sterngaze | kenos

A little. It's true I don't fare well in it.

[Liem tries futilely to distract himself with Gray's question as he peels blood-soaked fabric, layer by layer, back from her arm. The smell seems to coat his throat and invade his senses, demanding his attention with each reluctant breath. His efficiency in exposing the wound only makes his distraction more intense, once her sleeve is pulled back; he feels sick with it, shivering like an addict as he fights the urge to even just lick the sheen of crimson from her skin. It's all he can do to pick up the container of water instead, to rinse some of it off.]

It's blood. I…

[His voice is rough with his struggle to speak at all. He realizes that his hands have stopped moving.]

Sorry, Miss Gray. It's difficult for me to concentrate. I am just terribly thirsty.

[ She watches him with a bit of worry as he rolls back her sleeve, and again there's that difficult reaction in him intensifying. He says it's the blood — does he mean he's squeamish at the sight of it? Either way, she doesn't want to rush him if he's feeling unwell. ]

Please feel free to have a drink first.

[ Of course, she thinks he means he needs water...... ]

[She doesn’t understand. Of course she doesn’t understand; he has never been public about the exact nature of his abnormality, and perhaps she doesn’t even come from a world stalked by vampires at all. Perhaps to Gray, he is just a pale, dark-eyed man with a sensitivity to the sun.

But it is not the sun that is causing him to struggle now.]

No, [he says bluntly.] I didn’t mean for water. Your blood — the smell of it is overpowering. That’s why…

[That’s why he hastily tips the bottled water over her arm, rinsing the wound so it can be bandaged as soon as possible.]

I said as much, did I not?

[ That temper of his burns a little, simply stoked by the way Liem says 'if'. As though Set has not stated what he will have from him as plainly and directly as possible, in their commonly-shared tongue. He knows he sucks at communication; he has a hard time understanding why people need to know what he is doing, why he is doing it, and then — of all things! why they need to participate in the decision-making process on his behalf. They ask him 'why' and 'how', and he knows the whys, he knows the hows. Conveying them is hard.

Having been independent and isolated for so long, he does not truly understand why he must answer to anyone. ]

Some of the others [ Meridians, he means. ] do not appreciate my candor, nor methods. And I do not understand why they cannot accept that what I do will benefit us all. I do not work day-to-day, I think far in advance. They demand answer of me that I try to give, but are not good enough. That is where I need someone like you, with more patience than me. The last individual I ever answered to was someone who understood me without question. He never asked why I did something, he simply trusted that my intentions were on behalf of our kingdom.

[ And, uh. He'd killed Osiris, so. Watch it Meris????? ]

[It is easy enough to see why someone like Set would benefit from some patient, diplomatic advice. He certainly acts like a man unused to negotiation; in a way, his temper reminds Liem of Hayame, who acts decisively and has little patience to explain things that seem obvious to her. He knows that Hayame was a warrior first and foremost back in her world, and one who had little need for a persuasive tongue, given that her value as chattel was found in her loyalty, skill and power, not in her opinions.

Set’s background could surely not be more unlike hers, but perhaps their similarities speak more loudly than their differences.]

If you are to benefit from my advice, [Liem points out with a murmur, one eyebrow raised,] you will still need patience.

[Whether Liem is advisor or translator, Set will need the patience to involve him in his business, and explain himself to Liem, at least enough for the priest to understand his own needs and the context for his communication. Otherwise, how will he be able to give informed advice, and most especially, how will he be able to provide advice that Set is actually willing to act on?

… but it’s possible that he’s just stalling, because negotiation is a much more comfortable space for Liem than one in which Set’s blood is on his lips.]

[ Gray looks blankly at him for moment; the only sound is the water trickling down her arm and running pink onto the dirt. A couple long seconds later, her brain reconnects and makes the inevitable conclusion: ]

M-Mr. Liem, you're a vampire?!

