like killing you,” Jesse said. It wasn’t as if she were a human about to run off and dob Jesse into the cops; neither he nor Renard had done anything report-worthy. She hadn’t witnessed anything. In fact, Rhea was the exact kind of person Jesse might have forced to become a vampire, years ago. Back when he couldn’t help himself. Back when he thought everyone should believe vampirism to be the greatest gift ever. He’d learned since then. Most of the time, anyway, he was able to show some constraint. “Though I am curious… how exactly do you plan to thieve blood from a vampire? You gonna knock them out?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Renard
Rhea’s response was a curious one. In the face of imminent death, she just wanted to have a smoke - better than begging she had said. Of course, Renard wanted to keep her around, if not for the alarmingly blase way in which she faced adversity, certainly because a chase was simply no fun if the other person wasn’t running. It was a lot like being in a race alone. Who cared if you won then? “That’s a fun method if I’ve ever heard one. Speaking from experience, drinking from people who don’t want you to sink your fangs into them can yield some pretty mixed results. Like a gunshot to the head.” He said as he lifted one finger to poke right between his eyes. Of course, had he experienced that kind of thing, there was no visible scarring or wound there. He might as well have just been lying.

Renard
“Do blood thieves heal those?” He asked, more to Jesse than to Rhea, because Renard was still learning about the ins and outs of the whole ‘Living on Satan’s Backside’ thing. Then again, Ren had never attempted to knock a person out before. Usually if he wanted them down, he wanted them down permanently, and acted in accordance with that. In the distance, he could hear some sirens going off - not that there was much surprise there. Harper Rock’s crime rate had spiked dramatically since the zombies had gotten loose. Between the cops and the soldiers, maintaining law and order was difficult. Not impossible, but the men in blue worked over-time. Nights were especially bad.

Rhea
Lucky night. A shout of BINGO, a scratch-off that actually won something. She was lucky like she'd been rolling in some four-leaf clovers and hanging horseshoes everywhere. This was her lucky night because at least one half of the pair wasn't planning to kill her right then and right there. She didn't believe it- sharks in the water were always, at the end of the day, sharks in the water. She had a feeling vampires were as fickle as humans were, and if we're completely honest, she didn't trust humans one bit. She exhaled smoke and glanced towards the sound of sirens. She wanted that much more badly to get the **** out, felt that much more uneasy about being next to the males.

Rhea
Decay smell reached her belated- too much nicotine to have a proper sense of smell anymore, and she was still just a human at the end of the day. She covered the reek with her cigarette. She weighed his question around in her head, and let him have his time to focus on Renard before her thoughts prompted a laugh to escape her lips- a quick bubble of a thing, popping and vanishing as quick as it came, but bright when it did last. "Depends. I'm rude, but-- I dunno. I guess I thought I'd try to ask first?" and it suddenly sounded so increibly silly, even to her, that she held her breath and thought about how absolutely insane that was and how very muchly badly she shouldn't be laughing in some kind of smoker's nervous anxiety-spiked way, with hardly any breath and mind going a mile a minute.

Jesse Fforde
Jesse gave a shrug to answer Renard’s question. If blood thieves could heal their wounds, then Rhea should have been able to heal the split at the back of her head. But Jesse had never been a blood thief nor had he ever spoken to one at great length; he didn’t know if they had any powers beyond what they got from the vampire blood they consumed. “I guess if she drank from someone like me, she’d be able to heal whatever she wanted,” he said, turning his sharp gaze back to Rhea. Rhea, who’d said she’d just ‘ask’. His answer was followed by a low chuckle.

Jesse Fforde
“Oh sweets, you’re new to this aren’t you?” he asked. He might have thought he hadn’t meant to sound condescending, but Jesse has never been good with the whole… manners thing. How often had he been called an asshole in his lifetime? But, she was a little naïve, though he’d give her credit for not wanting to beg. If Clover were here, she’d probably have made the woman beg. Clover probably wouldn’t agree with Jesse’s line of thought, either. But though he’d curbed a few of his behaviours, he’d never be able to curb them all.

Jesse Fforde
“I would not advice simply asking a vampire for their blood. Your sort aren’t always so well regarded, and all you’d be asking for is a death sentence,” he said. Renard had had a lighter. Did Renard have cigarettes, too? Jesse jutted his chin at the other male and pointed to Rhea's cigarette -- a silent question.

Renard
Renard’s smile returned, though it looked less mirthful than before, maybe because there was no obvious reason for it to be there. He just got this image in his head of Rhea walking up to a vampire, trying to pick their pocket, but prefacing it with ‘Good sir, I would appreciate some of your blood.’ Of course, in his mind, she spoke with a cockney accent along the lines of Artful Dodger (Jack Dawkins), from Oliver Twist. He absolutely loved it. Even if it made no sense, and was likely to get her killed. “He’s got a point. You caught me on a good night.” What he didn’t say was that, left to his own devices, he probably would have dug his fingers under the gouge in her scalp and slowly peeled her like a grape. Of course, Jesse being there had stopped him from taking that route. And now he liked her, which was sort of obnoxious, because it meant he couldn’t rightly just kill her unless she gave him a reason to. Which was, as far as Renard was concerned, reason enough to rarely (if ever) talk to people. Ugh.

Renard
He caught the question, and patted his jacket a second, before reaching inside. Out came the pack of Lucky Strikes, which he’d already packed hard. He used a thumb to flip the top and reveal that it was half empty - they were leftovers from when he had been human. Even in life, he hadn’t been much of a smoker himself. Really only when he was stressed (and then he chain smoked). Now, they didn’t do much for him at all (and he’d tried). So they were possibly, but hopefully not stale. “I’d suggest either knocking the **** out of a blood sucker or making friends fast. The last guy I ran into like you looked like he was Jonesin’. Like he was going mad, waiting for some of the stuff me and Jesse here have got.” She might have been full then, but how long until she needed the power of vampiric blood? What would she do to get it?

Rhea
Rhea was very new to this. She was less than an hour into a new life she'd been running to to escape from her past one - she ran so much from her emotions, she certainly couldn't be expected to run for her physical well being. Or safety. What was safety? It was one of those things that always seemed to dance just outside of her grasp, right beyond her fingertips. Seriously. How unfortunate could she be? She listened to them while her head pounded and she easily could have brushed off the advice. She was rash, and she was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid. She didn't listen to just their words - she listened for inside jokes, for hints, for anything she could read into and analyse and hopefully draw up some tips and tricks that they may not have been willing to spell out for her. She was just pretty attentive like that, even when she was distracted. Finally, she kind of just... talked.

