let's get this blood

[misleaded]

[ Ouma, for all his distinction of being a creature of the night and shadows or whatever, doesn't take his role as seriously as he should. No, he'd rather mess around, wandering in broad daylight even if he stands out with excessive clothing -- sunglasses and a cloak and hat aren't uncommon apparel for him. But nobody generally bothers him, because he's usually the one doing the bothering, if he deigns to find someone or something that piques his interest. Being ageless and hard to kill has its perks, but for someone like Ouma (who isn't even that old in vampire-years...just a few hundred years, maybe), it's all about staving off that incessant boredom that he's so easily prone to. Interacting with mortals outside of feeding or lowkey exchanges is considered something of a no-no, but if Ouma finds someone he likes, he tends to fixate. At least until they turn boring to him or they die.

He hasn't found anyone interesting enough to keep alive yet, either. That's another issue -- as much as he loves attention and craves interesting interaction, he also drives others away in equal measure. Nobody wants to put up with an immature, off-the-wall, fickle vampire for a day, much less an indefinite amount of time. And Ouma doesn't trust anyone to hold his interest or be able to keep up with him for long stretches of time either, so he's resigned to the idea that the whole "companion" thing that some of his peers fall into just isn't for him.

... No, he'd much rather have fun playing games and stalking his item of the week. Or month. Or year. It's not like time really matters to him, as long as it stays fun. Lately, he's been enjoying observing some of the humans attending a nearby private, prestigious school. Smart types are fun, and he can usually find one to play around with at these higher education facilities for a while -- even if he doesn't maintain an investment, they make for an easy feed, given so many of them study after hours or wander around the streets all alone at night after their classes. Tryhard nerds don't tend to have many friends or plans, and that's great for him. He hasn't eaten in a while, and it's definitely begun affecting his energy levels -- even with appropriate apparel, it's hard going out in the sun right now. Luckily for him, it's the dreariest of evenings -- rainy, grey, dark, filled with individuals not paying as much attention to their surroundings due to the bad weather...

And one student in particular that Ouma recognizes, having maybe been stalking him for the past week or so to get a handle on his schedule, is staying late again. Always in the library, always meddling with weird stuff or subjects that didn't seem normal for a student to be interested in at all. Ouma has found himself wondering if this guy was interested in occult or something; it's the fact that he's always alone and staying in those desolate school walls so late that initially grabbed his interest, but the kid's extracurricular activities certainly maintained Ouma's curiosity over time. He could be fun to mess with or bother finding a thing or two out about, but he can't ignore that his primary instinct right now is to feed.

Hm... Ouma's been watching him from some tree outside the library window, his vision insanely above that of a human's level of accuracy, wondering if he should go ahead and make a move tonight. Especially with the weather so bad, meaning the chance of interruption or risk was incredibly low. He already knows the kid's schedule, and is certain the other won't be leaving anytime soon.

... Actually, he probably won't be leaving a while, since he seems engrossed in some occult book. He's even gone and started replicating some sort of ritual it looks like?

Ouma arches a brow in amusement, scoffing as he wonders if he should watch this play out a little longer. But it might be nice to get a closer look.

So Ouma, driven by curiosity and an inability to sit still and watch things from the sidelines casually ditches his stakeout spot from the tree, making his move to break into the building. It's easy -- he's always been good at lockpicking, and has had nothing but hundreds of years at his disposal to perfect the skill. ]

Comments

[tryhard]

It's been months in the making. Longer than that, perhaps, considering the painstaking research and practice it's taken just to get this far, long nights and grueling hours between regular classes and part-time jobs. It's not like he'll get any help from his step-father; he's had to come this far on his own.

After tonight, though, it won't matter. After the binding ritual, they'll have to acknowledge his power.

He triple-checks the circle, going over every rune one by one again, lips moving silently as he mouths them to himself. It's nearly time. He's made certain of the date and moonphase, the time of year, the leylines -- anything that might give him an edge. Now or never.