[ She jolts belatedly with the realization, but she doesn't try to pull away. Even if vampires are supposed to be dangerous (according to her home world), it's still Liem, so... ]

[ He will still need patience? Liem, you do not understand.

Set thinks that he is incredibly patient, for a god. It is simply that the priest he is asking for social cues and aid is better at being patient, because he is not. It is a status thing, rather than a capability thing. The tempestuous nature of the god of war is deeply in conflict with any sort of toleration of anyone or anything that he cannot force into compliance or submission. Ergo, Liem is necessary. Because his fellow Meridian's keep telling him "oh set, you gotta' play nice(r) with us, share the sandbox" and it's really irksome! ]

— we will work on it.

[ That is all he can offer. No promise can come from him, not without him being beholden to it. And a promise that went against his nature was practically a knife being taken to a beautiful, tightly-woven tapestry — it could damage the very crux of his being. It could cause his unmaking. ]

You will benefit, regardless of my level of patience. Come now, I will not hesitate to bleed for you.

No, I’m not.

[He clarifies hastily, a little awkward as he re-caps the water and reaches for a clean cloth to blot her arm with. While Liem is willing to take the small comfort that Gray doesn’t actively move away from him in the wake of this revelation, the fact that she obviously knows what a vampire is disinclines him to leave the possibility of further confusion open.]

My father was one. [When Liem was conceived is the obvious implication. While his elder sister could have made the same claim, she was already five years old, a normal human child, when their father became a vampire.] The thirst has just been… worse lately. Since I Harmonized. I don’t know why.

[The answer that Set gives him is as good as any Liem could have hoped to receive from him. Certainly it is more permissive than one he might ordinarily have expected for the borderline-impertinent remark he’d offered — perhaps especially given the war god’s temper. We will work on it.

Good. Liem isn’t afraid of work.

Set’s follow-up makes him more uneasy, for all that he’s already agreed to the other half of this bargain. Much as he wishes that drinking the man’s blood could be entirely transactional, there has always been an inherent vulnerability for him in this kind of intimacy, more so than for others. Anticipation skitters in his chest, uncomfortably eager. His mouth feels very dry.]

Very well. Since it is your wish.

[His eyes flick over Set, from his face and down, then back again, restless and feverishly intent. There is really nowhere safe to look, considering the desert god’s manner of dress. He is indecent with exposed skin coyly hiding lush veins, and all of it in inviting places. How did he let this man into his kitchen looking like this? If any of his neighbours saw him receive his guest, they must have formed interesting notions about the purpose of his visit.

Because it is easiest, and because it does not require him to drink with his face in Set’s full view, he leans forward until his neatly-garbed chest brushes the god’s, tilting his mouth with a soft breath toward the pulse at the side of his throat. Cool fingertips alight on his bare waist like perching birds.

Set’s heartbeat drums loud against his ears; the heat of his skin burns beneath his hand. It scorches his lips, too, when he brushes them tentatively over his pulse. Too hot; too alive. He smells like sun-baked desert, but he feels like flesh and blood: too good to resist.

So Liem presses his teeth to Set’s throat, sharp points pricking pale flesh — and he doesn’t resist at all.]

[ Then that makes Liem a half-vampire? She never thought that vampirism could be passed on genetically. She always thought of it as a disease... but it seems like she'll have to rethink things. It wouldn't be the most tumultuous recalibration in her life.

Either way, Liem is still Liem. She quite likes him, and she doesn't want him to suffer. So... ]

You can have some of my blood. How much do you need?

[ She can say this with surprising calm now that her shock has passed. It isn't like she even needs to do anything extra, her blood is already leaking out here in front of God and everyone. ]

[ For Matsui, he had lain his arm upon a table and allowed the strange creature to literally cut into his flesh and examine his blood. For Liem, shedding blood in order to support his ally in a time of need is a practical matter, one they have an agreed-upon exchange for. Briefly, he thinks about the men of Egypt, the ones who had descended into madness and taboo, who had tried to offer him the blood, the flesh, the soul of a loyal priestess of his own sister — and the revulsion he had felt, then. What must it be like, to genuinely require such nourishment?