Rhea
Her voice was semi-firm, and semi-fast, like she was saying the words just as they appeared in her mind. "Look. I'm not too strong yet, and I'm not that tall or formidable. Surely somewhere around here I can pick some pockets and get some cash. Buy something decent. A gun. A hunting knife. You guys tend to be pretty fast, right?" Her brows raised and she indicated between them with the cigarette. "You hear better. You smell better. My best plan is to immobilize. Sneak. I don't have much of a choice with either and or a--" and she was going to shut the hell up because she realized she was rambling. She shook her head a little and cleared her throat. "Asking won't help **** ninety-nine percent of the time. I know that."

Jesse Fforde
Jesse happily took one of the lucky strikes as Rhea rambled; it didn’t matter to him if the cigarette was stale. He didn’t want it because he was still addicted to the nicotine – that addiction had fled as soon as he’d been turned. But the smoke clinging to the back of his throat, the draw and release, it was a distraction from the insatiable thirst. What Jesse did notice was that Rhea didn’t ask, even after Jesse had revealed what his blood might be able to do for her. Even after he and Renard had assured her they meant no harm. Though, why would she trust anyone in this city? That, at least, was smart. So, he gathered she wasn’t yet needing anything.

Jesse Fforde
Once he had the cigarette between his lips, he gestured for Renard’s lighter. It might have appeared like the two men were speaking telepathically, but Renard had worked with Jesse for… how long was it now? Didn’t matter. Jesse still had habits left over from when he didn’t speak at all. Had even tried to convince Renard for a long time after he’d grown his tongue back that he still couldn’t speak. He communicated with gesture. It got more across than anyone might assume.

Jesse Fforde
“I’m not gonna give you hints on how to take out a vampire,” Jesse said, the cigarette bouncing between his lips. “I mean, it’s an okay plan but it could take a while and it’s dangerous for one as new as yourself. Better to find yourself some willing donors. Then you’ll be able to fight fire with fire, so to speak. You’ll have the powers of a vampire. You know that, right? You’re not just consuming the blood for shits and giggles…”

Renard
To Renard, it seemed like Rhea had absolutely no plan at all. Which honestly sounded a lot like him. He lived most of his life winging ****. See; Only a few months prior, when he’d decked a director at a film he was working on. Of course, there had been other reasons for that. Ren was a reactive creature, a lot like a stray dog, used to being kicked. He could be very nice when someone was feeding him, but the moment he saw a foot, he went nigh feral. He had learned very shortly after turning, that if he didn’t want to have a master plan, then he needed to be smart enough to listen to the advice of someone who was willing to think things through. And he had to be able to hold his own in a fight, because there would be a lot of them.

Renard
He wanted to tell her that trying to sneak up on one of their kind was a mistake. No. He wanted to show her. He could move fast enough to slam her against a wall, drain her half dry and walk away before her head damaged senses properly kicked in. He didn’t though. She wasn’t his to show the tough love. Instead, the lighter came out, the top flicked back and the flame once more ignited into a hot pillar that rose above his hand in the darkness.

Renard
Jesse was laying out a potential path for her, one which could make her life much easier, or much less expensive. In a way, she stood at a fork in the road, and each vampire represented one of the two biroads. Jesse was being magnanimous. Renard would not do that. He would not offer her his blood. Not unless he thought she really truly deserved it. But then, the head of the bloodline was nicer than he was. Or maybe he’d taken a fancy to her. Whatever the case, even if she did ‘steal’ from Renard, she would have needed to kill him to get away clean. And vampires didn’t die. Not permanently. Good way to make an eternal, deranged enemy there.

Renard
So there were the paths. Of course. She didn’t necessarily know that.

Rhea
Rhea took another drag while she considered things like the rarity of friendship. His comment almost had her smile. Almost. "I sure hope I'm not.." Risking life and limb for shits and giggles w-... well, okay, she would probably totally do that, but it wasn't something she'd just casually do all the time. She could be much too reckless for her own good. Reckless enough to do things like drink vampiric blood dose by dose until it didn't make her innards crawl in and out while they soaked in lava. She wasn't aware of paths, nor aware that she was standing at the bottom of a V where roads split. She was weighing over spoken words and considering willing donors. "Yeah. Powers for a little while. Until it wears off, or I feed again. Donors," she mumbled.

Rhea
The word etched inside her skull. It echoed from somewhere around her knee. She dropped her hand with the cigarette and rolled the filter between tightly clamped fingers to loosen the tobacco until it fell. She considered the big bad world between and just over their shoulders. She needed to find vampires willing to part with their blood. Then could come the long-term everyday plan.

Jesse Fforde
Renard didn’t say a word, but did he have to? Jesse seemed to be leading the conversation and though he thought he was dropping hints, either Rhea wasn’t hearing them or she was not interested. If he told her she was free to go, would she turn tail and flee? If she thought she was in danger, it could be the only thing rooting her to the spot. And nor did Rhea give any reason why she was consuming vampire blood. What was the end goal? Power? Was it an addiction, like drugs? Jesse never did understand.

Jesse Fforde
“Donors, yes. Some quite like to be bitten. I gotta ask you the question though,” he said, before taking a drag of the now-lit cigarette. “Why? Why go through the trouble of having to find your next fix rather than… become a vampire?” he asked, smoke pouring from his lips as he did.. Quick fixes would never have been enough for him. After he’d found out what Phoenix was he’d asked to be turned. He’d been the one playing with fire, then. When she’d had him in the bathtub bleeding out, his blood swirling down the drain, she could have left him for dead. But she hadn’t.

Renard
The lighter was pocketed again, this time without the ceremony of burning from the first time. The air was thick with conversation, and Renard...well. He didn’t zone out. Zoning out implied that he wasn’t paying attention. On the contrary, he was an exceptionally watchful creature by his very nature. That was part of how he got himself out of the shitty scrapes he always seemed to manage. Rather, he went silent. He likely came across as shy, or reserved. Taciturn. In truth, he was trying to put together who Rhea was. She seemed like the sort of modern urban filth he enjoyed. Not too smart. Not sure where she was going. Just reaching for a good time. Running away from something bad? Jesse’s question nearly got to the crux of the matter, but it wasn’t really direct enough. Not for Renard at least.

