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Post by silverlynxcat on May 12, 2008 12:24:38 GMT -5
OPENThe night was dark and the world was shadowed with long stretches of shadowed foreboding which clawed out over unsuspecting victims, shrouding them in cold, dreadful darkness where the shadows seemed to hiss taunts softly in your ear and manipulate the winds to rake through your hair with a rough hand of clawed fingers and nip coldly like the fangs of a wolf at your skin.
It made paranoia play with your mind as if it was a mere game of entertainment, where the demons of your mind played tricks with your subconscious, making your actions skittish and you're eyes to cast about with rising panic as if something lurked permanently over your shoulder, someone, something there, drawing every step closer as your step quickens as does that strange presence behind you, but when you turn around, you're alone.
Alone, now there was a word everyone could relate to at least once in there life, when you've been 'let go' by the love of your life, when they say they no longer love you. When you're friend decides they're bored of your company and go to play with the little girl down the street, when perhaps the only one you held close vanishes, dies, or something of the sort. Or maybe when you'd been void of any sort of contact for the longest, most agonising of time which was enough to make any body crave for attention, for you're mind to desire that of another, to escape the echoing isolation which just seemed to surround you.
A certain someone knew of this feeling, where you feel like mutt in a collection of fabulous pedigrees, overlooked, uncared for and outmatched, where you're not alone, yet you know that none of them are you're friends, none of them would look at you twice because of what you were. You were a mutt, they were champion show dogs, he was a vampire, they were mortals there was no way they could possibly live together peacefully, be friends without consequences, it just didn't work like that.
A pale figure stalked through the silent area, it was a silent as death itself, which was pretty ironic when this certain, barefooted male was walking down the smoothly cobbled path of none other than the Kensal Green cemetery. The male looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in many many years and to somehow develope a tan on that pasty hide the male sported would prove a miracle. The male looked unhealthily pale, even vampires had that pale, icy complexion which looked like pristine perfection, somehow vampires were just beautiful, they were demons, monsters, blood sucking leeches, but they were graceful, admirable and beautiful, it seemed completely twisted when you thought about it.
Rich sapphire blue eyes looked out distractedly in front of him, the weeping trees that were decorated with white and pink blossoms and the soft velvet grass was nourished by the corpses, giving life to the land from their remains. The male however sickly pale he looked, it didn't seem to affect his attractive features, high cheek bones and masculine features, softened by the gentle curve of his jaws and face. The gentle velvet strands of his hair were toyed with by the breeze, the pale silver colour seemed to hold a surreal mystical sheen by it with the gentle strokes of the moon's beams which cast down delicately of the surrounding area.
Illuminating the grave stones and crypts which stood solid and erect against the slender trees. Ivy already creeping up the crypt walls. Covered in simply a rather fine, white linen shirt, it clung appreciatively yet not tightly to the slender, athletically build male, holding to his torso and giving him quite an acceptable appearance. his lower body was covered with black breeches, reaching only to his upper calf and looked a little more ragged and worn, in all, he just scraped by as presentable, he was clearly not that of upper class and easily placed as a man of the street. He was only eighteen in age and he didn't know what to do with his life, he was a cursed being, lost and clueless and in a place foreign to him. He looked up at the star studded sky, the little beads of light glistening like shards of diamond.
A sigh parted from his pale, slightly pink lips, silver flecks which dotted his deep sapphire eyes glistened faintly. He closed his mouth and two glistening fangs caught the moonlight, they were thin, long and sharp, they were, in fact, abnormally long, even for that of a vampire. He refused to drink, this brought the problem of his fangs growing, causing a constant irritation to force him to drink, yet still the stubborn male refused, making him weak, helpless, hungry and so on. clueless to the way 'his kind' was to live.
A hand raked through the silvery tendrils of hair as his eyes cast about, he was looking for shelter, a place to rest for the night or maybe the week, somewhere to sleep and be free of the rain, he was thinking of a crypt or something of the sort, maybe a hut, just...just somewhere. So, Will headed forward to continue his search not paying much attention to his surroundings any further.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 12, 2008 13:16:07 GMT -5
The grave was a deep, granite stone, rounded typically and engraved with the sharp, formal letters that never seemed to do the occupant of said grave any justice. Here and there patches of moss were starting to breathe over the surface, from the weathered crevices in the stone. Clearly the family of those close to the occupant rarely visited, or rarely tended to the grave. Or so you'd think if you didn't know the family. With the blood that spattered across the history of the Lancets, it was small wonder there was anyone still alive to watch it at all. The name was fairly small, so to fit it all in. Whoever the parents were they obviously wanted their son to be a name to remember.
