ph_logs | Vampire Zoomies!

Vampire Zoomies!

Who: Lord Erik Osborne (

lordoftheozarks) & Open!
What:Following Erik Drinking Eddie's blood until he dies Erik has gotten himself a little blood drunk and silly. Vampire zoomies!
When: Immediately after linked thread
Where: All over town/woods feel free to pick any place even if not listed
Warning(s):Erik will be acting slightly high/drunk, talk of blood/blood drinking, potentially nsfw

He's buzzing with vitality, more full than he's been in longer than he can remember. He's so hopped-up on blood he barely knows what to do with himself.

First, he tries running it off in the woods, a pale blur darting through the trees. He gets in so far he can't even hear the town anymore and, still, his skin crawls with power begging to be used. So, he goes next to the cliffs, scaling them with bare hands and feet in a matter of minutes. That takes a slight edge off of it. Enough that he feels he might safely be able to go to town.

With his shoes in his hands, not even bothering to put them back on, he dashes to town. He's unbuttoned the front of his shirt, as well, because for once he's actually hot. Almost unbearably hot! It will be noticeable to anyone who looks at him; he's flushed bright red all the way from his chest to his cheeks.

He slows once he reaches the town square, walking with a slight list to the left like a drunkard. Ooh, his head is a little fuzzy too. Now he remembers why he doesn't tend to let himself overindulge. Wisdom tells him he should go home and try to sleep this off, but the mischievous part of him thinks there might be better things he could do to take advantage of all this endless stamina.

"Pleasant evening," he's wearing a bold fang-filled grin of pure lust. "Want to help me wear myself out? I'm offering my services for free tonight only."

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As soon as he's sure they are settled, he's off like a shot. He comes close to clipping the corner of a building or two, but no harm done. They make it to the house and inside without anyone seeing anything more than a blur of color.

"Here we are," he says, squatting to let Jean back down. "I hope I didn't make you too sick."

"I don't get motion sick!" Jean unlocks their front door and manages to get it open without dropping their groceries, waving Erik inside. Their space is...

Odd. A curious mix of both Spartan and highly decorated, Jean's home barely has furniture and certainly lacks amenities, essentially only containing what it came with when they got given it. Cobalt Scar hangs on a hook near the door, the claw-gloves that go with it tucked into the pockets, the only modification to the structure of the room being the hook itself.

But the walls are coated in sketches.

Not a single inch of bare wall is visible, all of them instead replaced by detailed pencil sketches on notebook paper, with a variety of subjects. People feature heavily - Zelda and Mort have been drawn multiple times, but there's a few of Erik, one of Dahlia (her name is appended beneath it in heavy, jagged writing), Degas takes pride of place in the midst of a cluster of drawings of the Temple from various angles. There are sketches of plants and flowers, painstakingly labeled, and portraits of various animals. The brutoks feature, as does the Pine Devil. A splash of color; near the window is a cluster of sketches of Parade Day, which, from their scent, have gained their rusty touches of color by being inked in blood that was dried over a candle.

This artistic proclivity extends to the table, where in-progress sketches crowd every part except a piece more or less the exact size and shape of a dinner plate; sketches of the ball, even more of Zelda and Mort, and the bare-bones beginning of a drawing of the ship Jean newly serves on, alongside portraits of fish in various states ranging from 'alive and in the water' to 'being cleaned and butchered'.

Groceries down. Without the slightest self-consciousness, Jean starts stripping down to their undershirt, and reaches for Cobalt Scar to put it on.

"That's fortunate." He'll remember to go even faster next time. He only goes slower to keep from getting puked on.

Erik's jaw hangs open as he steps inside only to behold the wallpaper of sketches all around. He recognizes the people in these... including himself. When did Jean draw these? Are they from memory? He's alarmed at the smell of dried blood in here, at first, until he realizes it's been used as a medium to color some of these drawings. His nose wrinkles just slightly at that. But the images themselves, even the more gruesome ones, don't trouble him much.

His attention is drawn to Jean's back when they begin to disrobe. Those scars... now, those make him queasy. Knowing what he does of Jean's world, they shouldn't surprise him this much. But they do. He's not sure he can trust himself to comment on them now, in his own dubious mental state so...

"I had no idea you were such a prolific artist."

"Hahahaha," Jean glances over, face faintly red. "I wouldn't say that...mostly just technical drawings, detail work. Helps with the reports! I don't really make anything original..."

Is it better or worse that the werewolf suit gets put on like a normal suit? It's even got layers.

"Don't you? I'd argue that even when sketches like this are utterly faithful to life, they are still an interpretation in your own hand, from your own eyes. And they are beautifully crafted. I find myself envious, as I appreciate art very much but in all my years I have never been able to cultivate an aptitude for it." Really, his own inability to draw something that doesn't look like a lumpy loaf of bread when it should be a car is perpetually frustrating.

Putting a werewolf skin on piece by piece is... well, it's horrible. He hates every moment of watching it, so he chooses to continue looking through the sketches, especially one of himself. He's had portraits done. Professionally, and at high cost. But this is... different. So candid. He finds himself reaching out to touch a finger to it before he remembers himself and pulls away.

"What... is that you're putting on?"

"Sketching helps organize my thoughts," Jean demurs, though from the change in their heartbeat and the tone of their voice the compliment is appreciated. Just the tie left to put on.

