(Untitled)

[meowminx]

WHO: Vampire Selina and OPEN
WHERE: All over the City
WHEN: Nighttime! Wednesday through Saturday
SUMMARY: Pseudo vampire roams the night as a big floaty bundle of emo and cloak. See here!
WARNINGS: Will be updated if needed.
FORMAT: Whatev

Comments

Saturday | 10 pm

[improvesmorale]

The Narrator wasn't dying, but he was beginning to understand why animals dragged themselves into corners to wait for the end. At first, he relished it, the way people would cross the street to avoid him, the way their eyes widened when he bled all over the cheap, plastic seats on the bus, the way they whispered and gasped when they saw the hole in his face and his sticky, red sleeves. But it changed. Surface wounds from Fight Club were one thing - benign, distant, easy to ignore - but start bleeding buckets, and, well, every Joe on the street starts getting anxious about all those poor, sleepless nights he'll have if he lets a man bleed to death before the winter holidays. The Narrator couldn't remember the last time he slept.

I am Jack's Christian charity.

The fourth time someone threatened to call the police, he stole a pair of sweatpants from an outdoor sale rack and ducked into an alleyway. He was still fully convinced he had suffered a complete break from reality, but all the questions from his alarmed and sickened imaginary friends were getting on his nerves. He curled up with a old fashion magazine from the nearby dumpster and started doodling on it with his own blood. He made red rain drops. Bloody noses. Tidal waves of plasma. Milk mustaches of puss.

Saturday | 10 pm

[meowminx]

It was as if the smell of the blood drew her. Perhaps it did. She floated down from the rooftops to the alley floor, as if not to disturb the...

Injured man?

Prey?

As she moved closer, though, the ruined side of his face caught the dim streetlight and she paused.

"I know you," she said, cluing him in on her presence. He was that guy she'd talked to days before over the comms. The one who thought none of this was real.

He hadn't stopped bleeding yet.

[improvesmorale]

For a man covered in blood, bruises, and contusions sprawled on the concrete ground of an alleyway, the Narrator was startling cognizant. He followed her with his eyes as she dropped from the roof. He straightened his back. Closed the magazine.

"Yeah." He blinked. Once. Twice. His voice was still raspy and wet; he didn't even bother clearing his throat or spitting up blood anymore. "Fancy seeing you here."

[meowminx]

She didn't get too close. Her run-in with Bond the previous night had proved how little control she had. "You look like hell..." There was a little pause. "Never caught your name."

[improvesmorale]

He ran through all the names he had ever pretended to have. Rupert. Cornelius. Travis. Then, Marla's voice, sharp and frustrated through the telephone: Tyler, Tyler Durden.

"Jack," he said. He didn't sound certain. "Yeah. Jack. Hi." He pointed at her vaguely. "Selina, right?"

Even in a hallucination, I don't give my real name.

[meowminx]

Jack. Probably not real, but she wasn't exactly going to push it right now. "Sure you don't need any help, Jack?" she asked him. But she maintained the distance between them. Not really the best guardian angel at the moment.

[improvesmorale]

Normally, he would've brushed her aside like so many others, but untethered from his old world (and, in his view, reality all together), he was bolder. More daring.

"Yeah, actually. I could really use a steak." He cracked his neck. "So big that God Himself couldn't finish it. So big that animal protesters would come to my door to protest against me and me alone." He grinned wide enough that his teeth showed, strings of blood between the cracks and gums. "You never took me up on that date."

[meowminx]

"You never asked," was the automatic reply. For a moment, she almost sounded normal. "I'm kind of involved anyway."

She studied him for a moment. "You're hungry." It wasn't exactly a question. She could recognize the look particularly well at the moment. Her own stomach ached with it, especially when looking at someone who seemed to have been imbibing his own.

[improvesmorale]

"Kind of, yeah," he said. He snaked a hand around his stomach. The hunger was numb like the pain was numb, but he still felt it in a strange way, like a gnawing inside his head. It was more real than anything else. "But that's okay. About the date. I'm kind of involved with someone, too."

[meowminx]

"You should get something, then. To eat." Her eyes were back on his delicious glistening wounds. She shook her head and took a step back. "Amazed you're still alive."

[improvesmorale]

Before, he had thought she was keeping her distance because she was afraid of him, because blood was off-putting and she could remember him putting a knife to his own hand and wondered, what else could this psycho do? But no.

It's hunger. Her hunger.

He saw it in her eyes, lapping up his bones and sinew like a sampling of hors d'oeuvres. Like a hunting animal. He barely hesitated. He merely unwrapped the paper towel covering his torn up hand and extended it towards her, turning it back and forth, letting her see it from all angles. His heart pounded.

"The human body contains, on average, ten pints of blood. That's around a gallon and a quarter. Milk in your morning cereal for the next two weeks." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "It is amazing."

[meowminx]

She wavered where she stood, tongue touching her dry lips. She had become an abomination, a monster. It was wrong, but he was offering...

And he was a stranger. Which made it worse because it was just so much easier.

Still, Selina was uncertain. She inched towards the outstretched hands, green eyes studying his expression.

[improvesmorale]

I wondered if I'd be doing this if I knew this place was real. I wondered if I'd be doing it if I didn't spend the last four days feeling nothing at all.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. His hand remained perfectly still.

[meowminx]

She approached slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away. Change his mind. Even when taking his hand in a surprisingly steady grip, she met his eyes first to see if he was really sure.

Thank God for lunatics.

She drank. The heavy taste of blood pushed everything else away for a while, including any thoughts about its source. But she forced herself to let go what seems like too soon.

"You okay?" She still clung to his hand.

[improvesmorale]

This should have been a new low. It wasn't on par with putting a gun in his mouth, probably, but it fit nicely alongside barreling a car into interstate traffic or throwing himself down a flight of stairs. After going through all the trouble to save himself, this should have been scraping the bottom of the bottom. It should have been a sickening loss. It should have been beautiful.

But it was nothing.

"Yeah," he said. He didn't even try to hide his disappointment. "I'm fine."

[meowminx]

She misread his expression as disgust and immediately let go of his hand. The brief satisfaction of the blood was overwhelmed with disgust at giving in to the hunger. She had told herself she wouldn't do this, wouldn't surrender to the monster she had become.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. The hair and eyes of a killer. Almost.

"You should eat something." Particularly after the blood loss.