Waver Velvet-Archibald takes a deep breath, and reaches for the knife.

_ _ _

"What do you think you're doing in there, boy? Get out of my office before I make you regret it myself!"

Waver jumped, cursing his own clumsiness under his breath as he quickly backed away from his step-father's desk, tripping over some lame excuse about looking for some paper for school that should have been signed and returned or some such. Kayneth didn't look impressed; then again, he never did. (Certainly not with Waver.) It would be worth the verbal abuse and possible missed meals later, though. He'd found what he was looking for.

Kayneth Archibald was an old-school mage who often forgot about the benefits and uses of technology, but that was a weakness, in Waver's opinion. He had no qualms about it, after all. His step-father would never have to know exactly what Waver had taken because it would never leave his shelf-- but, after all, it never needed to when a photo would suffice.

The next few weeks were spent researching: what the runes meant, what the patterns of the circles did, where the book had come from and what it was meant to teach. At first, it had been curiosity mixed with some simple childish desire to somehow mess with Kayneth's plans, just to show him that he could. When the man clearly wouldn't even notice -- let alone care -- if Waver just keeled over dead one day, it really gave him some small measure of dark satisfaction thinking about making an impression. Of any sort.

But the more he looked into it and began to realize exactly what he'd stumbled across, the more Waver began to understand what an opportunity it really presented.

Whatever Kayneth meant to summon and bind, it was powerful. And that meant, if Waver bound it to himself instead--

That would really show him, wouldn't it?

_ _ _

The blade slides through his skin, so sharp he barely feels the sting. Or maybe that's just the rush of adrenaline as his heartbeat pounds inside his head, faster and faster, leaving Waver lightheaded with anticipation and excitement.

When he holds his arm out, the blood splashes down onto the runes he'd scrawled around the table. They begin to emit a low, reddish light.

In his other hand, Waver holds the notebook where he'd written down the incantation. Reading from it, he begins to speak.

[misleaded]

Getting a closer look had proven more interesting for sure -- although it had immediately garnered an entirely different reaction from Ouma. A vampire that has not fed as of recent suddenly becoming assaulted by the scent of fresh blood spilling for ritualistic purposes does well to distract.

His pupils narrow into slits, and he inhales slowly -- followed by an equally slow, purposefully controlled exhale. It's a sensation that serves to make his mouth water, but he's far from being a reactive idiot. Childish, wanting whatever he sets his sights on, and ludicrously enjoying the stigma of being "bad", he isn't above terrifying his potential feeds. But he's not actually interested in killing them...although he would never let his victims be the wiser to this fact.

Pushing his hair back as he takes a second to get a control on his innate, instinctual senses (that tell him to fully demolish the individual spilling all that tasty blood before him right now), Ouma slips into the room where this "ceremony" is taking place, sidling up against a wall as he tilts his head at the other partaking in the ritual he had halfway observed from the window. It's something anyone else would laugh at, but Ouma's brow furrows slightly as he immediately becomes far too aware of the legitimacy this kind of spell holds. He doesn't know much about this crap (and doesn't care to), but anything unearthly is at least easy for him to pinpoint. He has plenty of hands-on experience with such topics.

... Ah, but he is so curious about what the other is doing. Multiple lifetime's worth of boredom in terms of human years do quite a bit of damage for an individual that is already lacking in basic consideration for others' feelings... So Ouma observes as this all unravels, interested in where it might all lead. He's always looking for something interesting to entertain himself with, after all.

[tryhard]

The blood shifts and twists, and begins to crawl and squirm along the runes like something with a will all its own as Waver continues the incantation, eyes fixed on the brightening glow. He's far too distracted to even notice the other presence in the room.

He's never felt magic like this before. The rush of it jolts through his nerves, painfully bright, digging in like hooks-- but he doesn't realize until it's far too late that something is wrong. Naively, too excited by the prospects of his own wildly imagined successes, Waver continues. He pours his blood and magic into the circle, whispering the words he'd practiced again and again in a language long-forgotten. He feeds the creature and calls it forth.