Renard
“Why are you even a blood thief to begin with?” He asked as he leaned a little closer, so he could tip his head and inhale near her scalp. The scent of blood there was appealing. He was getting closer and closer to reaching his hand out and curling it around her neck, to lift her up off her feet so he didn’t have to strain lower to reach that point. “Are you just chasing a high, or do you have some actual ******* motivation?” The question hung in the air for a moment, followed by a sound that might very nearly have been a growl. He glanced towards Jesse and then slowly peeled himself back. He had never been one to ask permission, but he knew the limits of his restraint.




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This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the world area. Participants and rewards were: Jesse Fforde earned 1635 RPP. Renard earned 1986 RPP. Rhea earned 1163 RPP.

Rhea
Rhea's gaze cut over to Renard now. She eased another cigarette from her pocket; too vain to grimace, but not too vain to chain smoke. Her skin would thank her in a couple of decades, if she was still alive. Right now, it crawled. She didn't try to light the cigarette; she rolled it in her fingers while she reveled in Renard backing himself up again. Much too close for comfort, for her, as her blood congealed. She weighed thoughts in her mind.

Rhea
"...Power," she finally said, because it was true. She forgot that truth was for pussies there for a second. Wasn't that how the saying went, anyway? She couldn't remember. Her mind filtered over to things like sharp veneers and body-builder strength times ten. They still could cut her down to her knees and bleed her like a pig at slaughter. "I get a taste of power and I get a taste of high. And from the sounds of it, it gets better after I adjust."

Rhea
Her gaze finally went back to Jesse. A soft voice caressed up the back of her mind, fingers as light as butterfly touches, held under her wound. She wanted to say it. She knew she wanted to say it. Voices encouraged her, and pried her lips apart and willed her voice from deep in her throat. "Do either of you like being bitten?" Scientific curiosity killed the cat. Rhea wondered if her nine lives came in reincarnations, and if maybe she'd come back as a whitetip reef shark, or a flamboyant cuttlefish. Something that lived deep in the ocean and let her spend half of her day lazing around in sand.

Jesse Fforde
Renards questions were blunt; they lacked playfulness, or so Jesse assumed. Watching Renard was like watching a mirror image, the younger vampire inching closer to what could be a delicious meal. Jesse’s glare cut through the air like a hot knife through butter; an expression he wasn’t exactly aware of, though he knew that he didn’t want to make Rhea a meal. There was something about her that… and well, Clover probably wouldn’t like it. But she reminded him of Clover. What would Clover say if he brought home a pet? A pet that he allowed to take blood from him? He already knew the answer to that question. Perhaps Clover would find out first hand what it felt like when secrets were kept. It wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship, but it was his relationship. And they’d get through all the same.

Jesse Fforde
So for reasons, he didn’t want Rhea to become Renard’s snack. And there was a healthy dose of territorialism, too. Jesse was here first. He met Rhea first. If she was going to become a snack, she’d be his snack. He could be generous, but not that generous. Renard had already backed up, though, and Jesse’s glare was approving. He’d better stay backed up.

Jesse Fforde
And it was then that Rhea asked her question – the exact question, one might say, that Jesse had been waiting for. The smile that curled the corners of his lips was that of a cat who’d got the milk. “One – if it’s power you want, then if you became a vampire, it’s exponential. But that’s a matter of biased opinion. And two – so long as you’re not aligned with hunters or soldiers who’d like nothing more than to see the vampire race eradicated—” and why would she want to see them eradicated, if they were where she got her high? “—then being bitten is one of life’s few pleasures.”

Renard
There was a cigarette in Rhea’s hands, though Renard did not reach for his lighter a third time. Perhaps Jesse would oblige her with the hot end of the Lucky Strike sitting on the ledge of his lips. Of course, the Killer was no fool. He could tell, as the little game of verbal cat and mouse progressed, what was going on. Or at least, he got a decent idea of it. Jesse was offering Rhea power. Everything up until that point had been getting her to see clearly what she wanted so that she could reach out and take it. In essence, he was playing on the idea of her greed, which made sense. If she was going to be drinking regularly from someone; it was better that person have some actual power. But what did Jesse get out of it? Did he just enjoy being bitten that much? Was there more to it than met the eye?

Renard
Either way, it wasn’t his business. He had dropped in on a lark. Really, all the interaction had given him was a chance to see another dimension of Jesse. He enjoyed it. There was a certain playfulness to the way the man acted - somewhat like a cat toying with its food. Renard could certainly understand that, and it was a bit of a stretch from the often solemn, and hard working man the Killer had come to expect.

Renard
“I would much rather bite.” He snapped his teeth at her, though it was a hollow gesture. The question wasn’t really for him. Of course, she could have intended it that way, but Renard was not the type of creature to easily share his blood. Especially not with someone he had just met. He could take a great deal of enjoyment out of being bitten - but that didn’t particularly matter to the situation.

Rhea
Teeth snapped and she held her breathe. 'Count to ten,' the whispers said. 'Before that's your neck.' She exhaled, slow, and rolled the filter in her fingers. Back. Forth. It gave her something to focus on; a sensory distraction. She didn't want vampires to be killed. Despite the common vicious nature that ran through them, she needed them now.

Rhea
Their glances intrigued her. She didn't realize she was in the midst of some odd mini-family reuinon. To her the dominance appeared as quick as it left, and she didn't understand why, or what history they shared other than simply knowing one another. She was intrigued. The back and forth of territorial displays always had; she'd gotten in more than one fight daring people by treading their toes. Call her reckless-- she just liked to have a good time and tended to appreciate the sore bruises that blossomed her flesh the next day. They felt like hard work. They felt like reward.

Rhea
Finally, she answered instead of reflecting. "That's not out of the cards," she said with a light nod. "I'd just... like to know the person that turns me. I'd like someone I trust. Not everyone is given the option. I'm hoping to survive long enough to have it, myself."

Jesse Fforde
The intrigue was strong. The flutter of… something. A remnant, perhaps, of the days Jesse felt a need that so often wasn’t sated. The months of agony he suffered, the withdrawals, the cold turkey of not turning a single soul. Death by suicide, only to come back cured. All because those in his ‘family’ were tired of his siring habits. Too many, too quick. They wanted to get to know a person before a new one was brought into the fold. Trust. Jesse scoffed.

