The Vampire had expected the man to make some noise due to the chemicals used in the bandage; he had not lied about not quite getting the formula right, at least in the pain reduction department. To his intrigue, Solas did not yell; the only otuward indicator was the sweat and the balling of a fist. This spoke of not just a high pain threshold on the man's part, but discipline as well; this definitely made Ian deduce one thing. Definitely more than a simple drifter, came the thought, and there was also an indicator of internal torment in those icy blue eyes. He simply gave a nod at the man's acknowledgement of his skills, but then came another question that Lucino had been asked many times since the return of his true self.
"Unless I know for sure, everyone is worthy of my care; in this world, our drive to survive has overwritten much of our higher humanity. The drive is not a bad thing by all means, since even I need to act upon the drive as well."
A sad smile then came upon the Vampire's face; this was a philosophy he had been shaping long before he had become Infected, when the 9-to-5 had threatened to overwhelm the human soul. Now simple, animalistic survival had taken its place, doing what even it could not.
"Nowadays, perhaps it comes from growing up isolated from the horrors of the world, we need to remind ourselves of our higher humanity; we've lost so much of that already....how long, should we do nothing about it, will it be before it is all gone?"
Ian's sad smile then took on a mischievous element.
"If you did turn out to be such an arsehole, then I will know where you will be weakest for when I come to take back my care."
“You dreamer,” he cussed at that, surely a cuss-- surely something so, a sly smile pulling at his mouth-- and he shook his head, and had to look down for apparently, every answer ever sat in the walls, on the ceiling, in the floor; his should be there, too.
It wasn’t.
“Can’t say I…”
What?
“Can’t hold it against you,” he finished with a resigned laugh, leaning back as he did, his hands planted by himself and the tremor in his body dying yet, not too ready to depart in full; the proof he had been in intense pain just moments ago continued to be remembered by his skin, by his blood; there was a way to sear his nerve endings that only pain managed, flush covering his face now, and sweat in other spot.
He observed the other-- though.
He observed his smile; such a sad, sad smile.
It made Jessie cock his head-- and for once, in quiet not judge.
The musing wasn’t one which he’d respond to, down the line-- instead, Jessie just laughed.
“Oh, my heart,” he joked back, squinting in a tease, “or,” he began, importantly leaning in as well, all to give the other an apparently facetious glare as he voiced, teasing away--
“Gonna dismiss my jokes, eh, stab me where it hurts the most--”
With that, he very dramatically placed his pale hand over his heart--
“Here.”
Confirmed with only a matching dramatic flair before he chuckled a bit--
“Alright, friendo, thought you were treating me.”
With that, though it hurt his leg, Jessie scooted closer, and leaned in, in, and in.
On his face-- on his neck, some scratches existed. And Jessie, in anticipation, batted his eyelashes-- before wrapping up his request with a grin.
Posted 05-10-2021, 09:38 AM
He could see it coming; the raised heart rate, the whiff of pheromones, the ever growing intimacy...Ian knew that his patient had libidinous intentions towards him. Honestly, the doctor would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted; it had been 85 years since he had last indulged himself in the pleasures of lust. Not even since his return to humanity had he ever done so. As Solas bared his neck to Ian, he could see the scratches...and the little micro-pulsations of the major blood vessles within. Even if he was still so well-fed, the thirst seemed to coil within; it seemed to notice, but was content for now. That feeling of guilt and fear came to the fore, keeping him from that element of desire. With that going on inside of his psyche, Ian simply gave a smile as he dipped a cotton swab in to another phial of chitosan.
"Now, this won't hurt nowhere near as much as the bandage, but it will still burn a bit. Think of it kind of like old world aftershave in this case."
With those words said, the Vampire gently stroked the scratches with the swab; they were already well-treated, but it never hurt to be cautious when outside of a fortified settlement. Knowing from first-hand experience, even a whiff of blood will arouse even a Reaper's curiosity, and by God would he never want to be hunted by one of those if he were human. Once he was done, he would pack the phials and swabs back into his kit and began to pull out a large bottle of home-made perfume and some pieces of fabric. Dipping them in, he placed the pieces in as many parts of the room as possible; there was a strong sweet smell, so strong that it practically drown out the scent of blood. The Infected doctor knew that it would work because he experimented with it himself, which would prove useful in the right environment when sleeping in Infected territory.
"There we go," Ian began, "That should keep us covered until sunrise at least."
He began to unfurl two sleeping bags from his backpack; he always kept more than one on his person, just be on the safe side. As he worked on the first, he remarked.
"Do you have a sleeping of your own, or do you need to borrow one of mine."
“You have a lot of old world knowledge for being just my age.”