He doesn't understand, though. He thinks the circle itself binds it. He's wrong.

The shadow that spills through is only vaguely humanoid: broad chest and shoulders and big grinning teeth that snap through the wispy chains that try to form around it with each sentence Waver speaks. But the words are not enough to hold it. No matter how Waver shouts.

The incantation spills faster from his lips, desperate, eyes grown wide. He stumbles back a step, then another, ashen-faced and shaking, but it's too late to stop now.

I bind you.

The creature begins hauling itself through the blood-red light that's opened up inside the spell-circle.

Obey me.

It cuts through the weak bonds and reaches out, claws unfurling into spears of darkness that surge beyond the barrier.

"No!"

The light flickers. The wood splinters. The circle widens, allowing more of the enormous shadowy thing to shove itself through, and Waver screams. This isn't how this was supposed to go. This isn't what he'd practiced for. This isn't how he wants to die.

The monster he brought forth lashes out with a shriek, a roar or a laugh-- and the shadows that spill out of it slam into Waver's body, knife-sharp points piercing him clean through. With a ragged, cut-off scream, Waver crashes into the wall behind him, several feet above the ground, and dangles there as the creature begins to feed.

The ritual may not be complete, but instinct is enough: if it can take this mage's magic, perhaps it will be enough to finish opening the door.

[misleaded]

Waver doesn't ever get a chance to notice Ouma. Not that Ouma's aura is even the least bit conspicuous -- the total opposite, in fact.

Ouma gets more than enough of a picture of Waver, however. Meddling with something he clearly has no idea about, it seems. He's even attempting to control what he's releasing, and it goes about as well as Ouma expected. Which is to say, terribly. The closing picture Ouma discerns of Waver is his mangled body being thrown around by the very beast the other had released, a sudden and extremely distinct smell of blood instantly filling the room.

Normally, it wouldn't bother Ouma too badly beyond general temptation -- a deliciously sweet smell to him.

But that's when he's not already hungry. For a fleeting moment, he's jealous of this ugly thing getting a taste where he isn't. The situation quickly reasserts itself with Ouma in seconds though, and he knows that it's going to be a pain in his ass if this thing gets out, or worse, starts hunting in his territory. This school is one of his favorite spots, and now everything's been plunged into a chaotic mess.

Ouma's quick. Even slightly weakened and not as seasoned as some of his peers, he's always been more lithe than average with the cruel pragmatism to allow him to act even quicker. Plus, this thing was just way too weak.

The creature's meal is duly interrupted when Ouma clears the distance from where he'd been lurking to the wall in an instant; it's probably hardly visible to the human eye, a rush of black and a sound like something cutting through the air --

Ending entirely too suddenly with the creature's head cleanly removed.

Ouma's standing beside it, a hand holding that same head -- now with blackened, viscous blood that clearly doesn't belong to anything natural spilling from its neck. Ouma's other hand is drenched in the stuff, giving the insinuation that he had just used his hand alone to commit this act. His nails aren't exactly short, but...it's anything but an inhuman ability he'd just used.

"Super gross..."

The vampire wrinkles his nose in disgust as he slings some of the blood off that very hand (it doesn't come anywhere close to that of a human's or even a lowly animal's, and no self-respecting vampire would be caught dead feeding from a shitty monster), tossing the head behind him unceremoniously to roll in the library. It isn't from this world, so Ouma knows well enough its body should begin disintegrating soon.

It doesn't stop Ouma from kicking over the larger half of the body in front of him, tilting his head as soon as he's done so to eye the human that had started all this mess, noting that he can still smell how much blood the boy had lost even amidst the putrid scent of the monster's body. Ouma wonders if he's already dead.

[tryhard]

He isn't. At least, not quite yet.

For a few moments, Waver remains pinned to the wall, the shadowy tendrils the creature had speared through him remaining frozen in time as its head rolls away. Then, just as Ouma had predicted, it all begins to fade, rippling and dissipating like a mirage as the monster loses its foothold in this world and the door, now empty, begins to close.