Jesse Fforde
“Trust is a flimsy concept,” Jesse said. “In vogue one minute and out the next. When you trust someone, they then have a weapon to use against you,” he said. A serious topic, perhaps, but there was still a smile curling his lips. As much as Jesse kept saying he’d given up on his old goals and his old needs, they were still there, buried beneath the surface. Still that flicker of hope that Fforde would become a close-knit group, close enough that every member within could call every other member ‘family’. As much as he scoffed at the concept of trust, he still wished for it. He wanted to trust people, and he wanted them to never break that trust. Just once. He guessed it wasn’t so much trust, then, but loyalty.

Jesse Fforde
He didn’t look at Renard afterwards; the cigarette between his fingers, he flicked it with his thumb, ash tumbling to the asphalt. Things had changed. Things had settled. There were more in the family now Jesse might begin to trust. But it was a long road. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure we can strike an accord, you and I,” he said to Rhea. “I like being bitten, and sometimes I like to bite. Maybe eventually we can trust each other,” he said, thoughtfully.

Renard
Renard understood Jesse’s vision of trust, to an extent. Everyone in his life, he had ever hoped to trust, save for three (and one was dead), had given him reason to turn his back on them. There was Hillstrom, with his pride, Beatrice with her narcissism and vanity. The Croft family was not a benevolent garden which fostered life - it was a barren asphalt field. The worst of them had been Isengrim, who reveled in the things he did in the dark. Renard had been young when he realized that trust, even in your family, could be misplaced. Consequently, it often took him a very long time to warm up to anyone beyond the point of casual acquaintance. A working relationship helped some. Beck had once (actually several times) said that Ren didn’t process his emotions. Not really at all.

Renard
He wasn’t used to being liked. It wasn’t a requirement for him. He wanted to agree with Jesse, and he wanted to disagree with him all at the same time. Anecdotal evidence suggested the other vampire was right. But didn’t everyone who pushed people away really want someone to creep past their barriers? The more blockades, the more the person’s desire to be truly understood. That’s what the movies, television, and general media were designed to demonstrate. The flaw there, of course, was that those things were all influenced by the need to conform to society. There was always a moral to the story that had nothing to do with the actual hero or protagonist getting better or being happy. Those stories only sated a person’s need for completion.

Renard
In truth, the world only ever laughed with you when you were laughing too. Ella Wheeler Wilcox understood that.

Renard
He didn’t disagree with Jesse, because actions spoke louder than words. Instead, he moved towards the direction from which he’d come. He ended up clasping the other man on the shoulder to give a squeeze. “It sounds like you two have some fun planned. You ever need anything, Jesse, just let me know. And you…” He said, glancing half over his shoulder to Rhea. “...try not to get your *** killed in the next week. Alright?”

Rhea
Rhea didn't know what the week would hold for her. He was right to say what he said; she'd end up with a few glass cuts on her knuckles from busting windows, would have bullets whizzing past her arms, would end up binding more injuries than she would care to admit to. Rhea didn't know any of this, though, because she couldn't see the future. She could only sit where ever she found to make her home, and she would listen to voices whisper things that bit at her like angry snakes, and reflect on the past. If it was up to her, she'd very much have liked to leave well enough where it belonged - damn near five hundred miles in her rear view. Not that she had her clunker anymore either. The thing had been on it's last leg as it was, and she'd pushed it too hard, too far. It was probably in the teeth of a crusher somewhere. Her head followed Renard while he moved, and she watched him go while she thought about planned fun, that didn't sound like safe fun, and didn't sound the most planned. Her hand lifted up in a wave while she watched him go, cigarette between forefinger and middle. "I'll try," she assured him softly. If he didn't have such good hearing, it may have gone missed.

Rhea
Her weight shifted back to her heels while she ignored the grinding behind her head and the darkness of the night. The darkness creeped in the edges of her vision, too. She probably needed medical care, as much as she'd never admit it. "...Trust is thin as hair," she mumbled softly. "It snaps easily."

Jesse Fforde
If one were to read anything (and believe everything) they read about Pisces, they were supposed to be the most caring of the starsigns. They were magnanimous, meek creatures who wanted the best for everyone and for everyone to be the best. And truly, at the crux of everything, it would seem that Jesse Fforde was unable to run away from what the fates wished him to be. Fated to be born on that particular day with that particular foretelling, he bared to the world a visage of carelessness, of anarchy and anger and despair. But way down underneath the ink and the thick surface, the miles of walls he’d erected to keep everyone out, he just wanted to help. He was selfless to the point where he forgot about himself. He gave up everything, laid himself down as a mat for others to walk over if only it would save their feet from a puddle of mud.

Jesse Fforde
And, he supposed, that’s where it all went pear-shaped. Because despite it all, so many accused him of selfishness, of not caring enough, of doing nothing, of being nothing. So many unfounded accusations and there he sat, an empty shell. It’s why he had given up. It was a form of long-awaited self-love, to try to lock the world out and give them nothing.

Jesse Fforde
Or, he thought he was giving them nothing, but it was in his nature, and he did it without thinking. He never knew it was in his nature until he was turned. He never knew, until he had that idea in his hands of what he wanted his world to be. And here was this girl, a stranger, who reminded him of his wife, and he wanted to take her under his wing. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to make sure that she didn’t get herself killed, because he didn’t trust that she’d be able to do that for herself. The cigarette between his fingers was dropped and crushed beneath a heel. He nodded and watched as Renard walked away. He turned back to Rhea. Why did he care? He’d stopped trying to answer that question.

Jesse Fforde
“Unless it’s well-conditioned,” he said, though honestly he had no idea whether conditioner made hair strong or something else. “If you take some now you might be able to heal that wound of yours…” he said, head cocked, waiting. If she had his blood in her, would she still find him terrifying..,?

Rhea
Sirens came and went. Stars twinkled in the darkness above them. Sky-deep hair turned and Rhea took Jesse in once again. She lifted her cigarette to her lips, finally, and slid her hand into her top to fish a Bic from her brazier. She flicked her thumb over the pink-cloud plastic so she could light tobacco and inhale, deep. He had a damn fine point that she couldn't see much arguing with. No matter what unnatural crawling she felt in her stomach, she was still alive. He was speaking to her calmly, no hint of venom waiting in the back of his throat, and not much of a sour look on his face. As much as he tried to push away the question why, it burned at her all the same. But reasons why were abrasive things to discuss. She knew a name, and she'd given very brief explanations as it were, and that was just one of those things she didn't feel like asking in the middle of a street.