After that, he screwed his eyes shut, and focused like that; it enhanced his senses for a moment, a rather given fact; he swam in pain and misery, but when he peered up, he could focus on Ian’s face; he could see his eyes-- and concentrate on his eyes as if he’d not seen a pair like that before; he could imagine the shine of the greens were the sun bright, and picture how they glowed in thereof; maybe, it’d be one of those purely green eyes-- the exact sort where you looked and looked, and oceans of forest waved in turn--
But sometimes, there were specks; not so much golden, but when the sun did indeed glare down on them, they rose back with a stubborn, g i l d e d shade…
But Jessie did not have to focus on that for too long; as the procedure, indeed so simple wrapped up, and his skin was stinging and the air smelled so off, he could only lean back, watching the man work.
There were good ways to trick the infected against coming after them. Very good.
They were also the tricks of an experienced man. Very experienced.
Jessie considered that.
But then-- onto the man he focused yet again, pinning him with a thin, and simple smile.
“I do,” he said, shuffling away from Ian to find a lean against somewhere behind himself.
“But I don’t sleep well at night.
“Rather,” he corrected, his eyes narrowing a bit, “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep with someone else in the room with me. It's not you, it's me.”
He quirked his lips into a smile at that.
“Sorry, pal,” he warned, a bitter jest in his tone; while his cheeks blushed a litte, the rest of him paled in a reaction unrelated to the laughable blood loss; simply, Jessie S. Michel’s mind threatened him with horrible memories, warning what happened when he shared the room with another man--
He fought them off only so that his vision wasn’t too heavy; too clouded; the shapes of this darkened world made to be imagined into past horrors.
Jessie, with a temporary stagger in his voice, looked away.
With that, he got even farther away from Ian, actually feeling for a spot on the roof-- twas lower than he’d enjoy, but divorced from claustrophobia, Jessie could easily push his head up against the ceiling of their hiding place, and when his hand found its target, push once more to hear it click.
“If we’re ever found in here, we can escape through the roof,” he assured his partner, fixing him with a bit of a smirk. Boyish, and secretive.
Posted 05-12-2021, 02:32 AM
Ian sensed a little story when Solas spoke of a matter that seemed to convey discomfort on his part; he was uncomfortable sharing a room with someone else. The doctor could only wonder what kind of story there was to induce such discomfort; given how wild this world had become, he could only wonder what horrors the man had encountered n his lifetime. As he began to wonder how to provide some alleviation on the matter, his patient then showed him a window that led towards the rooftop. That was when Ian had an idea on how to ease this dilemma.
"Hmmm, perhaps we should take watch duty in shifts...since you're banged up worse than I am, I see no problem in keeping vigil first."
He then gestured to the scent blocks that he had placed.
"Whilst Hunters and Ferals are dumb as rocks when it comes that scent, a Reaper might, in its enhanced intellect, deduce that the heavy perfume could be an indicator of fresh vectors for the virus...fucking Reapers mate, I personally believe that they get a perverse pleasure from outwitting us."
The Vampire would then draw his bow and begin to make his way to the rooftop; thanks to his mutated anatomy and metabolism, he didn't need to worry as much about sleep than a human did. Most of the time, for him, it was a luxury for the most part, unless he had spent too much time active. Ian gave a smile as he made his way up.
"Well, here we go...let's hope there aren't any bloody Reapers around."
It was in the way he looked at Ian-- an expression flat in a manner, yet his heart had slowed and he was reminded, then, of the depth of his problems; the reality he couldn’t agree to anything at all; a reminder, indeed, why he did missions solo, why he’d preferred something alone-- why he’d be happy to hunker down with women--
Why men, in reality and at some point, always made him nervous.
It was oddly the quiet ones. The nice ones. With those bad seeds he already knew to expect-- to anticipate misery; their hands perhaps didn’t have knives grown into them but he trusted the bad men to be bad--
He didn’t know what to trust ‘bout Ian--
Who he was and the many unknowns surrounding him that began to nag, and nag.
Crawl up his spine and beat his heart with hardness--
Make the blood pound in his ears until white noise he was hearing; until he had to keep blinking himself back into the moment--
Until he latched onto what Ian said and let it wrap around his head; until he needed the words-- and just the words that didn’t remind him of That Person to lull him back into the moment, until Jessie had to block the man’s path--
As he tried to move to the rooftop--
Block him and stand in his way as little as standing was possible, here; still had to keep a hunch.
It made everything ridiculous in a way.
But there was no way Jessie was letting this man climb through this goddamn hatch.
Get up there and save the day.
“Who are you?” Jessie asked instead, sharper his tone.
Header.
So hot as if reaching a boil--
“Helping me, constantly wanting to do nice--
“Imparting this advice…
"So well equipped to deal with this world, so well equipped.”
