M11-M20 Hallway

[affictitious]

As one hundred percent thrilled as he was to find that his recent thirteen year old victim of good ol' traditional slaughter was alive and, unfortunately, not in pieces, Gabriel was significantly more thrilled that he had self-established himself as a guardian angel for the night to one very, very hapless human

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Re: M17

[saviored]

You know what would've been nice? If he actually knew what the hell he was waiting for. As far as he could tell, he felt fine, though it was weird to be even thinking about this in the first place. His kind? They didn't exactly come down with the flu. The closest thing he'd ever felt to being sick was vervain, and this wasn't it. Too slow.

Reaching into the drawer, he took the knife (which he hadn't planned on taking until he did) and stepped out of his room, feeling an edge he hadn't felt before. He shook it off. Maybe he should've brought his fl-? Or-why was that even a thought. No, don't answer that. He was gonna get something to eat, that was what he was going to do. And then preferably, there would be some form of progress.

When he turned down the hallway, he could see a crack of light coming from Rick's open door. Hmm. Either Rick had somehow made a new friend he was expecting or he'd decided it was a good idea to make sure he could hear Damon coming. Something told him he should go with option B. Though, the open door did almost pass for an open invitation. Shame it didn't work like that.

He announced his arrival by giving the door a push, swinging it wide open. He figured Rick could afford one more donation. After that-he'd see. Something was always available, somewhere.

He rested one hand flat against the barrier and idly flipped the knife in the other as he looked into the room. "Sure you don't want to invite me in?"

Re: M17

[deathandgin]

By the time the door had swung open, Alaric was on his bed, fingering his way through the semi-organized stuff in his special little patient box. Something made him jump at the movement of the door, already reaching into the box to grab the wrench he'd moved from out of the toolbox - seeing who it was didn't make him drop it immediately, but he did eventually.

Shame he wasn't closer. ... huh.

"I'm positive. You get to stay stuck outside." He plucked one of the rolls of gauze out of the box, snapping it shut and pushing it back under the bed with his foot. The nurse hadn't been quite kind enough to bandage his injection, and the one in his other arm was going to need to be redone. The flashlight he was now using to light his room was big, bulky as hell, and bright enough to light up the repetitive glimmer in Damon's hand. "Where'd you get a knife?" Better yet, why didn't he have a knife? A boxcutter just wasn't going to cut it for long.

"You can also stop being all Jack the Ripper outside my door. I've got someone coming over here in a minute. You here for another donation or something?"

[saviored]

Damon decided he'd generously avoid mentioning that only he had to remain stuck outside. Objects in his hand, however, did not. Well, part generosity, part because his attention was caught by the faint scent of blood. Small enough that he hadn't noticed until he'd come closer.

He ignored Rick's question (it was a damn kitchen knife, where did it look like he got it? Sure as hell wasn't the local Williams-Sonoma), turning narrowed eyes instead on Rick's arm and then the gauze. That was fresh blood he was smelling. Considering what'd happened to him, it wasn't a great leap to get to his conclusion.

Perfect. Round two. Hey, as long as he didn't have regular bursts of mindmeld every time he came into contact with someone.

"I can't just stop by to say hi? I mean." The knife stilled in his hand. He gestured at Rick with it, like it was a pen and not an extremely sharp blade. "Looks like someone already did. You're popular tonight. Let me guess, they left a little something behind in your bloodstream?"

He shifted where he was leaning against the invisible wall so that he could see down the hall. Not that he was particularly worried if someone approached. Don't be ridiculous.

[deathandgin]

He'd meant to ask how the hell Damon could've guessed, but that particular conversation was going to have to wait once the interruption passed. I mean, gauze on his arm didn't mean anything, considering last night's pastimes. He didn't need to talk about any of this in front of -

"Huh?" he asked, like he'd temporarily forgotten his own name, putting the box back on his bed and moving to the door. He was kind of thrown off by 1) a teenager being friends with Indiana Jones and, 2) the mime comment. One thing at a time. Peter wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting, but considering the first patient he had met was Anise, he probably should have been less surprised.

Still. Huh.

"Uh, mime - ?" He questioned Damon with a lifted eyebrow, before he realized - oh. That was completely natural. He shooed the vampire away with an impatient wave of his hand. Not that it would help, but you know. "No. I mean, yeah, I'm Alaric. Nice to meet you, Peter." He made sure to move out of the doorway as an open invitation for Peter, but he didn't make any verbal connection with the movement. Paranoia, of course. You just had to be careful with who you invited in these days. "I was planning on going out if you want to do this alone." God, he was just a kid. This sucked all around. And if he'd seen Jones die -

"You don't have to worry about what you go through or anything." He pointed to the box. "I have a bunch of med-kit stuff if you need some bandages or whatever." Of course he was being helpful. It wasn't like he could offer anything else. His expertise extended to being a meat shield. Literally.