Rhea
Speaking of the middle of the street. "Maybe we should go somewhere else. Doesn't seem like the most brilliant idea to do this here. Heaven forbid a cop walk by." She looked around them now, smoking with one hand, but lifting the other to touch at the wet and sticky at the back of her head. She'd need to find somewhere with some kind of soap-- handsoap would do, even if it would end up drying out half her roots and leaving her hair in more of a frizz than a curl. "And I think trust falls on communication." Her gaze went back to him. She didn't know the buildings around them, anyway, except the one she'd just left a little while ago with the blood thieves and their fresh stash of cash. "No matter what form it may come in. Something has to be there."

Jesse Fforde
Jesse laughed. Normally when he laughed it was a bitter sound, bereft of mirth. But this time, he was actually imagining a cop wandering past to witness a blood thief taking blood from a vampire. Would it be deemed equal to sex in public? Surely not. Why would they care? If it’s between two consenting adults, and with vampires ‘outed’, so to speak. But, cops were often scared of what they did not understand, and when there was lack of understanding, they tended to get a bit… trigger happy. And Jesse didn’t quite feel like the bullets tonight, despite how easy it was for him to heal them.

Jesse Fforde
“Yeah alright,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, getting his bearings. And then he started to walk. They weren’t too far from Swansdale and Serpentine. Zombies would become more of an issue the closer they got, but that didn’t bother the vampire. He might normally use his tome to get there, but tonight he had left it behind. He’d made his way across the city as the snake, sticking to the sewers most of the way.

Jesse Fforde
“I’ll take you to Serpentine, yeah? Then you’ll know where to find me…” he said. There it was. Communication, of a sort. An olive branch. She’d know where to find him. It was the first level of basic trust.




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This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the world area. Participants and rewards were: Rhea earned 1707 RPP. Jesse Fforde earned 1953 RPP. Renard earned 1056 RPP.

Rhea
He was walking. She stared at the back of his head a moment, almost surprised he'd turned his back to her, opened himself up. Not that she had any intentions on attacking him; he was offering. She had no reason to. It still sent a question mark through her mind, though, and she took a drag before turning that-a-way so that she could follow along. She didn't really know the streets that well, yet, and she kept looking left and right to memorize landmarks that could guide her back to the abandoned apartments with ease. "What's Serpentine?" She asked him while they walked, Converse scuffing at the ground here and there when she righted herself after the slight dizzy spells that turned her eyesight sideways. She tried not to think about ulterior motives, flushed her mind that he could just be taking her somewhere with more of his kind for the soul purpose of sharing his gullible meal. She didn't think of his amused laugh as the last thing she heard as a living, breathing person. She focused on other things, things like the graffiti on the building to the left, and the road names.

Jesse Fforde
Jesse had also seen the graffiti on the wall to the left, and he wondered if it was Clover's handy work. Or... someone else's. He knew of a few graffiti artists, and had even dabbled a bit himself in the past. At home, he had a whole underground basement covered in graffiti. But he was better at etching art into skin than spraying it on walls -- or so he thought. But practice makes perfect, and he had eternity, now, to practice. "Serpentine is a pub. There's also a tattoo parlour and a parkour gym," he said, glancing over his shoulder and slowing down just a tad so Rhea could catch up. "I own it," he added. A public place. With his bare feet and wearing an open jacket, no shirt on underneath, he probably looked like a bum, not a business owner. But that only made it all the more amusing. Never judge a book by its cover.

Rhea
It seemed fitting, in Rhea's eyes, that he would own a bar. A tattoo parlor. The parkour part was what surprised her. She hurried herself up, jogged a tad to get beside him. When she felt the sudden urge to cough, she held it down and flicked away her cigarette. As she walked, the voices follows, their shoes much more silent on the ground, unseen. They weren't really there. Their presence made little impact, though a couple did tease. 'Running to your death,' they told her, half-hovering smiles wisping through the air. She brushed at her hair, brushed the voice away with a small wave of her fingers. Was it so much to ask for a little silence? Probably so. Makeshift energy didn't have much else to do, after all. "Do you work in them, too?" She pondered aloud, glancing his way.

Jesse Fforde
Jesse smiled. "I do," he said. "Mostly tattoos. They don't like me at the bar," he said, veering a little closer to Rhea; if she was feeling perturbed by his presence, she wasn't the only one. All humans got that vibe from him, and it wasn't great for business. If people were too terrified to come into the bar then he'd make no money. People looking for tattoos were different. They were made of sterner stuff. And if they could sit through it, then he could give them kudos. He could respect them. He eyed Rhea, up and down and back again. "Do you work? What's your story...?" he asked. Like... why was she here, new to being a blood thief, seemingly clueless? Did she have a support network or was she all alone? Jesse was curious.

Rhea
Those were some big questions. Rhea wasn't the kind of person that would normally answer big questions. He slid closer like a snake in the grass and he must've known that the forboding feeling in the back of her skull flared. Well, Rhea was also stubborn. So what did she do to resist instinct? She nudged her elbow to his. Take that, evolution. With her middle finger firmly in Mother Nature's way, or so she felt, she continued on a little happier, a little more bothered.

Rhea
"I always wanted more tattoos. I just never bothered to get them. I don't have work. I just moved here, really." Which also, sadly meant she had no one looking for her to come home, or check in. She knew she'd just revealed that little fact, probably, but if he was going to kill her, he'd have done it or he was going to, either way. Stubborn and stupid. It didn't always make for the best combination. "Don't have much of a story. Small town. Not much fun happening. Started to have less fun, so I left." She shrugged a little, frowned some. It was a pretty brief explanation that explained nothing, but it was what she went with anyway. "What about you?"

Jesse Fforde
Jesse should have known that the question would be reciprocated, but that didn't mean he had to give anything away. His history was long and varied and all confined to this one city, but she didn't want his whole history. The basics would do. "Born here, grew up here. Died here," he said with a shrug. "One thing is for sure -- if your idea of fun involves a bit of danger and gore, then you've come to the right place," he said, nudging her back, elbow to elbow. That she stuck by him rather than walking by his side at a distance was telling. It said something about Rhea, as a person. But then, to become a blood thief would require a bit of sass and grit, wouldn't it? "I've got a deal at the moment. Free tattoo if you kill some zombies around the place and show me proof. If you practice, show me some dead ears, you might just get a free tattoo..."