Here Lie The Remains Of Horatio Johnathan Alexander Lancet 1814-1833 Taken From The Worlde Premature Carpe Diem
So simply carved, yet so perfect, the fragments of crystal that bled into the granite catching the new moon as it sighed overhead, as if the headstone had been purposefully scattered with brilliant blue and amber diamonds. Diamonds that were tainted with the soft moss. Only it seemed that the grave was not alone.
A summerhouse, made of stone, resided not far from the nineteen year-old's final place of rest, without walls, merely a finely carved roof held up by five roman pillars in each of the pentagonal corners. The ivy that seemed to present itself greatly throughout the neglected tombs was curling neatly around the five corners, reaching onto the roof, for the solitary idol that stood, set in stone, at the very top. The woman looked east, her hair pulled on top of her head, her smooth arms and breast intricately carved into the rock, her lower body covered by a most solid yet almost fluid pale linen that shone in the moonlight. Her feet were not represented, melding seamlessly into the stone roof. A fine-fingered hand gripped at the cloth around her waist, and her other hand rested softly over her heart as she stared out at the occupants of the graveyard. As if their guardian. A single tendril of new born leaves was licking at the hem of the linen as it fell away into the stone. As if she welcomed the life. But it was not just her.
On the steps below a single man was stood, his back against the carved column with his eyes on the teenager's grave. So many years had passed since his eldest brother had passed on. James was not the child he had been. The man's dark hair was combed and tidy for once, as if to prove to his sibling what he could be. His sombre green eyes, watchful as ever, were focussed perfectly on the strict engraving. That was not who Horatio had been. He was a renegade, as James could remember. Though he had only been five years old when the first of his brothers had fallen to consumption. Such a dreadful disease, to penetrate the silky pleural membrane and burn through the lungs like hell's fire, ravaging every single alveolus that it found, until nothing was left to take a breath. And it came from nowhere. A terrifying prospect.
His younger brother had not disappointed. For the sake of his fallen family James had become a doctor. And how he had climbed among the names of the others. And so young. Still, after so many years, he often felt like a child. Stranded in the cold, with nowhere left. Even now, with this... infection...
But what was a doctor to do, if he could not cure his patients? It was a promise he had made to himself. This vampire business had to stop. The hunger, the ravaging pain, the hate that ran through him was unfathomable. At times unbearable. Poor Cerith, and her poor weakened soul...
There was little lime to dwell in thought, he had someone else's memory to worry about. It would have been Horatio's 42nd birthday that day. And it seemed James was the only one who would remember. So far on.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 12, 2008 14:35:22 GMT -5
The padding of feet was near impossible to hear, almost as audible as the sighs of the winds through the bare trees in winter where the only proof it had ever existed of the world's inaudible breath was the light swaying of the weaker branches or the long tendrils of the weeping willows which stroked along the grassy grounds or tickled the water surface in a playful fashion causing ripples of silent laughter to roll across the silent glass like image and distort the world which seemed to peer eagerly in to see upon itself despite it's sightless eyes.
And the wind would ease itself and once again it would disappear, no longer felt nor heard and it would be as if it had never past, had never existed, much like the shadows of people who filtered in and out of this world on a daily basis, like breaths of wind. They were there, and then they were not. A man or woman would die and a baby’s cry would call out to the heavens above, signalling the balance of life and death had been restored, for everyone was replaced eventually.
Not everyone was so shallow, of course, not everyone believed such ways where someone could simply be replaced, but pain was healed, memories faded and affections dwindled now and like the writhering lick of flame on the dying, melting candle wick, eventually, with the time measured in that wax, the flame would finally die.
Eyes closed sullenly, hiding the rich assortment of blue shades from the world, cutting off the peaceful if not rusty looking silver flecks, dull with worry, self loathing, hatred for what he was, from lack of sleep, from the worry and slow deterioration of his body. His fangs reached about midway to his chin, whenever he tried to put them in his mouth, if he was not careful he slit the tender tissue of the inside of his mouth, his own blood was not enough to sustain him, it done nothing but make him crave for food even more, if not make him a little bit….well, lonesome in a sense, the blood was sometimes as bad as chocolate or honey, if you got the drift.
