(Untitled)

[notaphony]

[ OOM: Joan meets a stranger in the hallways upstairs. Warnings for bitey vampire bloodplay. ]Joan's lost track of what time it is - or even what day it is - when she wakes in her own bed, still dressed in the same clothes from the night before. A trip to the mirror confirms how terrible she feels and looks, her face completely devoid of any and

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[middle_name_s]

The door opens to allow in a parka-clad figure, not so much dusted as caked with snow; the black cowboy hat is the worst victim. It looks frosted. The badge is a shiny gleam somewhere in all the white.

The man under it just looks tired. That red hair, though, is impossible to miss, and with a king-size mug of coffee in his hand he tacks in her direction.

[notaphony]

She looks tired - actually, tired may not even be accurate enough to describe it. Exhausted comes closer.

The part that bothers her the most is that she can't remember a thing from the night before. She doesn't recall having that much to drink -

hallway

stranger

red

- it's almost like there's a fog blurring out whatever she might have been able to remember.

The sudden chill brought in by a newly opened door briefly jars her away, and she turns toward the source, managing a small (if slightly embarrassed) smile. Embarrassed, really, to be caught in such a state, and if she wasn't so white already, she'd be blushing pink.

"You look like you could use some thawing," she says softly.

[middle_name_s]

There's something very disquieting about her pallor; about the stillness he's disturbed.

"I'm all right," he says, gently, setting the hat on the mantel. "Are you feeling okay, Joanie?"

[notaphony]

"I - "

She doesn't want to lie, say she's feeling fine. Not when she's sure the way she looks would betray that.

"I can't remember," she says. "Last night, I went up to my room - and then I woke up in my bed, and everything in between is just - it's gone."

[fowl_beast]

"Oh, don't tell me that a vampi..."

Hm. That experimenter, Tesla? He admitted to being a vampire, didn't he? He didn't seem that bloodhungry, though. Of course, there are other things in existence that appreciate a splash of blood here and there, but not as much as those hypocrites and parasites.

The paleness, the lethargy, that's got to be it. "Bloody hell, fucking plague. There isn't a blood tithe in effect here, is there?"

Yes, its a chicken, complaining about vampires.

[notaphony]

There is a very, very large part of Joan that remains convinced she must be a) dreaming or b) still drunk. If she was even drunk to begin with.

"I beg your pardon?"

Then again, granted that one of her most recent conversations occurred with a life-sized lizard who knew all too much about Sterling Cooper, she's not going to rule anything out.

[fowl_beast]

"You look like you donated blood recently. I am just wondering if you donated it willingly."

Well, willingly. Some people pay the tithe willingly, just to avoid trouble. Maybe willingly doesn't matter

[notaphony]

"Donated what?"

Joan's first response to that is confusion.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."