Rhea
When she was younger, she was called 'plucky'. Rhea, of course, thought it was an old fashioned way to say 'hard-headed'. No matter what it was, it turned into a joke amongst her friends. It was what they'd say when they wanted her attention, because they knew it made her look up faster than her actual name. One of those words that got stuck and never quite left. It never left her reputation, either. "What if people are just ripping ears off of zombies to throw at you?" She sounded a little amused at the idea. "Which sounds like more work, but. What's with all the zombies here, anyway? First one I ran into gave me a bit of a start." She turned her gaze up his way, hoping not to trip. She examined the curve of his neck, the tattoos that stained his flesh. She wondered how that even worked, tattooing a vampire. If she got the chance, at some point, she'd really have to ask.

Jesse Fforde
These kinds of questions Jesse could answer. He cleared his throat -- not accustomed to talking so much, and his voice box was rusty -- and explained: "It's the reason why vampires don't particularly like to leave this city. There's what they call a rift. It's like... not really a portal, but a thinning between this world and the afterlife. On the other side is the Shadow Realm. It looks like a murky mirror image of reality, all shadows and darkness, confusing. It's where spirits roam," he said. "It was confined to the Quarantine Zone -- the dead would rise, zombies, and the government, way back, locked them all in. Recent events have caused the rift to widen, though. Which means, zombies outside of the quarantine zone. And better chance for us vampires to come back to life," he said with a wink. They were like cockroaches. They were indestructible. Around the next corner, and in the distance he could see Serpentine -- all lit up like an old American diner.

Rhea
She rolled that all up in her head and thought about it. A rift. Where the spirits roam.. well, that explained the new followers she'd gained, didn't it? Just what she needed. Some kind of weird version of medium near where the other sides roamed. She didn't know the building he looked at was their destination, not until they got closer and it became clear- distracted. She was taking in information and commiting it to memory. "What's it like," she finally asked, the only other big question that was really clouding her mind. "What's it like to be a vampire?" She knew that, at some point, she'd probably be better off being turned, or whatever they called it. There was only so strong she could be in her human bones, and human skin. Eventually, the high wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't be enough. She wanted to be prepared.

Jesse Fforde
"That is a good question, and you'll get a different answer, depending on who you ask," Jesse said. "If you ask me, I think it's the best thing a person could ask for. It's exponential power. It's... seeing the world with heightened senses. If you think things are beautiful now... well, let's just say you haven't lived," he said. And that's what he thought -- being dead, he felt more alive than he'd ever felt when alive. "There are some downsides, I guess. But I think the pros outweigh them," he said with a shrug. They were stepping up onto the curb, now; though the outside was lit up like an old American diner, inside was similar but not. There were booths but where the service counter would be, there was a bar. The floor was checkered black and white, neon signs, old school retro framed pictures, but the lighting was dim, and it smelled like a bar. Beer. The music was punk rock. "Welcome to Serpentine..."

Rhea
Rhea glanced his way again before she made her way to the door to push her way inside. It was charming, in a way, but she was a little amused by the music choice. "And here I thought there'd be some Stupid Cupid playing," she mused at him, eyes going over the framed pictures. She leaned over one of the booth's tables to get a closer look at one, but when she rocked back on her heels, she was grinning his way once again. "What're the cons? C'mon, man, the people need to know." Which, by people, she meant herself. She really didn't know anyone else quite yet, wasn't even sure where she was going to stay the rest of the night, or the next morning.

Jesse Fforde
"Hokay, cons," he said, gesturing to an empty booth near the back, away from the crowds. When it came down to the 'deed' he could pull on the shadows and douse them and their corner, keep their acts from prying eyes. "We call them 'curses', as ominous as that sounds. Like... God help you if you're covered in human blood, because I'll want to tear you limb from limb. On top of which, I'm always hungry. Always. When I bite someone, they remember me -- most often, when a vampire bites a human, that human forgets. And if I bite a human and let them live, there's a good chance they'll turn, just from a bite. Oh, and I'm guessing you feel a little uneasy around me?" he asked. These were things that were considered curses, though Jesse had grown accustomed to them. Even liked them. Some of them, anyway. There were more, but it at least gave Rhea some idea.

Rhea
Rhea made her way to the indicated seat, sliding along to tuck against the wall. She rolled over the idea of these curses in her mind, and it got her distracted from the entire damned point there for a second. It made her head turn and her squint at him. "Yeah, a bit uneasy. What other kinds of curses are there?" This, this was pressing. She got a little more excited, a little more urgent in her words and posture. Her spine stiffened. Her fingers curled into a fist on the table top, once-manicured nails [that were now so lovely with chips] digging into her palms.

Jesse Fforde
"Others," Jesse thought. He thought about those he knew -- but most that he'd turned shared the same or similar curses to his own. "Things like... severe depression if you don't turn someone every half a year or so. Uhm... some people scar rather than heal completely. Some are humanly week on a full moon. Or a new moon. Some can't wake up at all during the day. They could have their arm sawed off and not even feel it until they wake up. I know someone who kills everything she touches -- flowers die in her hands, for example. But some people have nothing, no curses. It just... depends, I guess," he said with a shrug.

Rhea
She listened to all of these, breath bated while she hoped to hear what she was thinking of... and then it didn't. She seemed a little crestfallen, but she nodded some and relaxed back into the cushion of the booth. At least she could focus on more prying matters, even if that meant she had some questions that went unanswered still. It was alright though. She had plenty of time, and she was in no rush; not now. Not yet. "Geez. I wouldn't want that one. So you're hungry right now? What's going to stop you from biting me when I drink from you?" Now these were the important questions.

Jesse Fforde
"Self control," Jesse said. "I've learned a bit of it over the years. I'm not wounded, and have already had my fill for the night. I'm not rabid. Not at the moment," he said with a wink. Which meant to say -- he could be rabid, depending on the day and the circumstance. It was he and Clover who liked to be rabid together -- their twisted version of 'date night'. "Though I guess, if you like a bit of an adrenaline kick, you'll never know," he added with a devious smirk. There was nothing stopping him from biting her when she took from him. Nothing at all but a flimsy barrier of trust.