Too much.
He looked around himself briefly-- but even that brief look was enough; enough to confirm everything in his head; the obsessions on his mind; to make him whip ‘round with his face and pin Ian with a look that quietly, but in a sense obviously loathed.
“You know, we do have level V’s out there. So how’s that buddy of yours, Nazeem Meerhaba you said.”
He knew that name; his brain had been too trained-- hear a name: r e m e m b e r.
And stress and trauma beat the heart in his chest--
And tension, and trauma began to widen Jessie’s gaze--
And the dark in here, previously not confining that began to feel so when he was with a man, with a man, he wasn’t alone, he didn’t know this person, who are you and why aren’t you dangerous, who the fuck are you and
WHAT DO YOU WANTPosted 05-13-2021, 05:23 AMThis post was last modified: 05-13-2021, 05:24 AM by Jessie Michels
Much to his surprise, Solas would block the way, before the Vampire had the chance to even make it to the roof...and that was when it started, beginning with a question on who he truly was. It was a good question, one that he sometimes asked himself when truly left to wander in his thoughts. With the slew of other questions, that was when he gave a confident smile...something that differed from the reassuring ones he had always favoured.
"I am here to help."
Those were the words that poured from Ian's lips, confident and sure in their intent; regardless of whether or not he was the same man he was before succumbing to the Vampire Plague, he was certain that he was here to do just that. No ulterior motives, no malice, nothing to gain...just pure compassion. When the question then turned to Level V Infected, that was when Ian became more intrigued.
"I've heard whispers, I suppose the Plague ought to take a more subtle form at some point." That was one of the doctor's theories on how someone like him came to be; he had plenty of others, but it felt rather reassuring to know that there were indeed others like him. As for old Nazeem, it was obvious. "Dead, met his end at the hands of an Infected...it was not pretty."
He then noted that Solas' behaviour was starting to become very erratic...something reminiscent of how he'd seen victims of psychological trauma act. With that in mind, he watched carefully, watching for the man's next move, and ready to intervene should he become dangerous.
tw: ptsd + self harm + blood. tl;dr he's so not okay sldkjflkjdf
The smile chilled him; it was different from what the man had shown him before, and yet it did not curb the rush of demons swarming Jessie’s core; if anything, they grew more intense in power; they turned to screaming within his blood, to make it rush and pump and speed out to his mind, until he felt an itch.
An itch he’d act upon.
He knew it.
He had a timer in his head, so to speak; twas going down; and three, and two, and then on one it got stuck for he fended it off, or rather tried.
He said nothing to those words.
Such confident, confident words but Jessie wanted to argue--
People don’t help--
--people never help.
What do you want: the next sure ask; is there something you want? What do you?
And he blinked when the man confirmed knowing about level V infected; it made Jessie unsure, and every his previous methodical, and calm conclusion rattled--
He turned to his belief anyway; he knew he was right.
He suspected the other--
And he cringed away when he was burdened with that look.
It was a look that Jessie knew.
A look that said-- you’re unstable, you’re a ticking bomb, what’s your timer say--
Or will you surprise us by exploding in your own way?
“I--”
And then, the countdown reached one; and then, zero.
And Jessie reached for his own throat, and he clawed his fingers down the skin there as previously injured-- just a wee scratch from the branch that Ian had just looked at; nothing more, nothing less than that.
But he clawed at it, eyes closed as if he were being hypnotized, or had no idea of what crime his fingers committed; how they collected skin under the fingernails.
How they tore it off--
How he clawed himself-- calmly, even, nothing rapid or erratic; twas like he’d wanted to rub his neck-- that kinda slow touch, nothing of concern--
Until he’d dragged his fingers down. Hard.
And now, he had more scratch marks.
Until it looked like he’d been attacked, until the cuts, though as shallow as his fingernails remained short, peppered Jessie’s throat and he cringed away from the other, realizing he couldn’t breathe.
Realizing he couldn’t talk--
Realizing he smelled blood--
He brushed past Ian, but the space was narrow; ain’t no place to hide in here, at all; and he’d not walk out, neither stand on the rooftop, smelling so much of his own blood, feeling a lovely ache on his throat, incapable of making any stop.
He'd not--
“I don’t believe you, sorry,” he said, hurried--
"Men are never honest."
And that he said with something like a bite-- for he wasn't here at all; his mind had drifted off, his memories turned Ian into another person--
And he was a man, then. Just a man.
A man and it was the the worst crime of all.
