Kinderz's turning.

[Kinderz (DELETED 10724)]

Kinder looks around his place before palming his keys. He makes sure all is quiet once more then locks the door. He walks down the street, Pathfinder, to the next street, Vesperan. Making a left, turning on his heel, he walks close to the fence. His eyes down. He never made eye contact unless he intended to fight. He makes his way to the store coming up on the left. Quickly looking both ways, he crosses. He didn't find it oddly strange that the traffic wasn't over-bearing. Nor that the store had another hour before it closed down for the night. He usually came in earlier than this, but tonight was special. He was going to cook tonight. No specific reason other than the fact that he wanted his left-overs to last a bit longer then two days max. He lets himself in through the doors, glancing back, his fingers on the glass. When no one was there, he continued forward towards the food. He ended up taking; french bread, some kind of meat, some vegetables, and a drink for later. He pays for the stuffs then heads out, satisfied. He looks at the ground, for the second time, and concentrates on his surroundings. He hears scraping noises against the pavement or fence directly behind him. He doesn't look back because it could've been anything, but increases his speed. The sound intensifies with his increased speed. He was running now and glances back, behind him. It was a guy, who looked as though a car had run him over then snapped his neck. The guy kept growling a horrific, unearthly, kind of groan. He could guess that it was a zombie. He was growing tired. And he usually didn't run away from a fight. He grinds his right foot against the cement as he twist around to kick the zombie in the stomach, with his left. The zombie lands on his back, dazed. He remembers from a show that unless you remove it's head, it wouldn't die. He steps on it's neck, snapping it. He pulls out his switchblade and begins sawing it's neck. Other zombies start to crowd him before he's finished with the first. He stands up, wiping his knife on his jeans. His eyes widen as he takes off running again. He catches a street sign for Stephen street? Where the heck was that? He thought he knew where he was going, but he must've taken a wrong turn. Looking up caused him to lose his footing and collide against the sidewalk. That earned his chin a scratch that lead up to his eye. Just a small one. He pushes himself up and takes in his surroundings. A zombie tries to grab his shirt, out of nowhere, and he tackles it. He punches it over and over as another latches onto his back. Where were they all coming from? A zombie takes his food, sniffing it, and walking away. He brings his right knee forward into his targets face as he twists around to deal with the one on his back. His targeted zombie tries to get it's teeth around to try to bite at his knee, but he takes out his switchblade and stabs it's eye. Then he twists around to stab the other zombie's hands. It's hands slip off his back as another zombie manages to tackle him, the knife knocked from his fingers. His eyes widen as his hands grasp for the fallen blade. The zombie forces him down, it's arms ripping into his. He screams and tries to pull away the sidewalk blocking his escape. Pathetic noises keep spurting out of his lungs when he realizes that he's done for. He thinks to himself wondering when he went into the bad side of town? He thought he knew where he was goi-! Another claw into his arm, ripping for the tendons. He turns onto his side, covering his face as they move down to rip at his side. His eyes close as he realizes he's done for.

[Grayson Wyatt]

WEARING

He had learned of Constantine’s from a friend of a friend; it was the secret sort of place that only people in the know knew anything about. It was nightlife royalty and rags at the same time, with a nomadic venue and entertainment that evolved naturally and rapidly. In a city like Harper Rock, there was always a layer of danger to everything. A person could be attacked by a zombie or vampire going to get groceries, and Constantine McGregor loved to take advantage of the less savory parts of town in an attempt to make his club seem more and more exclusive. It was a modern speakeasy, where monsters and man mingled - and nobody with any real power was allowed. Constantine’s was the prince and the pauper of places, and it catered to the people.

Grayson had been hoping to get in and maybe find some up and coming talent. He figured if a performer or group of performers were playing a place like Constantine’s, they probably hadn’t been signed with any big agency, and certainly weren’t being produced. Jacktance Entertainment was designed to be locally grown. After all, sirens were dangerous, but they needed a song to attract unaware sailors - and there was no place more alluring and deadly than Harper Rock.