He cannot stand meat, nor blood, the scent of them turns his stomach and the taste of them cause him anguish, illness. Liem's issue is that of shame, of an internalized war with his own self, the result of his upbringing — and so, as Liem draws near, Set leans along the counter and opens his posture. Not entirely inviting, but accepting; Liem's skin is cool, where his fingers brush along Set's bare waist, where the god is a simmering furnace of sun-warmth and bitter flame. ]

Mm — [ The scratch of tooth-tip over his throat brings with it a moment of realization, that Liem is being far more gentle with him than the last person who had bitten him — and that it is because Liem needs this. He moves his hands, from where they have seized at the edge of the counter, and takes Liem's wrists into his palms. His fingers find the edge of Liem's shirtsleeves, one or two sneaking up into the dark space, higher on his forearms. Warm, and oddly intensive.

He tips his head a little, hair falling away from the line of his bare shoulder, to open the length of his throat up a little more. ]

[Absurd though it may seem, even the idea that Liem needs blood would have been outrageous to him just a month or two ago. Sure, his thirst for it had been more intense since he began chasing Meridian's light, but he'd lived all his life drinking only a little here and there, when he was too weak-willed to abstain any longer. He's always thought of it as more of an addiction than something he actually needs, especially because over the many decades of his life, he's become so used to feeling sick. He'd come to barely notice the lack anymore, for want of other experiences to compare it to.

But he has given in to his thirst more over the past few months than he had in years previous — and he is not quite so blind as to miss how vital he feels afterwards, how sound of body and clear of mind. It makes the wretchedness that follows after even more gruelling to endure.

Even so, he frowns at Gray when she offers her blood to him so easily. It may already be welling up from her arm, but still…]

Not so much. But… are you sure?

[He should be binding her arm now — not fastening onto the wound like a leech to bleed her more.]

[As his fangs touch Set's throat, Liem is rigid with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control, keeping tight rein over himself as if by sheer force of will he could deny the effect that the taste of living blood always has on him. He releases not a single sound as he bites down, though a tremor runs through him, shaking loose a short, bitten-off breath, as the hot tang of iron blooms against his tongue.

It is the warm slide of Set's palms against his wrists that pulls a soft, wanting sound from him, muffled against the line of his neck. He is still too warm, still too alive; Liem can barely keep himself together as the impossible, inhuman vibrance living in the god's veins floods over him, nearly overwhelming even in that first moment.

It takes only a breath more for the flood overtaking him to drag him out to sea.

The touch of his mouth remains gentle, just barely. It is the touch of Liem's hands that suddenly turns hard, grasping at Set like a drowning man at a piece of driftwood, as he presses himself against him. He would be humiliated by the desperation ruling him, if he could feel anything else over the sudden, dizzying need pounding in his chest and his ears and the back of his throat. The blood sliding over his tongue assaults him with its otherness just as much as with its vivacity, but his lack quails and shrinks before it, to be replaced with a rush too intense to refuse.

In the face of it, he can only drink, having forgotten everything else.]

[ It's an easy decision for her. Even if a small part of her still worries — the undead were religiously hunted (literally) in her homeworld — she's simple-minded in her tendency to believe what's in front of her more than what she's been told. ]

I'm sure. My blood will just go to waste otherwise...

[ It isn't an urgent outpour of blood, but there's a slow and steady ribbon that already threatens to drip from her forearm the longer they talk. ]

If anything else attacks us, it'll be better if you feel healthier, right?

[The steady trickle of blood travelling down Gray's bare arm is what convinces him. He cannot think too hard about it here, with her still bleeding right in front of him with second that passes by. He must either accept her offer here and now, or he must refuse and bind the arm promptly — and she is right. Refusing her blood will not heal her arm, but accepting it will improve his ability to keep them both safe, at need.]

Very well.