"This is Cobalt Scar, my...armor, might be the best way to say it, hahaha. You actually saw it on Parade Day! Protects my body and to a lesser extent my mind."

Jean pulls the bloodstained and scarred gloves on, and flexes their claws. "It's derived from the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. One of the horrors that bowed before Ruin."

Erik lets Jean have their modesty, knowing full well by the thrum of their pulse that they've taken the compliment to heart. This is a better direction than their last conversation went.

"It's very strange armor. I've never seen anything quite like it. What..." He may regret asking this (what's new with Jean?) "What do you mean by 'derived?'"

"I'm not fully sure!" Jean admits. "I didn't work anywhere near R&D, but...my job was to extract a substance known as Enkephalin from beings like the Wolf, in various ways. This Enkephalin was used to generate the electricity that L-Corp sold to the City, but it could also be used to create armor and weapons, like this. Some of the notes..."

They lock the collars on their gloves. They're ready.

"...Some of the notes made references to some kind of highly abstract extraction and forging process. Phrases like 'unable to fully solidify the archetype' would come up. It may be similar to my Pages somehow? But I didn't make the weapons and armor, I just use them. It's...still connected to the Wolf. He speaks to me while I wear it."

Erik is opening his mouth with full intention to ask what Jean means by 'pages' and if it has any connection to what he witnessed at the parade but then this falls out instead... "Who speaks to you?"

"The Big And Will Be Bad Wolf," Jean clarifies. "It's an effect of using this kind of equipment, and why you shouldn't unless you're highly compatible, trained, or ideally both. There's a real danger of getting...tangled."

Hey Erik remember all that weird shit Jean was saying during the massacre?

"Tangled? As in... getting your personality mixed up with...his?" He does remember. It still gives him chills.

"I'm sorry, Jean. I am struggling to comprehend this. That I am aware, we have nothing like it in my world. Are you implying that this equipment is possessed in some way?"

"We do have a hunt to conduct," Jean protests, but they can't stop themselves from trying to answer either. Only, how do you answer? It seems so simple in Jean's head, but -

Wait. Maybe they've got it.

"Cobalt Scar is the Wolf the way an actor is Macbeth." Beat. "Their character, that is! There might be many Macbeths, right? All of them with different forms and portrayals! But they're all trying to be the same story. This," they pat the lapel of the suit, "is the story of the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. The key is to remember when the play ends, and take your bow."

They beam. They're proud of that metaphor.

"You play a role, and this gives you new abilities?" He's trying, he really is. "And when you take that suit back off again, the act ends?"

"Essentially, yes!" Good enough for government work anyway. "Some warriors believe in fair fights. I kill those a lot! My intention is to make the River Walker understand that it exists only with our permission."

"All right." He can work with that.

"I never fight fair if I can help it. But I'm interested in hearing how you plan to convey that message?"

In an almost flat voice: "Kill it slowly, in terror and pain. Cut off its escape, rip it limb from limb, and then steal its Light so that it knows we know it. Rob the River Walker of all sense of peace and safety."

Congratulations to Jean for giving a corpse chills.

"You mean to torture it?"

"...I suppose. Pages are best extracted from kills at a height of passion. If it had something to defend I could threaten it; if it had beliefs, ideals, I could call those out, anger it. But we don't have that intelligence, and the town needs its secrets."

"So terror it is."

"This kind of action was... commonplace in your world?" He's gone from chills to cold feet.

"It is intelligent enough to speak. How do you know it does not have ideals?"

"It might have ideals, but I don't know them. As for cruelty..."

Jean looks. Distant.

"I don't like being cruel. I'd rather win and move on. But extracting the Page will give us intelligence, and unless you're both willing and able to create a different kind of emotional high..."

"If you are asking whether I'm willing to fuck the River Walker, I'm not going to dignify that with a response." Because the answer might be... maybe? He's never admitting that out loud. To anyone.

"Jean, what if I can restrain the creature long enough that we could speak to it? Would you let me try? We can certainly kill it if the former doesn't work."

"Yes. For as long as you're willing to entertain the notion. I haven't discarded the possibility that the River Walker is a natural part of this ecosystem and should be preserved; if it, too, is a citizen of this place, then it's technically my client - and I'm not sure deciding that some clients need to die for the harmony of others is a road I want to go down even if I had the authority to! But we're agreed that this state of affairs cannot continue as-is, yes?"

Jean opens the door to the cabin, lingering for Erik's answer.

"Even if it was not initially native to this place, it's obviously been living here longer than you or I have. So, yes, I would like the opportunity to talk with it." It's the bare minimum he would have wanted someone to do with him if he'd been declared a monster in this town.

"Yes, we are in agreement. Its behavior must change. One way or another, we will convince it that finding different prey is in its own best interest." He crosses to the door and exits, leaving Jean to lock up behind.

Jean is still the bait; they need to lure the River Walker out. They walk at a fairly decent pace, but a little ways out from the bridge they unbutton the shirt of their suit and leave it hanging open. One clawed hand reaches in and squeezes; Jean grunts, and fresh blood spills onto the ground.

They approach the bridge with a distinct limp. Cobalt Scar may already be repairing the damage, but they sure look like wounded prey right now...

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Vampire Zoomies!

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