He had been given an address in River Rock, which was just south of the river which ran through the city. It had only been a few months before that zombies began to spill out of the Quarantine Zone, like blood flowing from a heart to the greater body of the urban landscape. The blonde man was very nearly at the location, having crossed the street, when he heard some commotion coming from a short distance off. A hand lifted to push through his hair in consideration. He was not normally the sort of person to get involved in someone else’s troubles - as that was a good way to get killed. Or worse - getting your face fucked up.

None the less, there was some socially contracted obligation to at least investigate, he supposed. He was nearly certain he was going to regret it. BUT. He was a vampire, and that meant he should have been able to take on most issues without too much problem? Right? At least, it was these half formed thoughts that were moving through his mind as he stumbled upon what could only be described as some sort of massacre. There were all sorts of partially decomposed zombies attacking what appeared to be a man. Now. Grayson was not a fighter, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he normally ran from things like that, or tried to talk his way out of them.

So his first instinct was not to launch into an attack so much as to grab the nearest scrap of metal - which just so happened to be a rusty prybar sticking out of a tin trash can. He grabbed the lid to the bin as well and began to bash the crowbar against the rim of the lid. “HEY! Hey you assholes! Scram! Go on!” He scolded the zombies as if they were pigeons or racoons or some other sort of vermin in need of being driven away from food. To his credit, he certainly did get their attention. But no sooner did he get said attention than he realized the folly of his actions. Specifically, they were all stumbling towards Gray.

“Oh ****!” At which point, he smacked one of them in the head with the curved end of his crowbar hard enough that it went right through, taking off the top quarter of a head. The stench was unbelievable. Grayson gagged, and dropped the lid of the trash receptacle, so he could cover his nose as he began to fight his way through zombies to try and get to the one who had been attacked.

[Kinderz (DELETED 10724)]

He turns his attention to where the zombies were running off to. He felt them draw in that direction. He brushes his shirt back over his stomach with one hand as he tries to sit up, with the other. He doesn't have the strength, so he scooches over to the fence, to at least rest against. Sighing heavily he tries to catch a glimpse of the zombie's target, but with no luck. Lady Luck never looked at him with pleasing features. He looks around for his groceries then remembers the curious creature that walked away with it. Who knew zombies liked food? He would yell for the whoever's attention, but why risk an attack again unless he was able to fight. He feels something poking into his side and glances over his shoulder to board ricketing back/forth, the screws loose. Hm, did he do that? He wouldn't just sit against a broken part of the fence unless his detail-perception is off. Must be what it was. He hoists himself to his feet using the fences and tugs on the wood. Nothing happened. Well, he had to do something. He glances down to check how bad his wounds were. He was losing blood fast, might as well go down fighting, again. He turns back to the fence and kicks it in. It was loud enough to attract the zombies that weren't running back to him. He wrenches the board free, wrapping his fingers around it, calmly. Once the zombie is close enough, he twists to the the left with half of his strength, aiming for it's skull. The board smashes skin and bones rendering the creature immobile. Panting, he rests along the fence again, waiting for another target. They were walking meaning they thought he was still defeated and dead. Guess they were just that stupid. He presses his left hand into his side, hoping the pressure helps then his sense comes back to him. He loosens his belt and tightens it around his waist, over his shirt. Groaning, he takes the board in both of his hands, fending himself. He glances around every few seconds because he wasn't planning to be overtaken again.

[Grayson Wyatt]

The shambling of the zombies was not all that dangerous for a vampire or supernatural human who knew what they were doing. To Grayson’s credit, he was not totally defenseless, but it was clear with the wild flailing of his arm, bashing through bodies that crumbled under his touch like a knife through moldy bread, that he had a great deal to learn about what it meant to hold his own in a fight. Fortunately, he was not alone. Specifically, there was some other guy out there, helping him to fend off the monsters, and it only took Gray a few moments longer than he would have liked to admit that it was the very same person who had been on the ground only a moment before, about to become zombie-chow.

