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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 15, 2006 14:33:47 GMT -5
Corban was known to feed on only one person, and would prolonge his feeding time for as long as his vampiric body could withstand, drinking from vermin and other animals for as long as it would sustain him. Tonight was different. He was baffled, attempting to grasp the simplest and most common of feeding habits, one that every vampire seemed to have at least tried, but Corban had always avoided in his two centuries of immortality; seducing the victim. This was because he hated to hunt, hated to feed, hated to kill. He liked to get it over with quickly and painlessly, he disliked to "play with his food". Tonight he'd had a change of mind. He wanted to try and understand what made it so appealing, so in spite of his general reluctance he'd wandered into one of the many bars on Burban street, with the intention of finding prey. Dressed in simple black clothes, a black hooded top made of a thin black fabric, so old and worn the black was going grey and the fabric was riddled with holes and cigarette burns, and a pair of loose-fitting black cargos, and long black boots. His ebony curls were tidy for once, though still wild and messy to his collar-bone.
It was easy for him to catch a suitable mortals attention, his young, angelic features, inquisitive dark eyes and bitter-sweet smile served him well in such a time. In mere minutes he'd convinced the woman to go for a walk outside with him, she was tipsy from a few drinks, which suited Corban just fine; it made his job easier. He guided her into the shadows a suitable distance away from any other person. He held her, kissed her, teased her, bringing her guard down had been his aim, all the while overly aware of the reek of alcohol on her breathe that he could barely tolerate. Through the whole process he couldn't get it out of his mind how immoral it was, he couldn't bring himself to derive any pleasure or enjoyment from it. Losing patience, he sunk his fangs into her neck and rapidly drained her, barely giving her time to realise what had just happened. Like with all his victims he made it as painless as possible, then allowed the body to slip through his arms and fall limp to the floor with a soft thud.
The vampire crept out from under the cover of shadows, a sulking pout upon his face; that was warm and tinted pink from the blood of the kill, the emotion that flowed from his eyes and expression making him appear perfectly human, for many would think no vampire could have a look of such pure passion and innocence riddled permenantly on their face. He felt cheated, the only thing the seduction had done was make him feel more guilty, wicked and impure than killing generally did. Not having the ability to cope with such feeling, he collapsed onto the floor and sat with his back to the wall, feeling numb all over even as the fresh mortal blood circulated through his veins. He brought his knees to his chest and sunk his face into his arms. He thought of what he was, a pathetic excuse for a vampire, couldn't even perform the simplest of tasks without becoming overcome by self revulsion and self loathing...
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 15, 2006 19:18:18 GMT -5
The warm sunny day of the picnic turned suddenly dark and dank. She was standing in the alley, though she wasn't really there. She watched the events unfold, a note of jealousy sinking in. Watching him walk back out the alley, he walked right through her. She was, of course, only dreaming. As he sat down, pulling his his knees to his chest, Vira awoke with a start.
"What the....?" she murmured to herself, looking around the room. She was still in her home at the graveyard, the candle on her bedside table was still lit, and the book still lay on the floor from when it had slid from her lap. Something wasn't right about how her dream had suddenly turned. It had seemed so real, but she didn't want to believe it. Corban wasn't the vampire to feed every night, let alone seduce his victim. She knew this. 'Things have been so strange lately, so different, so confusing,'
Her mind was stuck on the image of him kissing the woman. She told herself over and over it was only a dream, it wasn't real, but something told her it hadn't been a dream. It had been her heart trying to tell her something. She knew she shouldn't've seduced that man earlier that evening. She should've simply grabbed some poor beggar and put him out of his missery. She never could do things the easy way, she always had to do things the way that would turn her life upside down, confusing her until she could hardly stand it even more.
( eh... it's not one of my best, but it works..... )
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 15, 2006 19:31:31 GMT -5
He sat there in complete silence, alone but for the occasional drunkard or high teenager stumbling by; giggling and ranting about things that made no sense to anyone but themselves.
He raised his eyes eventually to watch a boy try to coax his intoxicated friend out from under a bench, no amusement showing on his face, just a slight acknowledgement that there was something more interesting than the pit of hate he'd dug himself into. It had been a long while since he'd been aware of how utterly alone he was on those nights when he lounged about on street corners and dank alleys. Again he wished that Vira were with him, just the thought of her managed to brighten his mood, if not for just a few minutes. His mind from there would wander, thinking of what a pity it was that they couldn't have met as living mortals, this thought of course ended up depressing him.
He became angered with himself, why did everything he think of have to lead to something negative and hateful? Why could his pessimistic nature not give him a moments peace? It was mind boggling...All he wanted now was to be near Vira, but he refused to go look for her, she would catch the scent of blood on him, feel the blood in his touch and hear it in his voice and know instantly something was wrong...
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 15, 2006 19:41:26 GMT -5
It was too late for caution, however, for Vira already knew something was wrong. She'd known it the seconed her dream had turned from the bright, sunny picnic. She still didn't want to admit that her dream was anything more than that- just a dream. She slowly moved to the edge of the bed, picking up her coffee cup and heading back to the kitchen.