[Carefully, Liem shifts his gentle hold on her arm so that he can lift it toward him. He tries to force down his own reluctance, not wanting to meet her generous offer ungratefully.]

I will make sure to repay you.

[Still, he avoids meeting Gray's eyes as he dips his head, draws his tongue up the line of blood sliding over her skin, and presses his mouth against the still-bleeding slash on her arm.]

[ Their hands clutch at one another, Liem's cool and Set's fever-warm, as a mouth works at his throat to draw in what is needed. To drink from a god — Set does not pretend it is not likely different from having the same from a mortal, he does not know what he tastes like ( the thought of putting flesh or blood to his own tongue fills him with a sickening flip of distress — ), but it must be pleasing to Liem. Or, Liem is just that hungry. Really, the scraps of his pride force him to think that it must be the former.

In the way that the soft, wanting sound is driven from Liem, one also follows from Set. A sigh, the exhalation of tension as the burst of sharp sensation at his throat begins to dwindle into a dull ache, the presence of teeth in his throat filling him with a warmth he cannot begin to recognize. It feels — not good, as if the experience were pleasant, but there is a pleasure in it. In being devoured, in being wanted enough that the priest gives in to those humiliating needs of his.

He drops his head back, leaning himself heavily along the counter as he curls his fingers against the bare skin of Liem's wrists, a steady metronome of stroking fingers and wordless, murmured encouragement. The god's posture is open, fearless of what is happening ( perhaps, he should learn to be more protective of himself, perhaps he should guard himself better — ). ]

[ Gray understands that this is all very practical, but when a girl is as sheltered and repressed as she is, she can't even try to mentally prepare herself for the feeling of someone sucking on her arm, no matter how polite he is about it. But she does her best not to let her surprise show except to go very still (while vibrating mentally), just as politely looking up and away so as to give Liem privacy. She has to wonder if there's such a thing as blood-sucking etiquette... ]

I-It's alright. My body will just make more blood anyway, so...

[ Maybe she can send him a nice vial of blood later, now that she knows he needs it. It's a weird thought to have, but if it helps him out... ]

Um, hopefully, my blood doesn't taste too strange.

[ Would the taste reflect her eating habits?? She generally keeps a clean and healthy diet, but she's starting to feel self-conscious in bizarre new ways. ]

[It takes a long moment for Liem to realize when it is no longer hunger that fuels the desperation burning in him. He is so caught up in the scorching, whirling need to have more of Set — more of the pulse drumming against his tongue, more of that feverish body beneath his hands, more of that more-than-human blood soaking his senses — that he misses the slide of one hunger into another, fails to realize when his thirst for blood becomes simple greed for the pleasure of indulgence.

But then, they are difficult wants to separate.

It is just that Set is so very warm, and his hands so insistent in their steady encouragement. There is a sense about him, something to do with the scent of burning sand and the way his presence fills up the tidy kitchen, that seems otherworldly — but the body that Liem clutches against his own feels human. Most importantly, as Liem pulls back just enough to drag in an unsteady breath, sliding a palm up Set's flank, he feels alive. Too alive for Liem to want to let go of, even if his need for blood has subsided.

He is indulgent, when he drags his tongue up Set's neck, over the bleeding marks left by his teeth. Pleasure dances along his spine, and he is dangerously tempted to dip his mouth back to that pale throat to see just how far that pleasure will take him. His fingers trace a restless caress against Set's skin, almost warm now thanks to the heat coming off his body. Perhaps if he lingers a little longer…]

Set. [He breathes the name against the damp, bitten skin of his neck.] I… I need you to leave.

[He is so sorry, Gray! Nice young ladies like you should not have to let weird old dhampirs suck on their veins. Don’t ever let anyone else do this to you, even if they’re polite about it!

The dark and the downward tilt of Liem’s face help to hide the shame in it as he fastens his mouth to her arm, but he still appreciates that, at the very least, she doesn’t watch. That it has even come to this is mortifying; if nothing else, the experience is encouragement for him to tend to his needs more attentively, so he won’t end up putting Gray in this kind of position again.

