Outside, the city came to life. Night time in Stronghold, in these blocks, were times of wild abandon. Something he appreciated. Something he required in order for his small empire of sin to flourish. And it had to flourish, or else some upset nobody would inevitably rise to the challenge. What would be more glorious then offing him, after his own vicious uprising? Whoever dethroned him would be legend... Or a wise compromise once he'd drank his fill of Stronghold.
Not that there was much else outside of these walls, but the roving bands and swarming nests of his brethren. Wretched beings, lost in their most basic desire.
Bass thrummed through the night, making no apologies for drowning out melodies or any other pretext of music. The walls rattled vaguely, assuredly. His establishment was built for just that. It seduced you into thinking the world hadn't ended. They'd just merely flirted with the notion for eighty-five years. There wasn't much of that here. Patrons demanded flesh--alive and mostly unblemished--and his minions served it.
It was also where he'd offered to feed his good ol' pal, Sigurd. How he got there was not his concern, though he saw plenty of the uniforms coming in and out of the establishment. Personally, he liked the idea of vaguely inconveniencing the powerful man. They were in similar positions now, hiding in this quixotic rat's nest, and sating their own thirst for blood. What a thing: to have found each other after so long, doing what they'd done back then, more or less, all over again.
Darien called to the mostly-naked flesh near him, and they both slithered around him, into the bed, like obedient dolls. What pretty things these two were--a matching set for them. He'd already drugged them, or had they'd ever been let off the drugs? No matter. They were docile, listless, gone. He could feel and hear their pulse, a lovely drumbeat full of promises.
But now he could also hear his other coming up the stairs, in turn listening to him here in this faux-lavish room in the dim light.
"So glad you could make it," he drawled as North walked in. Darien ran his hands through their bloodbag's exposed flesh. "Shall we start with a sip, or tantalize the craving?"
Technically speaking, he was only serving North Sigurd, mayor of the guns in town, the real goons. But Darien invited himself to supper often enough that he hoped his fellow vampire didn't mind.
Posted 03-26-2021, 09:12 PM
It wasn't really a place he frequented if he could help it. While it was definitely a place he would have craved to be at when he was younger — when he was human — it was no longer a place that welcomed the Military dog. A man of uniform, he could feel the heated gazes that lingered on him just a little too long as he passed by; though he was in civilian clothes, a long trenchcoat wrapped around his lithe frame, there was no denying the recognition in people's eyes as they saw him. One silly little problem with being the one in power was the undeniable fact that everyone knew you. That was something North disliked greatly.
A souring of his expression flitted across his face for a moment as he covered his mouth and nose with a gloved hand. Too much. Ten years later and he still wouldn't get over how... Potent human blood was, especially with the population of the slums practically living on top of one another. He felt his fangs itching inside his gums, daring to come out and allow him to unleash his true, bestial self upon the helpless victims around him. It didn't help that thirst clawed at his throat like an unwelcome guest, reminding him how long it had been since his last feeding.
Pausing just long enough to shut his eyes and clear his head, the man gave his head a little shake before he continued on his mission. No, it wasn't a place that he frequented ever since he became Major. But there was still something worthwhile visiting in the Night Forum — or someone, at least.
His destination was in sight, and the lean predator had no hesitation as he breached the entrance and swiftly headed towards the back rooms. Those working in the establishment didn't blink an eye; they were used to the Military Major being there by now. Up the stairs and down the hall, North felt his heart pick up in pace as the scent of blood once again called to him. Heh, trust Darien to pick the best of the best. The thought flitted through his mind mere moments before he entered the room, shutting the door behind him with swiftness; they didn't want any witnesses. He didn't announce himself either — didn't really need to. He knew the other Infected would smell him long before he made his visual presence in front of him.
“I wouldn't miss it,” he greeted the other man as he prowled deeper into the room, eyes cast only briefly over the two humans before landing on the man of the hour himself. A soft chuckle left his throat at the other man's words, and as his lips twisted themselves backwards into a grin much too predatory to be seen as kind, the very tips of fangs slipped out from underneath his lips.
“You know I like to —” fingers worked themselves into one of the human's hair before gripping tight and pulling back to expose their neck, forcing a whimper out of the prey's pathetic little mouth, “play with my food first.” For the first time his eyes left Darien's as he looked down at the naked human beneath him, staring up at him with wide, doe eyes. A lone finger brushes its way softly up the curvature of their neck, stopping at their jugular to feel the quickening of their pulse as he grins down at them.TAGDarien Arias-Vidal
Darien could have winced at the rough treatment his favorite client gave to his pets, but that would have betrayed weakness, something he'd learned not to do even before taking over a criminal outfit. Instead, his eyes looked on flatly, caressing the other blood bag next to him. He wasn't so much better, still using the other's vital red fluid for his own survival. Not something to be proud, but how he'd hated the debilitating effects of malnutrition.
Even then, he'd already established the rules of their little entertainment and meals together with North. He very rarely pushed against the boundaries. It went beyond risking their cushy facades here in Stronghold. The question yet remained as to who would end up being the stronger, their vampiric condition rarely revealing the degree of power granted in any obvious way.
Darien swung his legs out of the bed and stood up, bidding his own beautiful blood feast up and away. Unsteady on his feet, the lovely thing crashed against his chest, holding on with a whimper. Was that somehow part of the whore's training, some little bit of learning sneaking out past the heavy cloud of drugs floating his bloodstream? It made him grin, nonetheless, eyes darting to North.
"I won't tell you how to feed, querido, but try not rip this one to pieces..? The mess..." The gift of hot-blooded warmth in his arms was distracting him, the man's heartbeat like drums on his senses. He let out a tiny little moan, his only weakness, and quick as lightning sank his teeth into the neck. Once he took that first gulp, the whirl of desire crested. His mind seduced him of anything and everything, told him lies and truths.