Rhea
It was a flimsy barrier. Very miniscule, in the grand scheme of things; she was trusting herself with a man that could easily kill her, and would have great pleasure in it. The thought of it didn't disgust her- mostly she would be happy her body would have some kind of use before being tossed out into a river somewhere to be fish food. It didn't mean she wanted to die, though. Or maybe she did, at least a little bit. A teeny bit. After all... she'd just followed along with a dude that could easily kill her and would have great pleasure in it. But she was here, and at this point pretty dedicated, and once she dedicated to something, that was pretty much exactly what her life was going to be for a while, until it was finished or it gave her up. "Adrenaline kick?" She asked, because she wanted verification on what he meant

Jesse Fforde
"Yeah. You know, those people who like to jump out of planes and abseil off cliffs. Adrenaline junkies. If you're one of those, it's perfect," he said. He didn't add that they were in his place of business and if he killed her there, he'd have to figure out some way to get rid of the body. It wouldn't do good to have rumours spread that a vicious vampire owned Serpentine who'd happily slaughter his own customers. That'd bring everything crumbling down over his head. As it was, there was someone tending bar who'd already nodded in his direction, and the patrons who'd been sitting closest to their booth had shifted. They'd seen him. They knew he was there. They knew they got bad vibes from him. He wasn't under any radar. He could have told her she'd be absolutely fine. BUt where was the fun in that?

Rhea
There wasn't any. If he'd have told her, she'd have judged him, probably. Mentally of course, not aloud. It was easier to let her live in fear, even if she did glance around some and wonder what these people would think to see her getting up close and personal with the guy making them all feel a bit off, biting on him. They were likely all expecting him to be the one doing that to her. "I meant," she clarified calmly, trying not to laugh at his response. "Are you saying you biting me would be the adrenaline rush? More than just.. drinking as it is? And what ever would you do if you ended up turning me?" Yeah, she'd definitely paid attention to those curses of his.

Jesse Fforde
"Oh. No, I mean. It would be an adrenaline rush for you to feed from me, if you didn't know what I might do. And in regards to turning -- there's another one," he said, then laughed. It was a low laugh, but it wasn't mirthless. He shouldn't be laughing, but those who survived had done so with aplomb. Some of them he now wished he'd never turned -- he wished he'd left them to rot. But you can never tell, in the beginning, how a person might turn out. Which is why he now exhibited some control. He hadn't with Reagan, true, but he didn't regret her, and nor did he think she hated him for it. "Thing is, I used to be able to turn people easily. For most, it happens instantly. A few hours, tops. What I would do with you if I turned you? I'd have to take you home and tend to you for a week while you writhe and suffer the worst illness you've ever suffered," he said. It might dissuade her from choosing him. But maybe it wouldn't, if she decided the pros outweighed the road to them.

Rhea
A week. A week of time wasted - which, if she was a vampire, at least she wouldn't have to worry so much about losing it. What was a week to a vampire? Was it like a day to them, or more like an hour, passing by as quick as that? Maybe her entire life was a blink to someone like him, and in a few hundred years, she'd have been a speck, the briefest of encounters he barely remembered. A quick brush that sanded down the barest edge, before it blended right back in with the rest. She considered that while she considered him, tapping a finger lightly on the counter top. "And after that?" She pried on, eyes on him now, because she was curious. She'd been curious before, anyway, and now she had someone who could provide her with much-needed information. Call her greedy; she wanted more. She wanted more power and she wanted a way to continue on living. She'd been too close to death's door, and too stubborn to face it a year ago when it was tapping the most freshly at her psych.

Jesse Fforde
"After that? If you choose not to ungratefully run off with the gift I gave you and never come back, you'd have a place to stay. A family, of sorts. I'd no longer make you feel like I was your worst nightmare. A secure environment with people who'll have your back if you get into a scrape," he said. Not that any of them had got into any serious scrapes, lately. "You'd have help, at every turn," he said. He wouldn't ever kick someone to the curb. His hands were resting on the wood of the table, one palm up, ready to give whenever she was ready to take. His head was cocked to the side, eyes gleaming as he watched Rhea, curious. These were very specific questions she was asking.

Rhea
Rhea was full of them; always asking and pondering and looking for more information. She was pretty imaginative, too, sometimes. In her spare time, she soaked in documentaries more than calories, while she painted. When she had paint supplies, and when she had a television to watch. All of his words were fascinating her, so she soaked him in, right now. She glanced down to his hand, to it's expectant posture, and slowly reached for it, to test his reaction. "That was why I didn't want to.. go the whole way," she said simply. "The last thing I need is to be freshly turned, clueless, and alone. That's a lot to have happen all in one go." She shrugged up a shoulder, inching her fingers towards his. "I have a feeling that sort of stuff happens a lot."

Jesse Fforde
"More than you know," he said. How many in his own line had done just that? Renard and Beckett were the most recent orphans, though luckily for them they were at least shunted on to Jesse's doorstep before their sire fucked off into oblivion. For all his facade, Jesse gave a lot for those that were spawned from his blood, no matter how far down the line they may be. He glanced between Rhea's searching fingers and his own palm. "Do you have your teeth yet? Or do you need me to do it for you?" he asked. He'd normally have a knife in his boot, but he wasn't wearing his boot, and his knife was at home somewhere. But he had teeth, and they'd work just as well.

Rhea
"I don't," she admitted. She'd been thinking along the same lines. She had a small knife in her back pocket, but she waited for his assistance before bothering to draw it out, since it obviously wouldn't be needed. "How often do you, uh.. turn people. Look for.. whatever you call them.. spawn?" She was clueless. There was no point in pointing out that everything here was more than she knew; it was obvious in every other word she said. She kind of hated just how stupid she felt, honestly. It wasn't like her to be caught offguard with such miniscule information at her disposal. She was a researcher. She'd have to think of moving here as another one of those spontaneous things that she did-- which, she did that often, so reminding herself of it wasn't so far fetched or unfamiliar in itself.

Jesse Fforde
Jesse pushed the sleeve of the jacket up so that it bunched on his forearm. His thumb brushed the skin over the vein. "Every few months, maybe. Sometimes longer. Depends on the person and the situation. I used to go looking. I don't anymore," he said. If the situation called for it, sure. But it wasn't a goal anymore. All he had to do was glance at Rhea and imagine a knife gliding over her throat, spilling blood, and his canines were there, now. Gleaming, and on show as parted his lips. He brought his own wrist to said lips and kept his eyes on Rhea as he bit down -- he wasn't gentle, either. The pain didn't bother him, but he needed to make the wound large enough so that it wouldn't immediately heal before she could get anything. And at the same time as he bit down into his own flesh, the booth around them darkened, as if someone had thrown a dark cloth over the light, the world outside of their small bubble oblivious. They were in the dark. He held out his wrist, the blood dripping to the table beneath it.