But the weary male plodded onwards, the soles of his feet were dirty and sore, stones and glass cut at his heels, making them bleed freely and making it even more agonising to walk, but if he found somewhere to sleep, somewhere dry, even if he had to share with a few rats or spiders, where he could give into the way of sleep, without needing to hide from the sun he wished so dearly to re-accustom himself with, but knew it was impossible, it would kill him faster than the way he was ever so slowly starving himself to his eventual fate.
Why he didn’t finish himself off the quick way? He didn’t want to die, he hated what he was, the way he had to live, the pathetic existence he held, but he didn’t want to give up what little he had. The backs of his eyes stung, he was just tired he tried to reassure himself. His body seemed to grow heavier, his steps slower, heavier, more exhausting, his eyes cast across the field of graves and rocks and trees, of grass and water and cobble stone paths. He saw something that looked like shelter, it would give him cover, not from the wind, the strange five pillared building he could just make out bore no walls, just a ceiling with a statue above. He could faintly see another figure there, but passed it off as another statue.
“I should drop and let myself burn” the male grumbled, his voice was soft spoken, but it was hoarse, his throat as rough as sandpaper and probably just as dry. He didn’t go for water though, in fears if he crouched down to get it, he’d fall and just sleep away on the grass. So he trundled on, his pace slowing and eyes drooping towards the shelter, hoping to make it in one piece, his gaze held dully on the ground, the statues no longer taking his interest as he staggered at the steps and hissed as he collided with them. Hands shooting out just to catch himself, his body shook under the effort and he slumped to the steps. Closing his eyes wearily, surely this would be a good enough place?
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 14, 2008 13:21:43 GMT -5
Defeat. It was one of the things James had vowed never to succomb to. And yet it was so close in the form of the young man behind him. He turned his head, not to seem as though he was prying, but enough to show he knew the man was there, and that he was alive, and not merely another figure. He stood away from the pillar, his vigil over the other Lancet's grave broken as he ascended the steps beneath the summerhouse, head bowed as a finger of ivy traced over his head.
"Never say never." He said carefully, each word as eloquent and fine as it ever would be. "Never let yourself be defeated."
He watched the boy, his senses telling him he was infected. Not that he liked the use of that word any more. There was nothing wrong with him. He was simply different. Beneath his lips he became very conscious of his slightly elongated front teeth, teeth he kept as short as he could to prevent him being discovered among the communities of medical professionals he spent a good deal of his time appeasing. Much to his deep disdain.
Social interaction had not been James' strong point for nearly a year now, preferring to keep to himself, to his own mind, and to not talk to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Which it rarely was. Cerith was the only person he trusted himself with. She provided him with blood, and a clean home and a helping hand whenever he desired. She was like a daughter to him. Only less well-behaved and of course older. Foolish child that she was.
His eyes returned to the boy, slightly critical as he surveyed him. Skinny, rashly spoken... clearly not of the breeding that James had. But now was no time to judge on appearance. It never was.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 14, 2008 13:38:48 GMT -5
The male's body remained slumped on the cold, chipped, unforgiving stone stairs which dug sharply with rough to the touch edges, pricking unmercilessly at his skin, his ribs peaking through the skin as it drew tight around his body due to the scraping of the stone. It left white marks grazed into his hands, legs and cheeks, dirtying his shirt as his cheek was pressed against the ice cold surface.
The steps were old, worn and dirty, gritty to the touch of his soft skin and it showed that not many had visited this grave, for no soles had walked along these steps enough to soften and smooth the stone steps. Pity, for his current position was uncomfortable, but he didn't bare the energy to move, the crawl up and into the little shelter the strange building offered. His eyes fluttered closed and the ache of the sharp step edges digging into his body seemed to dull as his vision blurred, sleep threatening to take him then and there while his mind already soared among pointless thoughts, hopes and dreams, dreams which will never come true, thoughts which will never be considered and thoughts which bore importance to no one.
A strand of hair fell and brushed limply against his cheek, a bit of dirt smudge the pale fragile cheek, his body gaunt and although quite clearly an ideal specimen to behold he was not in the most admirable of states, his eyes however did not lack the spirited gleam, that was the only thing that told you this boy was worth all he looked and more. But who was around to see such a glimmer in such rich eyes?
His increased sense of smell had dulled and he bore only the sight only a fraction better than that of a human, a mortal but his hearing was still surprisingly accurate, enhanced and he picked up the murmurs that where whipped by the breeze from the man's lips. They were quiet, soft.
"Never say never. Never let yourself be defeated."
Heh, such words, yet he didn't know the condition Will was in, for months now he'd gone with no blood to strengthen him, days without food to ease his muscles and nurture his body with strength, no drink or warmth to heat his body to the very tips of his toes of his bare, sore feet.