She stood at the sink, rinsing out the cup before filling it once more with the pig's blood from the jar and putting it in the microwave. Walking back over to the sink, she pulled aside the curtains and looking out at the graveyard. "Corban, where are you?" she asked softly, a worried note in her voice.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 15, 2006 20:03:35 GMT -5
He was tired of sitting in the gutter, realising it was getting him nowhere fast. Throwing away his plans about waiting for a few days before seeing Vira again, he pulled himself to his feet and began to walk unconciousily towards the cemetary. It was closer than the coven house, hence why he'd decided to go there first. Plus, being as Vira seemed slightly upset from him brushing her off in the bar earlier, he wouldn't be surprised if she'd wanted to go somewhere where she could be alone. He began to walk, his hands in his trouser pockets, glaring harshly at anyone that turned their heads, oblivious to why they kept giving him such odd looks. It became clear to him eventually, when he tasted blood upon his lips. He'd made the kill rather hastily, and as a result blood was smeared across his lips rather messily. He paid no heed to it though, not having the motivation to care.
He reached the gates to the cemetary quicker than expected, and stumbled in, dragging his feet as he strode down the path to where he assumed the grave-keeper's home which Vira now lived in must be. His eyes were half closed, funnily enough the blood was beginning to make him feel drowsy, he assumed it was because the woman had been drunk and whatever alcohol that she'd taken that night was taking it's toll on him now.
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 15, 2006 20:12:17 GMT -5
Vira couldn't see the gates from her kitchen window and didn't see him come into the graveyeard. She continued staring longingly out of her kitchen window, completly ignoring the microwave buzzer when it went off. Footsteps. They echoed through the graveyard like stones rolling down a mountain side. For some reason, they seemed louder than usual, and there was something familiar about them. She ignored this familiarity, not wanting a false hope.
Finally tearing her eyes away from the graveyard and allowing the curtains to once more cover the window, she walked back over to the microwave, taking out her cup and sipping the warm blood. She walked into the dinning room and sat down at the table. She placed an elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand in the place between her thumb and forefinger, her free hand still on the coffee cup.
She replayed the 'dream' in her mind, trying to find something utterly wrong about it, something that would prove to her it was nothing but a dream. She couldn't, though, and her worry only grew. 'What could've made him go out and hunt like that?' she asked herself, trying to make some sense of the whole situation.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 15, 2006 20:21:28 GMT -5
He was surprised to find that he managed to get to the door of the small house without collapsing or tripping over himself, by the time he reached it though the expected emotional breakdown had struck him, but instead of coming in a violent rage as it might do, the only thing that told of any emotional instability was the small blood-red tears that trickled down his cheeks steadily, and the over-all sadness and hate that always showed on his face.
He had to grip onto the side of the door frame of the small house, the alcohol still having it's affect on him. Slowly he managed to knock on the door, then stood and waited. Mentally his brain was working fine, he had perfect control over what he did, but his body seemed to disagree with most of his decisions. It was frustrating to say the least.
His mind had gone blank now, all he wanted was to wrap his arms around Vira and feel that perfect serenity again.
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 15, 2006 20:27:25 GMT -5
Vira had downed the cup of blood and had been in her own little world, her mind still playing the dream over and over like a broken recored. When she heard the knock on the door, her head jerked up. She slowly stood and walked to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open slowly.
"Corban," she said, her voice soft and filled with love and relief. She stepped aside saying, "Please, come in." She saw the tears running down his cheeks, the look of sadness and hate on his face, and the tint of pink in his skin from the blood and knew instantly that everything she'd seen had been truth.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 15, 2006 20:35:44 GMT -5
He stared into her face as he stumbled clumsily inside and leant on a wall to prevent himself from falling over. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, he felt ashamed of himself, and it showed on his face. Disgusted with his actions, wishing so badly that he hadn't gone to her now. He loved her, he wanted her to comfort him, but now he saw her and couldn't help but feel she was shocked and maybe even angry at his hunting of the night and his overall attitude. He wanted to say something, but his voice refused to rise up and make suitable, understandable words. He collapsed then, sitting with his back to the wall and his face concealed by his pale hands, the blood tears seeping through the gaps in his long fingers and running down his arms, dripping onto the floor.
"I'm so sorry..."
He wasn't at first aware of who he was apoligising to, her or himself. But after a few seconds he realised he didn't give a damn about his own well being or his own emotions, he was just afraid he'd upset her. The one thing he'd been trying not to do.
"...I'm sorry."
He couldn't help from repeating it, he would have continued to repeat it had his throat not become dry and hoarse and his head began to swim.
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 15, 2006 20:45:18 GMT -5
She closed the door behind him, watching him lean against the wall. As he fell to the floor, Vira was overcome with worry. She knelt quickly by his side, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him dear in an effort to comfort him. "Shhhhh," she cooed, running her fingers gently through his hair. "It's alright. Don't be sorry, I'm not mad." Her voice never rose above a gentle whisper, the worry for him coming through quite clearly.