Rhea
It took her a moment - the sudden darkness bringing a gasp from her lips, almost making her back up. Almost. She couldn't smell it, really, the blood dribbling on the table, making deep crimson rings on the surface to be removed later, probably by a bored busboy that didn't ask questions anymore. She'd have been tighter against the wall, but she wasn't. She was scooting closer so she could reach for his wrist again, half blind. She didn't need to smell it. She knew the blood was there. She knew it, and... she wanted it. She was reaching for his arm and his fingers, connecting them with his so she could draw him wrist to her lips. Hurried. A few hours, and she was ready for the fresh high again, ready to feel his powers coursing through her and over her. She didn't think about his words, or ask more questions; she was entirely distracted by the coppery vitae she lapped. Blunt teeth pressed just near his wound, to encourage the flow before she greedily drank, eyes closing as she took down that first mouthful of heavy blood and swallowed it like it was the only thing that mattered in the world anymore. She had to have it. Had to feel it. She still wasn't a hundred percent on the taste, but it didn't slow her in the slightest.

Jesse Fforde
Wrist. Why had he offered his wrist? As soon as it was taken, as soon as her lips were pressed around the wound and she dragged the drug from him, he wondered why he hadn't instead found a knife and cut open his own neck. Why hadn't he encouraged her to have to straddle him? All he could think of as she took his blood from him was Clover in the catacombs with that Trigg; she'd told Jesse about her blood thief. She'd said there wasn't any intimacy. But what he had witnessed was intimate, and he'd hated her for it. For five hot seconds, he'd hated his own wife. And it wasn't healthy to be sitting here, thinking of the ways he could pay her back; drop the shadows, hope that she walked in. Would she listen to Jesse, when he said he didn't want her to kill Rhea? Would she listen, like Jesse listened when she pleaded Trigg's case? He didn't know. Even after all this time, he couldn't predict Clover. He never could. Rather than do any of those things he instead released a cool breath of air and gave himself over, eyes closed -- it wasn't a bite, but it was still enjoyable. It still gave him a tickle, like all those times he'd needed to turn people. Masochistic, maybe. Or maybe he just liked the idea of his blood giving others power.

Rhea
He thought about hatred and marital problems; Rhea wondered how long it would be before she ended up turning into a vampire one day. The parts of her mind that weren't clouded with the taste she was quickly growing accustomed to, with the way it warmed her throat and burned her belly, she was thinking about what her mother used to tell her. 'You are what you eat,' dead voices reminded her, with a scrunched nose and disgusted look over Jesse's shoulder. Even with her eyes closed, she saw him. Heard him. And he was disgusted with her. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't disgusted with herself.

Rhea
Who the hell ever came up with that saying, anyway? Eating apples didn't make people apples. Eating humans didn't make vampires any less dead. She drank and she drank and she mourned the shrinking of his wound when it began, sitting up to keep consuming what she could, while she could. Maybe she was more Jeffrey Dahmer; maybe she'd drink and he's be with her, burned into her blood and flesh, carried around like the tar in her lungs, some speck remaining even after she consumed others, a tainted hint of energy left behind. Maybe people would feel it long after his powers wore off and her life moved on the next set of powers she could gain. She didn't know, tried to ignore that risk that surely wasn't really there, so that she could enjoy it while it lasted.

Jesse Fforde
Jesse didn't make Rhea stop. At some point, he oculd have. Should wasn't really in the equation. He couldn't really explain the way it felt, and he'd be lying if he said it was strictly business. Who was he kidding? Even with just a wrist, Clover wouldn't like this. She'd hate it. Maybe she'd have on problem if Jesse sat straight as an arrow, closed-fisted, tight-lipped, ready to pull away as soon as he thought the blood thief had had her fill. But he didn't do that. Instead, he swooned a little, relaxing, his fingers opening and closing if only to help the blood thief, to push the blood out quicker for her. He pulled his chair closer and leaned against the table, head resting against the opposite forearm, his other wrist held up as if in offering. Afterwards, he knew that he would be feeling it; his thirst would be worse, if it could get any worse. And he'd need to go out again. But that was okay. He enjoyed it.

Rhea
When his wounds closed and dribbled, she lapped at them to get every last drop she could. Suckled. Tried to keep the blood flowing and going, tried to drink more. She'd probably had enough, really. Likely had had far more than enough. Still, in the corner of her vision when she opened her eyes some, the barest outline of his other wrist was there, and her fingers latched onto it. She held it, stretched her digits to feel for blood, to feel for open holes in his skin she could pry into and keep open until this wrist closed entirely. When her tongue ran over once-again smooth flesh, she released it carefully, and turned her gaze to his other arm to look for what she didn't feel. Tsk. She quickly let it go, licking her lips clean while she waited for the high to kick in, breathing in deep in hopes of kick-starting the sensation, the flow of energy through her, the knowledge and sudden abilities.

Jesse Fforde
Rhea's fingers dug into Jesse's opposite wrist and it had him lifting his head and watching her, curious but knowing. The way she lapped and scrounged, wanting more when her supply had run out -- Jesse had been there. He knew what it was like. He often tried to get more from bodies that were mostly decimated, no blood left in their dead veins. And he often got angry when there was nothing left. So angry he'd take said anger out on a new, fresh victim. Right now he was calm as he watched Rhea's desperate search; if she had fangs, would she have taken his wrist unoffered? Would she have taken more than she needed? Would she have done so without asking? Would he even have stopped her? No, probably not. And he said nothing now as he withdrew and sat up, watching. Waiting. What of his would she end up with? What new things might she learn? It was like having a new baby vampire -- if only for a few days.

Rhea
Rhea panted - when did she quit breathing? At what point in her urgency had she forgone the simple, most important thing she needed, too determined to keep drawing on him to even let her body do it's number one natural function, one of the only few things she'd know how to do since birth? She panted and she breathed and she looked a little afraid, for a moment there, that she'd neglected it in such a way. It was a moment or two, eyes off of him and the darkness of the room, gaze settled on the table, with the wood grain she couldn't make out. After a few more moments, her eyes lidded half-way, as if they were heavy. Her wound slowly, but surely, began to knit itself. Faster than a human. Faster than should ever be. Not quite as quick as him. The pounding stopped, too, left her tender brain once again protected. The felt it. It started in her chest and made her lips curl up into a grin. She could conquer the world. She could do anything she wanted. She began to sit up, some, and straighten her spine, but she still wanted to slump and just bask in how amazing she felt.




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This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the world area. Participants and rewards were: Rhea earned 4297 RPP. Jesse Fforde earned 3986 RPP.