"Who's there?" he rasped, despite his nonthreatening condition, there was a growl in his voice, defiance, irritation, life. His eyes rolled across what limited things he could see, eyes opening a little from their partly closed state his unnaturally long fangs skimming the skin that was between his lower lip and chin.
"Do you not have other things to do than watch me? Or is this entertain to you" there was a sharper tone to his voice, but it lagged near the end, weary, just wanting to sleep.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 14, 2008 14:41:45 GMT -5
There was a poem, somewhere, written by someone so much older, much more dead, and far better known than James. A poem that had spread like wildfire through culture. It spoke of the arrogance of youth, something the doctor was reminded of with the young man's reply. He stood in the very centre of the summerhouse, looking up at the eaves, the wood and the twigs wrapped about a stone support, and the frantic shuffle of the young nightingale hatchlings. Blind to the word and screaming. The miracle of birth. Something that would, of course, inevitably lead to the arrogance of youth. Pity.
"My name is James." He said. Dispense with formality. He didn't like the stigma that came with being a doctor, and so significantly enough he neglected to mention it. He looked away, inhaling sharply as his eyes turned back to the occupants of the graveyard.
"I would think that it is very selfish to assume someone would visit a graveyard to pay respects to the living. I've not come to stare at you." He said, slightly waspishly as he turned back to Will, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I would offer you assistance but I have a feeling it would not be so well recieved."
The moon caught his green eyes for a moment, accentuating his look of reserved judgement and quiet contemplation. He never voiced his opinions, not before they were fully formed.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 14, 2008 14:55:18 GMT -5
A snort brushed from the male at the snippy reply of the older and apparently snarky male. The brush of air however disturbed some dust on the steps and caused it to rise in a hasty flurry and Will unfortunately inhaled quite a bit of it.
His voice broke hoarse and rough in a cough as he shook his head, his chest rising and falling at a more dramatic pace, each time the stone dug into him, marking his chest with a darker shade of red which stood out shockingly against the pale, colourless skin of his chest, exposing the smooth curves of muscle from the rough stone pulling his shirt up just to mid stomach, enough to showing a little of his back, no more than two inches however.
"Like you'd help me" he muttered, "No one else ever does, it's either because I'm a vampire or a lowly street rat" he grizzled, head slumping wearily to the side, catching a glint of the male's eyes in his peripheral vision, his eyes lidded.
"Well right now I seem to be of you're main attention aren't I?" he coughed, trying to shift himself into a better position, he gave up, and just lay there, the soft spring breeze toying with his hair, sending chills down his spine as it touched and licked at his exposed skin, blushing some pink into his cheek, his eyes watered from the dust which his long lashes had not managed to keep out.
His muscles ached and felt stiff, and he was cold, very cold, it was a chilly night, summer was still quite a distance away, although you could feel the warmth during the hours of light, where warmth kissed the earth, a warmth Will would never feel again for it would feel as if he'd been set alight and kill him if he remained in it, for all the stubborness to feel that warmth again.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 14, 2008 15:04:19 GMT -5
A harsh, almost cruel laugh left James' lips. He walked back up the steps, his polished shoes pausing in front of the boy. Some people were ignorant to their senses.
"Do you not have the gift of scent? Can you not tell that I, like you, am bitten?" He said, resentment riding heavily on his words. The breeze buffeted through the summerhouse, pushing his dark brown hair away from his creased forehead as he continued to slowly step forwards, pausing about a foot in front of Will, running a hand through his wild, tousled hair.
After such time, after living in London for so long it was not as if he could not detect a street urchin either. The boy was suffering, as many did when they ran from life. And so they should, being vamperic, or it could be the death of them.
"And what makes you think I can't help you? Hmm? You think that i, like you, have just thrown everything away for the sake of a bite, and the thirst of blood? Never let yourself be defeated." He said again, frowning once more, looking older than his years in the harsh reality of the moonlight.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 14, 2008 15:19:28 GMT -5
"I've not given up" he snapped, a snarl in his voice, irritated, looking defiantly away from the male, towering over him as if he was kneeling at his feet, as if he was more important. "Great, just what I need, other fucking leech, look, I have enough trouble being in my own company, I don't need another fucking vampire near me" he hissed venomously.