Waver's body slides down the bloody wall to crumple in a messy heap on the floor, toppling over so he lays sprawled on his side, and the pool of dark red continues to spread around him. His breathing fills the sudden silence, rattling and shallow, wheezing through his damaged lungs and very clearly getting more strained by the moment.

There's very little he can process through the pain. Vaguely, he's aware of another presence in the room, sounds, shadows. Time moves slowly, and then all too fast. It takes him a bit to realize he's on the floor; the angle's all wrong when he tries to look around. His head won't lift.

Another painful, desperate wheeze of air. Waver struggles to push the syllables through his teeth, lips barely moving. There's barely anything but instinct left, and instinct begs him to survive. He doesn't want to die. Not yet.

"...h-help... me..."

Please.

why are my vday threads Like This

[misleaded]

The human looks like a complete mess; the beast was nothing for Ouma to write home about, but humans are fragile -- in earnest, it's more impressive to Ouma that he's still alive. Ouma crouches down to get a closer look, arms nonchalantly draped over his knees as he watches the human's dying form. His red pupils constrict noticably (although probably not to this guy, since he barely seems to be cognizant of what's going on in his final moments), a reaction to the closer scent of human blood as the monster's everything begins fading away.

"Wooow, you still haven't kicked the bucket...?"

He inquires, tone playful even as his visage is anything but. Man, he's hungry. This one's not quite dead yet, so Ouma could probably make a snack out of him before he completely died. That's probably what he should do, and yet Ouma's never fed on a human to the point of death. It's not really his thing.

Actually, it's more annoying that this guy didn't die, because now Ouma has to deal with watching his miserable form. How long until he actually does kick it? It's annoying, having to watch this pathetic kid suffer like this. He should probably mercy kill him off right now, but even that strikes him as a distasteful option.

...And he really, really wants a taste.

Ouma grabs the human by his hair, lifting his head forcibly -- noting that, yes, his body is incredibly fucked up right now. His neck may even be broken, but it's still there, easy enough for him to dig into.

"You've gotta pay for your sins, y'know? Messing around with that kind of stuff is why you ended up like this... It's really annoying for me too, 'cause your body won't disappear like that thing's did. And this is my favorite spot, so you're just giving me all kinds of problems, li'l kid... Plus, I kinda hate gore, so I don't really wanna clean it up, either!"

He rambles, fangs glinting beneath his lips as he speaks...but only when he ends up forcing a wry smile are they truly visible.

"So do you wanna live or what? I'm starving."

happy heart day have some Suffering ♥ ♥ ♥

[tryhard]

There's a steady, faraway ringing, nearly drowning out the stranger's words that floated to him slowly, as if through deep water. He blinks, and the angle... shifts.

The tug on his hair is nothing amidst the agony numbing the rest of his senses, but the movement strains something else, something in his chest that makes a soft, wet tearing sound and elicits an automatic, weak shudder and a faint gasp. Waver's teeth clench tight, tears fogging up what's left of his already spotty vision. They cling to his lashes, which droop low as he struggles to keep his eyes open with the darkness pressing in.

When the stranger grins like that, Waver can just barely see the glint of his teeth, an unfamiliar smile. It looks sharp.

"I... don--" he wheezes, only barely aloud. "Don't... wanna die..."

It's too late to care about begging. It's too late to ask questions. It's too late to make any other choice but this.

Slowly, one shaking hand reaches forward and clumsily up, reaches plaintively for whoever's holding him up as if to grab hold of his sleeve.

"Please..."

[misleaded]

Ah, there it is.

"It's impressive you can even still talk like this."

Ouma comments, a cruel edge to his voice as he drags this on -- although there's a lilt of something a little genuinely interested there too, like he's enjoying observing this to its final destination. Whether it be death (which...is so boring) or something else. Something he hadn't planned on.

But spontaneity can be exciting.