“Oh! Hey!” He called out, when the two of them were close enough that Gray didn’t actually have to strain his voice to be heard. “I’m not sure about you, but I’m not too keen on getting gross zombie spit on me.” He was still taking in his surroundings. The scent of blood hit him hard, as if someone had swung a hammer, bashing him right in the head with it. His nostrils flared. The other guy was wounded. Possibly badly wounded. There was blood trickling over arms and legs. There was blood sticking clothing to a body. This was not at all the sort of scene Grayson normally would have found himself in.

“Uhhhh.” He grabbed the other man by the shoulder, and yanked in the direction of the open street in the opposite direction. “Let’s get out of here and get that looked at!” He said, using his other hand to gesture at...well he didn’t know precisely where the wound was, so he kind of motioned to all of his save-ee. And then he began in that direction, his crowbar still in hand, covered in what appeared to be a gross mixture of tissues and rotty juices from the zombies - who were still closing in on them, albeit slowly.

[Kinderz (DELETED 10724)]

He has the urge to faint into the man's arms as he's pushed somewhere safe, but he fights against it. It becomes hard to keep his head up, so he focuses on the ground, making sure not to cross feet. He can't help but leans somewhat on the other. The belt keeping pressure on his side wound, but the blood escaped quicker. He sighs after a moment. "Where did they come from? Do-do you know?" he asks, his voice barely audible. His left hand still on the wound, he presses into it every now and then, keeping his attention active. The light, seeping from the streetlamps, was so blinding. He just tried to concentrate on the movement, not on the blood-loss. He was scared, not that he would admit to it? "You're still here right?" he asks, unable to tell. Black spots climbed the edge of his vision, and he was nodding to nothing. "Can we not rest soon?"

[Grayson Wyatt]

Grayson was trying to get away from the zombies as quickly as possible. Plus he was honestly still mostly new to the whole vampire business, having only been one for a few months. He knew the very basics, but it didn’t really register how heavy the other man’s footsteps had become. He didn’t notice the way the guy had gotten a little more sluggish due to blood loss. And then he was being asked if they could rest, and that was when his focus entirely shifted, and it was a little bit like someone had thrown a brick through a window. He’d noticed the blood before, but now he was really getting to see just how much blood there was. And he realized that he was in over his head. If he didn’t get this guy to a hospital immediately. IMMEDIATELY. He wasn’t going to make it.

Lips parted. Thankfully, there were a number of run-down abandoned buildings all around them, so he began off of the road, so he could kick a door in. The lock snapped and the door flung open so hard it hit the wall, only to bounce back. “Oh ****. Oh ****.” He whispered. This was why he didn’t get into these situations! If Adley had been there, he would have known what to do. Adley always seemed to know what to do. And Grayson itched to grab his phone and make the right call. The problem with that was that he honestly didn’t know how long this man he’d only just met had.

And in that moment, he knew exactly what Adley might have done. What the Necromancer had done when Grayson had been gunned down by a gangster only a few months before. “Hey, don’t worry about the zombies right now. Okay?” he asked as he moved to prop the other man against a wall so he could slide down to the ground. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Okay? I’m Grayson, Grayson Wyatt. If you let me, I’m going to take the pain away. Okay? I need to know your name though.” Panic was turning into a mess of fear and sadness in his gut. What if he did it wrong? What if he accidentally killed the dude he was trying to save?

He bit into his wrist, and pushed his bloodied appendage to the other man’s lips. “Drink.”

