ataraxionlogs | ( closed ) wherever there's smoke

CHARACTERS: Hal Yorke and Nick Cutler
LOCATION: Hal's room boom-chicka bow-wow
WARNINGS: Vampires being gross about blood probably, fangirling
SUMMARY: Hal falls off the wagon, Cutler helps

[ He regrets texting Cutler as soon as he does it. If he's desperate enough for that, then there's no chance of him turning down blood when it's in front of him; it means he's already given up. The first month or so had been difficult, but tolerable, if only because he barely left his room. But even self-imposed isolation couldn't change the fact that he was stuck here, trapped in this small section of this city of a ship amongst a swarm of living, breathing, bleeding bodies.

Living with a ghost and a werewolf was manageable, kept him focused and grounded, allowed him a support system. He'd taken some pride in establishing some stability so quickly with Annie and Tom. But he hadn't accomplished anything; it was all a lie, cheating. Neither of them were human. Neither of them constantly taunted him and tempted him with the possibility of drinking them dry.

His old tricks have worn thin, and some even backfired spectacularly - put him in contact with too many humans, other vampires with more cavalier approaches, and there was no true isolation with the way life echoed dimly through these metal walls. It's taken weeks to crack, months, but the result is the same, and when he hears the familiar approach outside his door he's on his feet and opening it before Nick even gets a chance to knock.

There's still an effort to maintain his composure, appear in control, but the pale skin and sheen of sweat spells out the ruse clearly enough. The unkempt state of his bed and the books and viola scattered recklessly on the floor probably say the same to anyone who knows him. ]

You have it?

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[ If Cutler had any doubts about whether he made the right decision in bringing Hal real blood instead of the useless synthetic stuff he'd asked for then the sight that greets him at the door is enough to lay them to rest. Hal looks terrible, it's pathetic and sad and brings back memories that Cutler would rather put behind him. He holds out the blood bag for Hal to take. ]

Here. [ Better to give it to him quickly. The last thing he wants is for Hal to start begging again. ]

[ There isn't any begging, at least, but the unflattering mix of reluctance and eagerness with which he accepts the bag is probably familiar. As for it being real blood, he wouldn't know any different, or at least he certainly doesn't on sight. He hasn't been anywhere near med bay or any form of blood on-board, even if he's heard enough to expect little of the artificial supply. ]

Thank you.

[ Here, at least, he's able to show some restraint, doesn't just bite into the bag and make a mess of it - he certainly isn't going to manage pouring it into any glasses, however. He manages to accept the bag and shut the door behind Cutler relatively calmly, then there's another deliberate pause to consider the blood. ]

This is it? [ Because, yes, there's just the smallest doubt; it looks real, smells real from what he can tell through the plastic, but the question is obsolete. He knows perfectly well that he can't trust Cutler's word on this, but at least he can keep up the pretense of caring. ]

[ If anything Cutler's less calm than Hal is. He can see all the little signs of desperation and he hates them. If Hal would just stop delaying and start drinking then everything can get back to how it should be much sooner. That said, he knows there's no use in lying to Hal right now. It's not as if it won't be obvious that he's brought real blood. ]

It's what you need. Drink up.

[ And it's that lack of pretense on Cutler's part that causes him to hesitate a second longer before finally biting into the bag. When he does, he turns away and moves a few steps off, as if there's any hiding it - he could've attempted to drink without shame, without such a childish gesture if he was still convinced it was artificial blood, but he knows better than to delude himself.

But any shame or doubts or regrets cease to matter once the blood hits his tongue, and the control that allowed him to avoid a mess is abandoned just as quickly as he bites harder into the plastic as if he can make it bleed faster. The delirious satisfaction that follows is as much a shock as a pleasure, but the instant relief is tainted by the immediate thirst for more. The urge to feed never really left, but it could at least become muted after enough denial; this brief indiscretion brought it screaming back to life.

It's quiet as he drains what he can from the bag, and then he drops it as if it's suddenly revolting. He can't do much else but stand for a moment, try to regain his bearings, and when he runs a shaky hand through his hair it serves to smear a thin streak of red over his face. ]

This was a mistake.

[ So much for the afterglow. ]

[ Cutler almost forgets to breathe as he watches Hal drink. He tries to convince himself that this is the first step to everything being how it should, but he can't help but remember how badly things went last time. He needs to make it work this time. It will work.

When Hal drops the bag and turns to him, he knows he needs to act quickly. He steps forward, trying to project calm confidence and probably half succeeding.]

You needed this. Not drinking, it's a nice idea but you know as well as I do that it doesn't work. The synthetic stuff doesn't either, it may as well be coloured water for all the good it does us.

[ The worst part is that everything Cutler's saying makes sense, and he can't even bring himself to disagree with it. He's not sure if it's the hunger or the high of the blood that's to blame - probably both.

Either way, thinking straight isn't really an option at the moment. He needs more, he can't have more; this should help, he knows it should, but he knows just as well that it won't. A steady diet of donated blood might make the physical cravings easier to handle, but it will make everything else that much worse.

So although he knows he should tell Cutler to leave, it's not what he manages. ]

Can you get more? Not now, but before - [ Before withdrawal kicks in. He can't finish the sentence, but his voice sounds almost steady, assertive. If he's going along with this, he has to try to be in control of the situation. ]

[ Cutler relaxes a little bit at the implied acceptance in Hal's words. This is good, he can handle this. It wouldn't be wise to ask the medical staff for more volunteers at this point but he can cut down on his own blood intake without too much trouble. It'll give him less of a buffer before the craving hits him but he can manage that. ]

I can, yeah. There's a schedule, someone comes in every few days.

[ He claps a friendly hand onto Hal's shoulder, smiling now. ] It's good to have you back.

[ Normally, he'd flinch at any kind of physical contact, but the steady buzz of the blood in his system leaves him feeling heavy, as if he's seeing everything through a filter. It was like this the last time Cutler got him to drink - everything shutting down, then suddenly switching back on with more blinding color and detail than he'd remembered being possible.

It was disorienting, but he was somehow looking forward to it. This place was a prison; it could use a bit more entertainment. When Cutler's comment finally sinks in, however, it gets more of a reaction than the touch, attention snapping back to Nick. ]

No. It can't be like it was before - the old me. It'll only be worse, Cutler. It always is. You said yourself that we cannot break the peace without dire consequences. You have to help me maintain control - swear to it. [ There's a level of desperation creeping back in, but it's tempered by an aggression that makes it more command than request. ]

[ Commands are okay, he can deal with commands. And it's nothing he wasn't planning on doing anyway. ]

I promise I will. I'm not saying you should kill people, we both know that'll end badly for all of us. But this hiding away and starving yourself, that's not you.

( closed ) wherever there's smoke

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