HC Meme

[sockkitten]

HC MemeHurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship

Comments

it can be oddly complimentary, also no one likes necromancers for a reason

[pandoragrace]

Pandora's not about to go hunting for the third necromancer, though her curiosity has her seriously reconsidering approaching the vampire when he's looking peckish. Or, rather, the sight of all the color fading from the necromancer as he sucks him down does. The air is cool enough to make her shiver, her bare feet in the grass and her shoulders bare as they are.

Unfortunately, the necromancer had not agreed with the idea of not hunting. The problem, really, was arrogance. Even with his fellows dead, the remaining survivor thought himself superior. Certainly above the construct that slipped her leash. Maybe he did not realize his fellows would not be there to help. Maybe he did not see the vampire.

Pandora's back was still towards him as he stepped into the doorway, the spell ready on his lips. The Greek was precise, but there wasn't a moment for her to appreciate it. She could feel each word like hammer in her head, her most immediate response to cover her head. Her knees came into contact with the cold grass, and she couldn't quite be sure if the voice begging for him to stop was hers.

true that

[nonepenthe]

The last strains of life being sucked through an open vein is a thin, throbbing, fading affair. The last wisps are disappearing and the feeding is over all too soon -- but Victor is stronger again, and a little more himself. Close enough. His head snaps around in time to see Pandora on the ground. It's just as well that she'd dropped -- the fastest way to the necromancer is linear, after all.

Perhaps she doesn't see the way he flashes like lightning over her and uses both hands to snap the last necromancer's neck with a crunch like the first bite into a toffee apple. Perhaps she doesn't notice for a while the way he comes crouching down on the ground next to her, head tilting and eyes quizzing like the dog she's nicknamed him for. There's blood smeared around his lips and down his chin, and an absolutely earnest look in his eye. "Bo-ob?" He extends the syllable into two childishly.

welp, that image is going to be in my head forever. thanks.

[pandoragrace]

"My name is Pandora." It's important, that. Names are important. Especially when the ground feels like it's throbbing, in time with her rapidly beating heart. The sound of it fills up her head in the absence of the spell. Her hands fall away from her face, and it's with effort that she forces herself to straighten up. Removes her gaze from the mess on his face.

Humans don't have such fascination with blood. It's difficult to avert her gaze. Instead, her gaze sweeps and finds the first body he left. She risks a glance behind her to find a second. The only color is the vampire beside her and the grass. "I think there was only three." It's easier to be matter-of-fact about it. She's not even going to worry about not feeling guilty, this time.

welcome!

[nonepenthe]

It's the first time she's told him her name. Pandora. Very appropriate. He rocks back on his heels and waits patiently for her to regain her sense of space and time and self, for her to glance around and pinpoint any threats -- or lack thereof. The Cobweb has returned to its usual state of chaos inside his mind. Part of him misses the quiet, but for the most part it's a relief to have his thoughts drowned again.

"Are you hurting, Pandora?" He is, after all, here to help. The blood between his teeth shouldn't take away from that, right?

Such cheek. XD

[pandoragrace]

"Yes." Sticking with the facts are easiest. It's a weird way to ask, isn't it? Maybe. She doesn't want to look at him, until he cleans up a bit, but she feels like all her nerves are exposed. She's hyper aware of the way her chest moves with each breath, the slow-creeping scent of death, the blood that's not quite dried on her own skin. "I don't think I'm injured." Though, as she says it, she's looking at her wrists, rubbed raw from the rope.

"I'd like to go now."

:P

[nonepenthe]

It's messy, it's all very messy. Blood and murder and bindings and sweat and a grimy dungeon where they'd carved a prison for her. He blinks at her slowly as she talks, mind clicking away through methods of fixing the messiness. He's barely aware that he brings just as much mess into the lives of those around him as he tries to neaten and organize.

"Come with me?" He'd carry her, but she's made a rule of Not Being Touched. So he just sits there with his back straight, watching her intently. He's glad she doesn't ask why he's there, or what he's doing. Victor rarely has answers to questions like that.

pandora, queen of bad choices.

[pandoragrace]

It's a preferable mess, to what the necromancers would have brought to her life if given the opportunity. Really, she blames them instead of him. In an odd light, he's her strange savior. So she nods, quiet consent to following. Rising to her feet again comes with a faint frown. Whether it's just the strain of being under such a painful spell (more than once tonight, but not the same one), her back and legs protest standing. The muscles clench, and it's automatic to lift her toes to force them to behave.

Where else could she go, bloody and hallowed out as she is, without causing worry or-

"Lead the way."

welp, it keeps her life interesting...

[nonepenthe]

Freshly fed and feeling more human than ever with pints of human blood in his veins, he springs to his own feet without much trouble, half-circling her with his gaze traveling over her body for visible injuries. She seems able to function, which will do for now. He takes off his jacket, which has a tinge of the 80's about it like almost all of his clothes do, and sets it with exaggerated gentleness over her shoulders. He doesn't actually know if that's helpful, but he's seen it done in movies and TV shows.

"First, an inn where you sleep. Then, my home." He smiles, though it's hardly a good time for it. "No touching."

[pandoragrace]

There's a pause, more confused as he drapes the jacket on her, and by his smile. There's still the unworded checklist running in the back of her mind, until the vampire and the grass are the only things that seem real. Not the corpses. Not the blood on her skin. She's not quite listening to him until suddenly, sharply, has her full attention. "No. No sleeping. Shower, yes, sleeping, no."

Everyone in the world seems to be bigger than her. She slides her arm through one sleeve and bundles it around her hand before reaching with the intent to clean the very distracting mess on his face. "You have blood on your-"

[nonepenthe]

The unusual behavior bothers him. An inclination towards consistency is part of his curse. It's almost enough to make him fret. He crinkles his nose up like a child being assaulted by his mother's washcloth but stands still enough to let her scrub at his face. "Everywhere." He gestured to the blood-writing she was covered in.

A sleepy village is the closest thing to civilization within miles of the hideout. He'll steer her by the shoulders across grass and over paths, but if she's too slow he'll resort to picking her up. "Sunrise," he prompts her; "we'll burn away to ash." Perhaps she doesn't want to sleep, but during the day he'll have no choice.

He can be of more comfort once he knows he has a roof over his head for the daylight hours.