He touched the gauze around his arm absently, wondering where he was supposed to do the blood thing now. Doing it in the hall seemed like asking for trouble, but he wasn't going to push Peter back out while he extracted blood with a syringe for the hungry vampire outside his door... shit, might as well just take one with him. And the flashlight. Peter hadn't brought his own, which was kind of weird. How did he even see outside?

"There's another flashlight, too. One of these heavy duty ones." He waved the one he'd lifted from the bed, the only thing lighting the room up. Flashlight, syringe... boxcutter? God, he needed a new arsenal. This was pathetic.

[saviored]

This was who Rick was waiting for? Some kid who looked like he'd barely scraped past puberty? Why were these kids even here. And he didn't mean that in the tragic Dateline special way that someone like Stefan might've. It was a genuine, practical question.

Unless he wasn't actually a kid. Eternal teenagers and all. They existed in one variation or another. There was definitely something off about him. A scent, one that Damon couldn't place. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. Tears, on the other hand.

He smiled. "No. But you are interrupting."

The teacher's flailing hands went ignored. He'd noticed Rick's celebrity roommate was absent, but it wasn't until Rick made it clear what their visitor in the night was there for that he actually gave it some thought. His expression turned mildly curious, though only for as long as it took for Rick to go from introductions to rambling.

He eyed the boy up and down with deliberation, lowered his arm like nothing was amiss, and took his sweet time moving aside. His gaze tracked the kid all the way in.

What, no ambiguous invites, Rick? Where were your manners.

Anyway, this was all rapidly losing his interest. There was also a creeping sense of anxiousness, which Damon shoved aside without acknowledging. Damn it. He peered into the room, hands on either side of the door frame this time. Perfectly normal. "Of course he wants to do this alone, Rick," he said with impressive sympathy. If he did say so himself. "We should go. Give him some space."

[deathandgin]

Admittedly, despite the pretty gloomy atmosphere of the room, Peter's wonderfully teenage sarcasm brought a quirk to Alaric's mouth. It was good to see this place wasn't bringing them down - them being... Anise and Peter. That was two too many kids already, but Anise was cheerful (if not a bit fake about it) and Peter wasn't taking shit off Damon.

Which was always a nice trait for someone to have.

"It's no problem, really. None of it's not even mine. Technically. I kind of stole all of it." He wasn't sure what the note thing was about, but it was probably pretty important if Indiana Jones had asked him to do it. And, as far as Indy remembered, he wasn't really too good at the easy trust thing, so obviously this kid had earned it.

Or he was thinking movie-wise again. Whichever.

He plugged through his box again, snatching up a clean, capped syringe. If Damon had a knife, he didn't feel like being totally inadequate with a box cutter all night. As long as one of them had something relatively sharp, he would feel relatively... uh. Safe. Which was saying a lot when he was going out into a monster-filled building with Damon Salvatore. With his syringe in hand and flashlight in the other, he snapped the box closed and kicked it back under the bed. The flashlight under his pillow was brought out and turned on so the kid would be able to still see once the heavy duty one was gone.

"Okay, well. I hope you get your notes okay." He backed out of the room, spinning the syringe in his hand with unease once he was in the hallway. He was really against leaving Peter alone - not for what he'd be doing in his room, but just the thought of him traveling alone...

"And be safe, I guess. I mean. As safe as you can be here."

[saviored]

Touchy. And touching, too, he thought, watching the kid (what was it, Peter?) and Alaric. Oh, was he supposed to feel bad? He supposed there was some mild sense of that, but he'd be the last person to make anything of it-though there might've been a reason why he didn't say anything else to Peter. Aside from the fact that he...couldn't be bothered to, either. Anyhow, people died. Tended to happen. They weren't exactly in Disneyland here.

Actually, he was a little surprised it didn't happen more often. The halls were decidedly more bloodless than they should've been.

He was impatient to leave-genuinely impatient, more than his usual token way of making it obvious he was surrounded by people who wasted his time. Just a hint more. Not enough for him to consciously realize it. His fingers drummed against the door frame as he waited with a single raised eyebrow. Now of all times, Rick wanted to play charity case?

"He gets the point, Rick."

He wasn't hungry. His need to feed was manageable, all things considered. It wasn't that. It was-something. Whatever it was, it was sending his instincts on overdrive and making him irritable.

Okay, maybe he did need blood. Since a drink was clearly a non-option.

As soon as Rick was out the door, Damon started down the hall towards his room. Come to think of it, why hadn't he just left instead of waiting? Normally he would've. It wasn't as though he didn't know Rick would follow, or that he should've cared whether Rick would follow.

[going here]