paradisalost | words of love and words so leisured

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words of love and words so leisured

Who: Nina Sayers & Zelman Clock
What: She agreed to let him have some of her blood. ):
When: June 8th. Laaate evening.
Where: Room 202.
Rating: R; this will probably get kind of uncomfortable.

It figures that, the second he decides the vampire talk has died down enough to inquire, another conflict starts right up. He just hopes that this visit doesn't turn into a mess all in itself, especially considering the overblown reaction (he's allowed a little delusion here and there) that the other incident got. But he's been better this time.

Much better. He's been keeping his fangs to himself and everything. Almost two months without eating--that's tough for someone as indulgent as he is. One month is peckish. Two months is hungry. Three months? He can never quite make it that long, especially if he's been out and about.

Which is why he's taken full advantage of Nina. That, and, well... she makes it pretty easy.

He's not sure what time it is. The sun's down. Looking no differently than he usually does, he finally makes his way up to Nina's room (Room 202, easy to remember) and listens at the door for some trace of life. Once he's sure there's a heartbeat back there, he knocks politely on the door with that steady bump bump bump of a person who knows they're expected at some point or another.

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The days immediately following the recital were expectedly quiet and uneventful. Nina hasn't been to the practice room since then, dividing her time between her room and the castle grounds instead. She has taken to reading to take her mind off of the boredom. Fiction, mostly, and other things that interest her like swans, dances, demons and vampires, of course.

She closes one such storybook and rolls out of her bed to stride over to the door. "Zelman," she says by way of greetings. She has been expecting him, stepping back to let him in.

She makes a point of scanning the hallway for anyone who might have seen him before closing and locking her door twice. The irony does occur to her, that the very predator is already in the room with her. "Would you like anything to drink?"

He's been keeping an metaphorical eye on the area too, and continues to stay vaguely aware of any life that might be in the rooms around them, outside in the hallway, or in the floors above and below. He's not particularly worried, but he knows he's got a few residents on his back who'd love a reason to haul him in for something. That, and the fact that Nina seems to be collecting up friends of a similar disposition.

"I'm fine, thank you." He sets aside the obvious blood joke he could have made. It doesn't seem the time. Inside the room, he's a little more preoccupied with looking around anyway--space says a lot about a person.

The rest is really just formalities; he won't drag it out for too long. He gives a usual, playful smirk in her direction. "You've been keeping out of trouble?"

She isn't at all ignorant of the acquaintances she has collected in the castle, the ones who would do who knows what if they only knew. Still, she isn't doing this out of any rebellious streak. She doesn't know why she is doing this, aside from knowing that she can't quite say no and this persistent wanting to be something to someone.

Nina saunters toward her bed and sits neatly by the edge, hands arranged on her lap. She nods. "Not this one, though," and she tries to tweak a mischievous smile on his account, trying to make light of the situation.

He laughs, something surprised and a little genuine. She occasionally delights him with how aware she really is--and he appreciates that, despite how it could end up detrimental.

"I'll try to be as little trouble as possible," he assures her with a warmer (more invested) tone, "Shall we skip the formalities, then?"

He doesn't really give her much choice, though. A moment later he's taken a seat next to her, light despite his size. His fingers are loosely laced over his knee crossed over his leg; he's mirroring her, if only in neatness.

She lets the fear show for the briefest moment, drawing back ever so slightly when he takes a seat beside her. But the moment passes and she returns his gaze often enough to assure him that she has no second thoughts.

Hesitantly, she offers him her wrist, opening up her palm for him. "Here."

And he has to control himself--let the excitement sink back down under reason and logic and remind himself that he's not supposed to be acting hasty here. But, that aside, it takes more than it should for him to not just reach out and grab her arm.

He hides it well, thankfully--his attention merely shifts, almost entirely to her wrist. Very thin, skin like paper (he can see tendons, veins, even without his predatory vision), he reaches forward and delicately pulls it closer to himself. He thinks that he could break her wrist with just a flick of his own, if he wanted to.

"Mm." Satisfaction. It will do. "This will hurt for a few seconds."

He tugs her wrist up to his lips and, in a quick flash of teeth, suddenly sinks his fangs into softpale skin towards the only thing he really wants.

She thinks she should be afraid of the sight of it, of someone (something?) feeding on her. She should be, but now she feels far removed from herself. It also occurs to her that he hasn't made any promises to let her survive this and she doesn't care to ask. She is used to leaving her fate in someone else's hands. She finds it comfortable.

A sharp intake of breath as she tries to resist tugging her arm back from the pain. It is momentary, and soon it gives way to heat throbbing in her wrist and a strange tingling rising from her back. The warmth reaches her pounding heart and she can hear herself gasping for air. It feels more like she is taking from him instead of giving. Her eyes flutter close, even as she grips the bed sheets to stay aware.