Posted 05-14-2021, 06:37 AM
The writing was on the wall here and now; Ian knew the signs, but being a physician, it wasn't his area of expertise at all...he knew enough to send a patient to a psychiatrist, someone who could truly help. The self-harm was definitely a concern on the doctor's part, and with the growing instability, things get very messy. When Solas moved past him, that was when Ian knew what he had to do so as to get a grip into the situaton. Content that he wasn't looking, too lost in hs mental agony to truly focus, the Vampire's fangs emerged as he sank them into his tough, leather glove. In accordance with his will, the venom that emerged would induce a mix of slumber and euphoria without passing on the plague. He had a simple plan, he just hoped it would work. When Solas said his bitterly cynical words, Ian found himself truly feeling sorry for him.
"And I am truly sorry you feel that way."
Digging deep into his mutated talents, he moved with inhuman speed, almost blindlngly so in the immediate moment. With but a flick, the Vampire's palm caressed the open and re-opened cuts; so fine would this touch be, he might feel like as though were being tickled by a feather. The contact would be enough to get the organic cocktail into the bloodstream. When the human would next look, he'd still see Ian in the same position.
tw: the thing he says asdklfjldkjflkj tw triggering language
He felt a feather; he felt a touch; he felt something right after the man’s words, almost as if a kind, tiny breeze had swept past, just attacking his neck.
He cradled the spot immediately-- intuitively; too hyper-vigilant, too trained to perceive the different aspects of every moment; too trained, therefore, not to realize that the way he began to feel tired, and soft, had nothing to do with the reek of trauma that had ravished through his thoughts.
In fact, when he looked at Ian next, it was with eyes accusing.
It was with an expression that quizzed him, but also damned him; confusion, and a new calm painting him.
And though he began to feel calm, even weary, he couldn’t help what he did.
“What the hell.”
He immediately tried to go for the hatch; immediately; and yet his motions grew sluggish; and yet, he felt indeed so calmed down, so sleepy; the calm crept on him; it went to sink him down to his knees, and it did; it wanted to slow down his motions, and it did; it fought with his mind, telling him nothing was happening; a creeping, evil kind of calm he didn’t recognize as his own, and indeed thought foul… and comfortable…
… and addictive…
Until whatever attempts he’d had to open up the hatch were killed; until he could only lie down right on top of it, while feeling for the hatch with his hand bloodied; he wanted to leave; no matter this gorgeous kind of calm that took him off guard, that had maybe a greater power than it should have had had his mind been of the regular, chemically, kind--
He continued to repeat to himself: he had to leave, he’d been stressed.
This had come out of nowhere…
“You did this,” he spoke, shooting Ian a calm look; panic raged behind his thoughts.
Panic… and soft… and he exhaled--
A man who didn’t sleep a lot; a man who slept four hours a night, if that at all; a man whose body inherently needed the slumber--
So, as he blinked and found it hard to open his eyes, he spoke--
“Just don’t rape me…”
Okay? He wanted to add.
He didn’t get to. Sleep. His body needed it so well; sleep, his frame required it; sleep-- it hit him, a harder effect than anything, and then-- he was sleeping.
Posted 05-15-2021, 01:21 PM
In that moment, suffice to say, Ian felt like a piece of shit in that moment; he hated depriving people of their agency, yet in this case, he had no choice but to do so. Yet, he said nothing as Solas rightfully accused him of having done something. Yet, as the venom did its work, he would begin to collapse into slumber; the doctor moved to catch him and lay him into the man's own sleeping bag. Once more, he would clean up the wounds and apply the chitosan; the sedative was strong enough to ensure that the human would not feel a thing during his euphoria-laced slumber. After this was done, he would begin to tuck Solas in and would lay out some food, drink and medicine from his own supply; Ian knew he wouldn't need it, it was just there for a mixture of show and indulgence on his part. Once that was done, he would pack up his own bedroll. After that was done, he would leave a map of safespots he can use to fetch a ride into Stronghold, and a note for the human which said.
"Dear Solas,
I am sorry for having to tranquilise you; it was my fear that your post-traumatic stress episode would have endangered us both. I honestly do feel like a sack of shit for it however...I never wanted it to come to that whatsoever. So...I must leave you now; I left a small trail of packaged blood to draw any Infected away from here...still wouldn't blame you for being completely pissed off though.
Yours sincerely,
Ian
P.S. Haven't you heard of the Gonorrhoea epidemic amongst the local Drifters, no way was I taking that risk! ;) "
With that said, the Vampire would take his leave and began to do what he said he would do. Creeping out of the window, and ensuring that it would lock once he left. Once he was some feet away from the house, he would open up one of his blood bags and created a trail with which to draw away any local Infected. Content with this deed, he would once more continue his road back to the Junkyard...he still had a report to had in about shit to loot after all.
Posted 05-09-2021, 11:11 AM
Ocean Drive