Now he refused to even look at the male, his stubbornness ruled over all else right now, most said his stubbornness, his defiance, his thick skull would be the death of him, sometimes his arrogance shrouded his intelligence, such as now, pushing away possible help that he needed, but he didn't like to rely on anyone, the one's he did trust, the only one he ever had had died, and he didn't want to suffer that again.
He weakly forced himself into a sitting position. "And for the record, I've never had anything to throw away to begin with" he snapped. "Don't hark on about things and people you know nothing about" he growled. "you like all the rest look down on me I can see you're just like all the rest" he growled. "Vampire or not" his hand gliding to the mark that had been dug into his stomach from the stairs, the flesh red and had an indent, where the stone had marked him. It would fade with time of course, maybe a couple of minutes or so? The redness taking slightly longer.
"And what is there to defeat me? I have no challenge, nothing for me to give up on other than the will to live, and only my fears stop me from doing so, I'm merely a wanderer, with no use and not point in this place where people are colder than the winter months" he growled lowly under his breath.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 14, 2008 15:36:47 GMT -5
That was it. Fury, fury at the fact the boy had no respect for himself. Jame's face contorted into something terrible and he turned away. "You sir have everything to throw away. The fact that you have been alone for so long has caused you to become as painfully starved as you are now. You judge very quickly for someone so young, someone supposed to be thinking so forward. I don't give a damn what you think about fellow vampires but I suggest you ignore what you've heard and open your eyes." He said harshly, like a teacher shouting at a naughty schoolboy, only with much more force, and so much more fierce.
"And as for what is out there to defeat you, I don't know if you've heard about the swarms of slayers infecting London in order to wipe us out before I can do anything about it!" He said, self-frustration vented slightly on the boy. "So if I were you I would get to your feet and start accepting help or just lie on the floor and wait for the slayers to find you." He said, turning away.
His footfalls were heavy on the stone as he paused again to watch Horatio's grave for a moment. The calling young nightingales were still chirruping behind him, hungry for their mother to return. It would not be surprising if she had fallen foul of a night time predator, a fox or a stoat. Poor little things would be stranded alone, left to die. He glanced up at the moon, like a coin in the sky as it shone it's single coloured coat down upon the world, peaceful and serene. If only all could be so placid.
But the calm of the night had most definitely been broken, and even under the luck of the moon James could not collect his thoughts. Not any more. He cursed the boy in his head.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 14, 2008 15:45:20 GMT -5
Will didn't flinch at the raised tone, the leaves seemed to quiver under his vicious scolds and harsh words, Will ignored him, he was angry himself, he already disliked this man for trying to tell him how he should act, what he should do, giving him orders, commanding him like he was some ignorant child.
Screw him.
He merely hauled himself into the meek shelter of the five pillered structure, the stone cold and rough as ever against his palms and tender finger tips, as he slumped down against a piller. "You know fuck all" he spat acidly, eyes drooping wearily.
"I won't drink, I won't lower my self to you fucking shitty standards" he sniped with his remaining anger, although he had plenty in reserve, with the right motivation, Will had a horrible, vicious temper that could be calmed in an instant or be prevoked until it literally took hours for him to calm down. What did this fool know? He knew nothing of him, and already Will despised the man with a vengeance.
"Screws the slayers" he snapped, "They would hardly do anything, I don't drink, I don't go near people, I'll merely look like a bloody starved street kid" he muttered. Will was quite obviously in very negative state, that's what happened when you were starving, for blood and for food, for water, for anything that would soothe his aching stomach that he believed would soon start gnawing on itself.
"Look, you obviously don't give a shit, just leave me alone" he snapped, slumping back wearily against the pillar, the back of his head meeting the stone with a faint 'clink'.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 14, 2008 15:55:22 GMT -5
James glowered at his brother's grave. A darkness in his eyes as he listened to the boy's words. "Then one day soon you'll be sharing the earth with Horatio." He said dully, turning his back, his eyes on the wrought iron gate that loomed from the brick wall encircling the resting place. Horatio, mere bones now, was so perfectly silent and resting beneath the ground, with nothing to disturb him, to wake him or to play at his mind. And for once James envied him. He could save lives, a hundred lives, but there was no one to save him. Not in the long run. He was just... alone.
No, that was not true. There were the stubborn, yet friendly, and over all he had Ceridwen, always there to bring him blood. And her pure, virgin blood was ever nourishing. Untainted by anything. Poor Cerith.