He stopped before he'd taken even a pint. "See? It's possible to... be gentle."
Posted 03-30-2021, 03:25 PM
North didn't need to be reminded of their place in society — of the fragility of everything that threatened to come crashing down like a house of cards. While life was easier inside the walls of Stronghold, it was also harder at the same time. He still remembered when he was nothing but an animal hunting amongst abandoned streets, truly being allowed to be his vampire-like self. Now? He had to be careful of any sort of impropriety, especially when he was in the spotlight. But maybe it was that danger that made things much more... Fun. He certainly enjoyed a good game when it presented itself.
“Do not treat me like some animal you need to scold,” the man huffs, and while from a stranger's perspective his words are harsh — the human next to him flinching as their eyes dart towards Darien — there is a familiar fondness that softens the blow of his words. He could never truly be angry with his friend, not simply because he was a supplier of food, but also because of their past connections. They both knew North could be gentle enough with his food — a lover, not a fighter — but there was still that necessity to redraw the lines sometimes...
And the Major didn't fault him for it.
He hums in response to Darien's next words, gold bleeding into his blue eyes as the scent of blood grows stronger in the air. There is a certain thrill at the sight of a human so willingly bending their neck back to be drunk from, the dangerous implications far too many to count. Just a decade earlier all humans cowered in fear at the term Infected. Now look at them, groveling at the feet of their new masters. Perhaps one day —
“Do not fret, I will not harm your precious stock,” North laughs aloud as he once again trails another finger up the neck of the human he still held. The quickened pulse of their jugular vein thrums against the tip of his finger. “I know how much you care for their safety.” If there's any judgement abound, it does not show in his words. He worked every day amongst humans, he knew how to fawn over them and pretend he was one of them. But at the end of the day, he got some sadistic glee out of his job in the Military, commanding humans to go off and fight the Infected — and no matter who won, he always got a good show.
There is something else he wishes to share with the other man, but for now he keeps the information to himself as he leans over and languidly draws his tongue up the side of the woman's neck, his fingers finally loosening their tight grip on her hair. She finally leans into the touch, and just as his tongue leaves her caramel skin, it's replaced by a set of fangs slipping through her skin like a steak knife through butter. There is no resistance, and a gasp leaves her mouth as he allows his aphrodesiac-laced venom flow into her bloodstream. That was a nice perk he gained from becoming a Level V Infected.TAGDarien Arias-Vidal
Had they been "stock" once upon a time? It was so long ago, that even without the madness of the infection, he probably would not remember. Or would he? Darien had seen trauma in some of his "stock" before. No matter how well-drugged or docile they were made, a whiff of it emerged from the pores. Rank fear with a bitter-sweet potential. The odor of prey?
He didn't really like to think of himself as predator. It was the reason he often did not empty his victims, but let them recover anemically. Took care of them, even. It wasn't a strange thing in the Hearts, what with organ donors and such often being nursed back to health so they could donate again. So were these, cared for until they could donate again. Well cared for until the end, because once they became vampire blood smoothies, they rarely returned to a regular life.
Not that Sigurd's meals enjoyed the same benevolent stay on execution. Darien let his friend drink his fill and beyond. Their initial contract only stipulated that their internal organs not be too seriously damaged, so their bodies could continue to have purpose after their last, lovely night.
And, yet, even then, he delighted in the thought that North might slip and devour one whole, painting the walls of these brothels red and dripping. Was there something wrong with him?
Letting his meal go for now, free to return to the large bed they'd been laying in moments ago, Darien watched the other one feed. He did enjoy the sight of it. The sight of him feeding. There was no doubt who was the superior killer in this arrangement.
Posted 04-08-2021, 01:15 PM
North drinks his fill, not planning to go beyond that; not today. While his hunger clawed at his throat and demanded he take more, more, MORE, he also didn't want to deal with what happened after he took that little bit more. While people died by the dozens everyday in Stronghold — sometimes at the hands of the Military, sometimes at the hands of Jabberwockies — it still didn't necessarily guarantee that one more body would go completely unnoticed. He didn't want to deal with what would happen if a corpse turned up, inside the walls, with an Infected's bite on their neck. Paperwork, that's what.
The man tenses at the thought just mere seconds before he allows his fangs to slip free from the caramel delight, another soft sight leaving her mouth at the sensation. He'd had 10 years since he had regained his humanity to perfect the art of graceful feeding. He wasn't such a monster that he would rip and tear his prey more than necessary — well, not today at least. Eyes golden like a beast slowly drift upwards to take in Darien, and surprise momentarily flickers across North's face as their eyes meet.
He's watching.
Blood or not, there was no denying the predatory way in which the other man watched the Military dog. But it does not unnerve North — why would it? — and he merely curls his blood-stained lips into a grin. Canines flecked with his latest prey's blood peek underneath his lips, a cruel reminder of not who he was, but what he was.
“I never took you as having a voyeur kink,” North muses in a soft voice, silky like the finest chocolate. His tongue curls from betwix his lips to lick away the blood, drawing slowly across his lips — teasing, wanton. A come hither motion done with only the faintest of actions, and for a moment the buzz of bloodlust fades into the background as a hand languidly draws up the side of the human woman before grasping at a naked breast. They both knew that North's hunger drew from other means as well, making their pact all the more worthwhile to the Infected.
“Like what you see?” he mumbles against the curve of the woman's neck, smudging blood still dripping from her neck across his lips once more, like a tempting and forbidden lipstick.TAGDarien Arias-Vidal
Posted 03-26-2021, 09:12 PM
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