She knows what this feels like, but shame is only a quiet whisper in her head compared to the moan threatening to escape. Nina bites down on her lip to keep from making a sound.

It would be so easy (sososo easy) to just drain her of everything and leave the corpse to dissolve like they always do. She'd be merely matter--floating particles--in minutes. He could take his fill, perhaps finally curb a monstrous, ever-present thirst for more.

But he's done this enough to know it'll never really happen. He drinks her blood, feeling the life that was once hers spread through his core and limbs and down to the tips of his fingers that curl around her thin arm or lie pressed flat against sheets, itching for something else (to pull, to tear). He listens to her butterfly heart battering against her ribcage to make sure he doesn't take too much.

Any sound that might escape her is just encouragement (business as usual). She's the kind of creature he wouldn't think twice about coaxing into more, but he's hardly in that sort of a position. Not now. This is enough.

A minute later (though it feels more like seconds), and with great reluctance, his fangs finally retract. He holds her skin up to his lips, licking away the blood that's pooled in her palm and the drops that ooze sluggishly from the open wound. With a final (macabre) kiss, he releases her wrist from his grip--disappointed that he has to let go so soon.

It takes her a moment to notice that he is finished, the feeling returning to her wrist and the haze in her mind clearing just a little. She realizes that she dug her nails onto her palm in her to keep herself awake (and to keep from moaning), the half moons turning from white to red now as she lets go. Her eyes blink open and her senses return to her but they don't come together completely, as if she has misplaced a few missing pieces. Never mind, they will come back eventually.

She feels emptied, not of warmth but something else--feeling? She wonders if, in the minutes (hours?) that has passed, Zelman has taken from her something she never knew she had, that she will never know she had. Hesitantly, she takes back her wrist and covers the wound with her palm. It will be easy enough to conceal, easier than rashes.

Nina squints to clear her sight, the images a blur of colors and motion shadows. She sees her doppelganger sitting across from her, where Zelman should be, holding her wrist like she is. A mirror. Her heart beats faster at the apparition, but she shakes her head and says nothing.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He teases her, now flush with energy--potential energy--the spark to kinetic a thrill in itself as he wipes the last of the blood away from his mouth with the side of his hand. He's watching her with renewed interest, now, like a cat that's taken interest in a mouse.

The resonance only works one way; Nina can see into him, but he hasn't a clue what's going through her mind. He can take a pretty good guess, though, as he can still hear her heart start to beat faster and the way she tries to focus. He's done this a few times, too.

He's surprised she's still awake, though. He was kind of hoping she'd pass out--perhaps he should have taken more blood.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," she says, curling into herself, sliding back onto the bed to put her arms around her knees. She thinks she should feel weaker, but there is an alien sort of vigor coursing through her, like the rush of adrenaline while waiting in the wings. It makes her wonder which it is he means by "a good time." This or-- that other unwelcome intimacy she now feels toward him.

She makes no mention of it, because he surely doesn't share the sentiment.

"Is that all?" She tries her best to come off as aloof, not even returning his gaze. It would be easier this way.

It doesn't take him long to make up his mind--he should probably key her in.

"No," he admits, staying more or less where he is, "There's something else. We call it 'resonance'." He looks at his hand, the one flat against the bed, out of a want for something specific to focus on.

"The easiest way explain it is that since your blood is now inside of me, you feel as though you are as well. Things will probably look strange for a while." For some, it's uncomfortable, momentarily living within a skin that is not their own. Some people like it, though. Some people are drawn in by the chance to experience that sort of power. He wonders which kind of person Nina is, in that regard.

"It'll disappear in an hour or so," he says. He smirks a little, because he knows that even if Nina doesn't believe him, she'll be able to tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's telling the truth.

His explanation makes sense in a way she can't quite explain. It is simply obvious to her that he is telling her the truth, the way one would know whethert one is lying or not. Still she looks at him skeptically, wondering why he would reveal himself that way. He has always struck her as one of those people who keeps their secrets well.

"I feel like I know what you're thinking," she admits, though she doesn't know what he is thinking. "Like I know how you feel."

But it feels empty, hollow, and it terrifies her.

That's an apt description. He does keep quite a few secrets buried down there, far out of the reach of anyone. He sometimes even keeps them from himself, as they're unnecessary or would lead to his dissatisfaction. But as for everything else? He's surprisingly simple. Like a child (arguably less), fueled by a few simple emotions and a general lack of humanity.

He sure doesn't show it, though. His facade is all complexities, and he wants to put forth the thought that he really won't be any trouble to her.

"I can make you fall asleep, if you want." That sort of thing is simple for him. "Otherwise, I should probably take my leave. You should rest regardless."

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