He placed a hand on the gate, the cold metal stinging at his fingers as he ran over the rivets to the ice-covered handle. The frost was starting to set in more deeply now. With normal sense it would be tough to master the feel of the chilling metal on his hands. He would linger a moment, just to see if the boy would come to his senses. But James was not a forgiving man. He would not linger without reason. If the boy wanted to be slain, let him. James' help was not compulsory.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 15, 2008 10:54:34 GMT -5
The softening sound of the man's footsteps alarmed Will somewhat, it had been many a months since he'd conversed with anyone, no matter how polite, nasty or brief, he'd never had company for so long and it had slowly caused Will's usually bright and chipper social skills to deteriorate and be eaten away by the constant loneliness and seclusion which done no good for the mind which pined for company and acceptance from one person only he would accept and be happy.
He heard the decreasing steps pause and his heart hammered against his chest as his eyes of blue and silver peered open, able to ear the faintest crackle of the cold frost's fragile surface on the cold steel gate crack and shatter beneath the man's warm pad of his fingertip and soon grow damp from the heat the man passed to the icy surface. The male's mind raced frantically, something, just anything to make the man stay, to talk to him and give him some hope that he was destined for a life of solitude.
"I'm Sorry!" he rasped suddenly from his position, he was too proud to ask for assistance, often he didn't trust those he'd just met to help or heal him, he needed more than gentle persuasion, he often needed persistence and force if needed. But he looked at the man threatening to leave him.
"I..I'm sorry" he repeated, eyes downcast, fidgeting a little as he licked his dry lips, nibbling his lower lip gently in a thoughtful manner, wincing as his far too large fangs pricked the tender skin of his lip, making it bleed and trickle thickly yet slowly down his chin in a single red trail, the blood stood out shockingly against his sickly and frighteningly pale skin.
"I'm not used to company, I..I've lost any skill I had with other people" he grumbled gently, looking at the man with an almost, almost pleading look.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on May 15, 2008 11:26:20 GMT -5
James glowered slightly, running his index finger over the last rivet. He could hear the distant voice and the despair. It was something that took guts. And he respected that. It had been a long time since he had met anyone with such personality. He turned, his footfalls slow and arduous as he walked back along the worn path, rain starting to fleck the cold ground around his feet, and to settle in his swept back hair.
"So it would seem." He said, nodding slightly. He surveyed the boy for a moment, before kneeling, hooking his arm around the young vampire's shoulders and pulling him upright. "What's your name?" He asked, somewhat bluntly. "I hope you can put one foot in front of the other." He added, looking at the gate, which seemed further away now he was carrying that extra weight. It didn't trouble him, and the thought of the hip flask that sat waiting for him on his desk, and the crystal bottle of whiskey on the windowsill warmed him, even if it was so far away.
He looked back at the boy, his green eyes narrowing a fraction, his thoughtful brow inquisitive as he surveyed the male's face. His silver hair. Most unusual of course. But then again he was American. You never knew what could happen across the water. A lot of strange things had been heard tell of from over the water. But then again, it could just be parentage. Not that he would judge the boy on bad parentage.
James began to walk, hoping that the boy would move his legs so that he wasn't carrying his entire body weight. Not that the boy weighed that much. Either way he didn't exactly want to walk all that way back to his home while carrying someone.
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Post by silverlynxcat on May 15, 2008 11:35:54 GMT -5
The male male's body shuddered awkwardly shying away instinctively at the touch, only an inch until he managed to regain his scattered thoughts and forced himself to remain still and grunted as he was so suddenly pulled to his feet, he nearly collapsed from the weight his aching feet so suddenly had to bare but his body locked and defiantly he stood, his body shook a little as he tried to compose him.
He hadn't expected the man to help him after his earlier attitude and rude words towards the other, but he hoped he would hold no grudges, Will no longer had much control over himself as of late, his breath was a little ragged at first, softening slowly, not letting the man move until he felt stable enough to hold himself, he would not let himself be carried and appear weak and helpless. Despite his ragged state his pride was the last thing he had left to defend, to protect and nurture, his pride and dignity which pretty much went hand in hand did it not?
He could hear the patter of rain begin to fall, and he looked up the the dark clouds rolling in with an ominous appearance, he grimaced a little as a skin stinging tang of wing slapped fiercely against his cheek making him shy against James somewhat. He did not let his hopes raise, he did not know where this man was taking him, but he hoped it provided more shelter than this meager graveyard, he'd hoped for somewhere more sheltered here but it appeared not so.
"Will" he breathed, beginning to walk now, still leaning quite heavily on James, but his body was light, underweight and barely anything to carry at all as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, eyes set dead ahead with a gleam of determination in them.
"Will Fleet"
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