'Please be okay... Please...' she pleaded in her mind. 'What drove him to feed? Oh, Corban, please calm down. Everything's going to be alright.' She could feel the warmth of his skin from the woman's blood running through his veins. Only holding him closer, now, she was at a sudden loss of words. She bent down and gently kissed the top of his head before whispering ever so softly, "I love you, Corban. I love you so much. She hoped her words would help calm him, and though they were words of comfort, they were also words of truth.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 16, 2006 8:06:54 GMT -5
He muttered something under his breathe along the lines of "Damn drunks" between the few seconds it took for Vira to sit next to him and embrace him, he'd been cursing the woman he'd killed under his breathe for her drinking habits.
Slowly he pulled his now blood-stained hands away from his face, and leant against her, shutting his eyes and resting the top of his head against the base of her neck. He was glad to hear she wasn't mad, but that didn't uplift his spirits, in seconds he'd found another reason to be in a rage with himself, and so he remained how he was. On the plus side, he'd finally stopped sobbing.
He wanted to question her words, to ask her what made her love him when everybody else saw him as useless and foolish and had discarded him without a second glance or thought, but he didn't have the heart to, nor the energy to ask such a thing and listen to the answer. Taking in a deep, shaky breathe, he muttered.
"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come here."
He'd made up his mind then to leave, and pulled himself unevenly onto his feet to do so.
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 16, 2006 17:28:22 GMT -5
Minerva watched him stand, the worried expression still on her face. She stood, holding hiis upper arm in a firm hand. "No, it's fine, really. I-I'm glad you did. Don't go. You're not stable. I don't want you collapsing halfway home and burning in the morning sun," she said, her voice firm.
She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "Thinks are confusing, so... so confusing right now, I know. But please, stay. We'll figure everything out eventually. If you leave, with the state you're in, I'm only going to worry more than I was before you came." She bit her tongue. He didn't know she'd seen him feeding in her dream, seen him sulking as he left the alley, seen him sitting against the wall, his legs to his chest.
When she'd awoken, she was worried about him because he'd fed by seducing his victim. Now that she'd seen how feeding had effected him, her worry had only grown. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her eyes still looking into his.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 16, 2006 17:38:06 GMT -5
He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from hers, but to stare into them saddened him. He saw her worry for him, her love, and it was all too much for him to handle. He found himself having to lean against the wall again. It was then he realised that she was probably right, what were the chances he'd be able to get home without somehow managing to destroy himself? For his own well being, and in turn, hers, he decided he'd stay. If not for anything just so she wouldn't worry.
He shut his eyes, his body numb to the touch of her hand against his arm. He needed to lie down and try to collect himself. He wanted to voice this need out but talking was becoming much of a chore for him.
He explored the room with his dark, glazed eyes, then gave up and sat back down on the floor, in turn pulling her unintentionally down with him. He shut his eyes for a moment or two, then regained enough composure to talk once more.
"Can I lie down anywhere?"
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Post by Minerva Balzac on Mar 16, 2006 17:54:43 GMT -5
Though he'd sat down, pulling her down with him, she still didn't remove her hand from his arm. Nodding to his question, she stood, managing to pull him to his feet as well, though with a little difficulty. She helped support him as she walked slowly through the dinning room and kitchen and into her bedroom.
She finally removed her hand from his arm to allow him to lay down while she remained on her feet. She would've gotten him a cup of blood, but seeing as he'd already fed, ending up in this state, she doubted it'd help anything. She didn't move her eyes from him. Thinking back, she remembered how he preferred sleeping in a coffin. She glaced toward the closet, the unused coffin hidden beneath her clothes. "If you want my coffin, I'll get it for you," she offered, wanting to make him as comfortable as possible.
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Post by Corban Anastasius on Mar 16, 2006 18:06:54 GMT -5
As he'd done countless times before he allowed her to guide him to wherever it was she was headed. Without another word he fell onto the bed, pulling to him the nearest pillow and hiding his face in it, fed up of having his eyes open, fed up of having his face visible to Vira's eyes, still greatly ashamed of himself. His mind cried out for solitude yet knew if he wandered away again it would only bring him more anguish, so he simply lay there, trying to enjoy Vira's presence but the rush of blood was too much of a revulsion for him. Disgusting, he wanted it gone. He wanted to feel cold and dead again, not warm, not almost human; the blood was a reminder of his sin that night, and a reminder that he had once been mortal, and that was too much for him.
He didn't respond to her comment about a coffin. He'd sat up and was tapping the pockets in his black cargos, looking for something. In time he pulled out a sharp, long dagger, the blade slender and slightly crooked, and the hilt wrapped in black leather, one that was familiar with weaponry would know that it was the type of dagger an assassin of old would use.
He didn't know if what he was plannng was obvious; he just wanted the blood out of him. It was driving him insane. He would have slashed his arms open then and there if it were not for the fact that he knew he'd get her sheets covered in blood; an idle thought that wafted briefly but found itself stuck there. Standing again, he looked around, then murmured.
"I need a sink, or something."
Corban's expression became a mask of desperation, hoping beyond hope that she would know what he needed and why. That it wasn't him being depressed or angsty. He had to get that blood out of him.
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