[Kinderz (DELETED 10724)]

"My-my name is Kinderz, but you can call me Kinder." he manages to say before the man before him offers his wrist, telling him to drink. It didn't make sense why would he drink the other's blood? But if there were zombies running amok, it was obvious he didn't have the whole story of what was 'out there'. Nodding, he takes the man's wrist, gently and jerkily, brings it up to his mouth. He swallows deeply, locking eyes with the other, awaiting the order to stop. No way was he going to drink him dry, if he even had that much strength? With his left hand he touches the man's shoulder. It was hard to stay standing even with being held in place. The man's features fuzz over, and the only thing keeping him in his right mind, was their touch. It was like he went blind or something. The belt, around his waist, was making it impossible to breathe. But it was too late to grab some air while he was focusing on drinking some random dude's blood? He begins heaving, but doesn't have the strength to pull away to breathe. Hopefully the other could see what he needed otherwise..

[Grayson Wyatt]

Grayson had never run into the name Kinder before, but he tucked it away in his memory, assigning with it the face of a young man who was not old enough to die. He didn’t know why it was important that he know the mortal’s name. Maybe it was because there was some part of him that suspected it might not work. Like if he fucked it all up and Kinder slipped through his fingers, Gray wanted to know whose life he had taken. It was weird. This urge that told him he wanted to remember everything about this man if he did end up fading into the darkness.

As the other man drank from him, Gray’s brows knitted together in concern. His jaw even tightened a little as if he was expecting something bad to happen. His features were unnaturally beautiful - had been since he was turned. One of those...things, that went along with being an Allurist. Normally his eyes were deeply blue, and were reminiscent of moonstone, but in that moment, they had deepened a shade and had taken on a darker hue. As if they were the soul of midnight. “Hey? You okay?” He asked a little dumbly as Kinder began to heave. Was this normal? He didn’t recall much about his own siring, except for waking up with the desire to feed.

He finally released Kinder, carefully laying him down, though his hand was hesitant to pull fully away, resting on the other man’s wrist as he watched and waited.

[Kinderz (DELETED 10724)]

Once laid on the ground, his hands fumble against the belt. He-he just had to loosen it, so he could breathe. After a few tries he moved the tip down a notch or two. His lungs claw the air, hungrily, rendering him speechless for the moment. He closes his eyes because what use were they open if he couldn't see? His left hand was on his stomach, warning his lungs to chill while his other hand palmed the pavement. He just wanted to cook tonight. Geez, why was that so wrong? He never hurt anyone besides the zombies. Actually everything was normal except for tonight. It all started when he chose to cook instead of ordering pizza? Stupid leftovers. His hands fall to the ground, his arms becoming limp, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't will his strength back. His chest tightened, and he could barely regulate the air he was only feasting on earlier. A weird sound escapes his throat as his heart beat thumbs through his ears. He could feel the blood making a small pool underneath him, soaking into his black hoodie. "I don't...k-n.." The air disappears as everything just stops. He felt completely alone. Everything felt cut off. He couldn't feel his arms or hear his heart beat. Nothing made sense. It was like the strange man was floating farther and farther away. He never got his name..

[Grayson Wyatt]

It occurred to him that Grayson was watching someone die. He had seen it before, of course. One didn’t get to be a vampire without experiencing some form of violence, or without having those urges or instincts. The drawing of blood, the drinking of it, was inherently built into the vices. Wrath or lust. Sensuality or monstrosity. Gray had died himself. Suddenly he was trying to consider how it had felt. His memory was terribly foggy - maybe some sort of psychological block on the whole thing. He remembered the moments after he awoke from death more clearly. How Adley had been there. How deeply that had mattered to him, to have died with someone there. To have returned with that same person there. To have not been alone during a time when men were always alone.

None of it helped him with what Kinder was experiencing though. None of what he had gone through was a guide book or a manual for how to make things easier on the other man. He didn’t, at all, know how to ease the other man’s pain and that made him feel anxious, and sick; it made him feel desolate and cut off and terribly in over his head. His hand slipped away from Kinder’s body, his fingers slipping through his length of golden hair to tighten his grip and tug at his own hair absently. Normally beautiful features were creased with concern. But his part was done. Now he needed to wait and see and hope.