"O-kay!" His tone is so chipper, before lowering into something completely sinister at the drop of a hat, expression darkening. "... Just remember you wanted this."

Ouma's opposite hand moves, probably too quickly for Waver to even make out what's happening, as he pierces his own wrist on his fangs. Squeezing his fist to increase his own blood-flow, he scoffs a laugh. It's so ironic, that he needed to feed this badly, and now he's making donations...

Well, at least he'll be taking it back soon enough.

He brings his slit wrist right up against Waver's paling lips, uttering a single demand:

"Drink."

[tryhard]

The words barely register. The scent of blood is already so strong, and the taste of it already acrid on his tongue, bubbling up from his ruined lungs, that he doesn't understand at first what it is he's doing. He only reacts.

The order tugs at him, compulsive. But it's less drinking than it is a weak, reflexive sort of lapping motion that is all he can manage right now, tongue sliding clumsily across the wound, throat working convulsively.

It burns.

Waver's whole body shudders again as he coughs-- though it's more a gurgle, wet and painful. The searing wrongness of it slides down his throat, through his veins, setting the inside of his skin on fire. Whether or not this is better than the cold numbness that had been settling in moments ago, Waver has no idea; he can't really think of much else aside from screaming.

It's a thin, damp sound, barely louder than a gasp. Ragged. Eyes wide. His limbs twitch, and his chest heaves, and he sobs -- as well as he can with so many broken ribs -- as the vampire's blood works its way slowly through him, body and soul, binding him tight.

The process takes only moments. It feels like so much longer.

By the time he finally begins to heal, flesh and bone knitting slowly back together from the inside, Waver's gone still and quiet at last. He's out cold.

[misleaded]

Theoretically, Ouma knows how this is supposed to work. Hell, he's seen fellow vampires utilizing this tactic before. Ouma never quite thought he'd be using it himself so early into his years (which are already...hundreds), but it's the natural impulsiveness of the whole situation that makes it all the more appealing. In the back of his mind, he rationalizes that he can kill this kid if he turns out to be too much trouble -- even if he isn't one for nonsense death. It's why this is occurring in the first place, when Ouma could've simply drained him instead.

... Ah, speaking of which. He's still so hungry. And this little guy's gone and passed out on him.

Ouma slaps at his cheek lightly, but doesn't really care to wake him up if he's not going to. Ouma's taken care of his monster and his life, so Ouma's going to take his payment regardless. This guy is basically alive to be indebted to him now, anyway; it's not unusual for vampires to use their turns as personal feeders.

Not that Ouma knows what he's doing with this kid. He just knows he's hungry. Clawed fingers rake through Waver's hair, only to reassert his grip.

There's definitely a thrill, and Ouma's grin spreads across his face more as he parts his smile, two sets of fangs gleaming from an open mouth, like a predator looking forward to utterly consuming its prey.

Tilting Waver's head to the side with the grip Ouma still has in the other's hair, Ouma openly exposes the other's neck.

And sinks his fangs in.

[tryhard]

Waver's eyelids twitch faintly, a small groan catching in his throat when Ouma pats his cheek, and again when his hair is pulled. He stirs, but only barely. He's not really awake, just dead weight in Ouma's grip while he's lifted up enough for the vampire to get a better angle.

It's the bite that drags him back from the edge of oblivion. Not the pain -- he'd been in far worse pain before, though it has somehow faded -- but the sting of it, the sudden jolt that makes his heart jump. And something else.

The burn isn't the same as the awful, searing pain that had thrown him into oblivion in the first place. It's something else, a stab of heat below his navel, a confused discomfort that makes his body arch and shiver. Waver gasps, arms coming up on instinct. He means to shove away whatever's holding him, but instead--

Instead, he clings, one arm curling around Ouma's shoulder, the other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair. Still dazed, barely conscious and too far from coherent, all Waver can do is hold onto him, the only solid thing he's got right now, and hope it's enough to keep himself from slipping away again.