He does not reply to either of her comments, busy as his mouth is with other things. Even if he wasn’t, he would be too embarrassed to tell her how her blood tastes (young, and vital in the way that only those touched by magic are), or object to the idea that she shouldn’t mind losing a bit of blood to him since her body will make more. Instead he simply drinks from her wound, until he stops aching with weariness and the need for blood is no longer waging war on his senses.

It is not so very long. Despite the severity of his ailment, the strain of it recedes quickly once he finally has a taste of what he needs. The difficult part, as always, lies in forcing himself not to take more than that. It is always difficult to resist the pull of flowing lifeblood, no matter how sated he might be.

But the fact that they are still in a dangerous area, and that it is Gray whose blood he is drinking, makes it easier. Liem pulls back with one last lap of his tongue (sorry, Gray), and forces himself to finish cleaning her arm so he can finally bandage it, like he was supposed to do minutes ago. His mouth is definitely still a little bloody, and he tries not to think about it.]

I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.

[ The time Liem spends latched to her arm is perhaps not objectively long, but it feels like a very long time for Gray to stew in unanswered silence and the strange, embarrassing sensation of a soft mouth on her arm. The awkwardness is in fact harder to deal with than the blood loss.

But Gray figures this is all just a personal problem of hers and pushes down the pink flush on her face (unsuccessful) and just a little bit of wooziness (the blood loss). When Liem finally withdraws she figures it's safe to look at him again, only to find her blood adorning his face like bad makeup. Ah.

She shakes her head as much to refute his apology as to shake off that jarring sight. ]

It was my idea. And... you can't really help how you were born, right?

Well, you are right, Miss Gray.

[Liem keeps his head down as he works, pressing a soft piece of cloth over the wound to absorb any further bleeding, then beginning to wrap the arm up with a careful winding of the bandages. Briefly, he pauses to turn his face away — and when he returns his gaze to his work, the blood adorning his mouth is gone, replaced only by a slight dampness.]

Still, it’s my burden to bear, not yours. I’m sure you have your own troubles to worry about, yes?

[Ideally a young woman like her would be focusing on making her way through an apprenticeship, assisting with her family’s work, or maybe thinking about seeking a good marriage. Worries about the fate of existence are a weighty enough replacement to such matters; Gray surely doesn’t need anything else added onto the pile.]

[ He really just licked up that last bit of blood, didn't he... In a way, the sudden absence of blood on his face is just as jarring as its previous presence. Gray turns her attention to Liem's bandaging job instead, which is neat and orderly in his usual fashion. ]

It's a bit easier for me to worry about other people's problems...

[ Other people's problems don't feel quite so insurmountable. ]

Would it be fatal if you stopped drinking blood completely?

Hm. Well, that is often the way. We just need to do what we can.

[Liem is in no hurry to dwell too deeply on his own struggles — including this one, notably, but unfortunately avoiding it was part of what got them into this situation to begin with. So, he recognizes that skirting around such personal troubles isn’t exactly wise, but also deeply relates to the desire not to think overmuch on challenges that feel both so insurmountable and so deeply disturbing.]

No, not fatal.

[His hands pause briefly in the process of wrapping the last few lengths of bandage around Gray’s arm.]

Or, I don’t think it would be. But, going without has been more difficult recently than it was before. I don’t remember it ever making me so ill before I came to Kenos.

[ That is a strange problem. She could attempt to speculate about the theory behind it, but she won't embarrass herself by doing so out loud.

She looks down at her now neatly bandaged arm, a streak of red on a river of white cloth. A little wiggle confirms that everything is still working even if her strength is reduced. ]

I can keep sharing my blood as you need it. [ Anticipating a polite refusal, she quickly continues. ] In return... maybe you could share some of your bakes?

[ Please indulge the sweet tooth of a girl who likes sweets but is too practical to spend money on them... ]

kenos | inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

2/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject