[ 4 ] [ Audio/Commentlog ] backdated to the 18th
[The feed kicks in to a harsh mutter and a clatter. That the communicator is broadcasting is purely accidental, and not something Seth is happy about.]
Yeah good on ya-- piece of shit. Tell the lot of them what I don't fucking feel like--
[There's a sharp hiss, the sound of material tearing and then, the feed cuts out.]
(ooc: Seth is currently doing ( Read more... )
Yeah good on ya-- piece of shit. Tell the lot of them what I don't fucking feel like--
[There's a sharp hiss, the sound of material tearing and then, the feed cuts out.]
(ooc: Seth is currently doing ( Read more... )
There was a slice missing from her right arm, a nice souvenir for having been too close to a rip in reality in the middle of the casino. Already it's dried and discoloured with necrosis. She'll need to feed to heal it.
And there's blood on the floor.
It's almost too easy. Some poor injured soul is waiting, weakened for her.
Of course, "poor" and "weakened" are not words she associates with the Australian. So she's surprised to look up and see him at the end of her blood trail.]
... Do you need some help?
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Seth turns to the voice and presses the rag a little tighter to his hand.]
You. [Breathe.] It's fine. I just need...
[He trails off, barely able to think straight. It's been a while since his hand got eaten.]
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She needs to eat, and he's already dying. It might take a while, but she can see it in the colour of his face. Still...]
Give that to me.
[She holds out a hand for the blood-soaked rag.]
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[He shakes his head, voice a low rumble and takes a step back.]
Bloody hand is gone. Mostly.
[Another step. Seth's determined to keep walking.]
Bleeding too much.
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Yes. Without help, you probably have a half hour at most, even if you do stop the bleeding in the next ten minutes.
[She looks him up and down, her expression making it perfectly obvious how likely she thinks that is.]
Give me the rag.
[It's a bluff. She doesn't know how long he's been bleeding or how much longer he has, but it doesn't matter. If he doesn't give her the rag, eventually he'll fall down.]
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Finding his balance, he looks at her, confused.]
Why?
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[She smiles, all teeth.]
And if I'm going to help you, I'll need to eat first.
[Not strictly true, but how's he to know?]
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He doesn't reply. Seth unwraps his hand and presses the still bleeding stub where his fingers had been to his stomach. His good hand offers the red stained rag.]
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[Aoife wastes no time; she folds the rag between her teeth and sucks it as though she were a desert traveller long dehydrated. She makes no effort to hide the oddity of it. Should he pass out before she gets around to helping him, well, that's his poor luck.
It's a long three minutes before the taste of cotton begins to overpower the iron taste of blood. Aoife removes the rag from her mouth and looks up, smiling.]
Are you still conscious?
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Mm.
[When did talking get so hard? Probably around the same time that his hands started to shake.]
Need a kitchen.
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[Such a shame, to cauterize an open wound. Really, he might almost be better off if she left him here.
But she can feel his blood coursing through her - she can't say her veins, but only because she no longer recalls what circulation feels like - bringing with it new energy. Energy she can use, and why not to heal him? She's had plenty of fun at his expense.
With a sigh, and a deeper breath than she usually allows, she relaxes, letting her new-found energy flow into that small pocket of consciousness where words weave together on magic threads]
And look now, the Australian has lost himself a hand,
And now more blood than what he can retain.
But no such wound will throw him, no, soon he'd better stand
And choose: To death, or kitchen, heat and pain.
[Hardly her best work, but then that had hardly been the best meal. Nonetheless, the spell should be enough to keep him conscious until they've found a heat source. It should certainly keep him alive, but carrying him would be more effort than she's willing to exert ( ... )
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What was that about?
[The words are mumbled. He ignores her hand and pushes himself up.]
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That was spell-work.
[He can't pretend not to know what that is; he's a mage too. She smiles again, and starts for deck eight. There's a sushi kitchen there.]
Vampires are magical beings, after all.
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To call him a mage would result in an argument. Seth doesn't think of himself as such. To him, 'mage' is a thing from a fantasy story.]
Don't sparkle. I'll have to shank you.
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Try it. You'll fall before you reach a kitchen and then I can feed on your remains.
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