ArchivedLogs:Bloody-minded

Bloody-minded
warning: blood
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ion, Steve
In Absentia	2017-08-27 "{I'd risk the fucking world.}"
Location <???> Prison, somewhere
Cramped and small, this thick-walled concrete room offers very little by way of comfort or privacy. There's a cot on one side with thin grey mattress, thin grey blankets, thin grey pillow. On the other side sits a lidless steel toilet with built-in sink atop it. There's not a whole lot by way of /room/, about six feet by eight feet. No windows to the outside, and a solid heavy steel door rather than bars; a barred window in the door is usually kept shuttered from without, as is the slot in the wall where a shelf protrudes and meals are often slid through. A single wan light in the ceiling provides dim illumination whenever the guards care to turn it on. It's hard to notice the warning signs before a Ion's arrival. A surge through the circuits embedded in the walls, carefully shorting out some of the power dampeners in this wing of the prison. A faint dimming in already wan illumination in the hallways. In here, not so relevant; it's /been/ lights out. It's easier to notice the admittedly slight crackling of sparks that come with Ion's actual entry into the cell. Easier still -- for some, anyway -- to feel the presence of two more warm solid heartbeats pounding in the darkness. Steve shakes his head rapidly, and though he is steadier on his feet than most who have just been tenderly conveyed across the power grid via electrokinesis, he holds onto Ion for a moment longer than entirely necessary. He's wearing a black t- shirt and jeans, combat boots, shield across his back. His pulse is fast and strong, and he already smells faintly of blood owing to a few small scrapes and cuts on his arms. "Dusk," he whispers into the darkness, taking a tentative step forward, keeping one hand lightly on Ion's arm to ensure the other man stays behind him. "Dusk, I'm here." Ion seems in exactly zero hurry to step out from behind Steve. Quiet and still, he leans back against the wall, one booted foot hitching up against the concrete. There's another crackle, snap -- this one followed by the wan green and red illumination of several glow sticks, dropped onto the floor. "{Brother,}" Ion's deep voice is soft, "{We're here now, okay? You be here, too.}" In the darkness, there's a quiet rattling clink. A low rumble, soft at first and steadily growing into a deeper growl. The first of the pale lights catches a glint of greenish yellow eyeshine reflected from the far side of the small cell. Crouched in the corner, half-dressed in khakis, no shirt, giant wings still bearing their bold red and black flag patterning, Dusk is, tonight, eschewing his cot. Likely because the heavy shackles circling his wrists and chained to the wall would make it difficult to find a particularly ergonomic position. Admittedly they seem, at the moment, slightly less necessary than usual, paler and gaunter than is his normal state. Though the low growling continues, though his eyes fix steadily on the others, at the moment Dusk just stays crouched, steady and motionless as a gargoyle. Steve sucks in a sharp breath when he sees Dusk. "My God," he murmurs quietly. Lets go of Ion and crosses the cell, moving slowly and deliberately. "Come on." His pulse speeds up even more, his frame tense as he sinks to his knees, only a couple of paces from Dusk. "Take whatever you need. I'll be alright." Ion stays, at first, planted right where he is. His eyes meet Dusk's, briefly, head bowing after. When Steve moves he looks up again, closely tracking the other man's movements and only a few moments later shifting himself to saunter slowly along the wall to the adjacent one, fingers trailing lightly against the wall as he goes. The growling stops, abruptly, when Steve starts to approach. For one brief moment a soft and anguished whine keens in Dusk's throat -- and then silence. His head turns to the side -- toward the door, away from both the other men, eyes closing. When Steve kneels before him, though; that shift of movement, that speeding of pulse -- -- with a rattling of chains, a rush of air with the sudden unfurling of giant wings, Dusk's shift is swift, perhaps startling for how much strength it /lacks/. The hard wing bones that thwack up against Steve's shoulders, the rough jerk of fingers at his hair -- less than pleasant, no doubt, but likely not enough to manhandle a /regular/ full grown man under normal circumstances (were they resisting), much less Steve. The savage tear of Dusk's canines, though, /that/ is still more than enough to gouge some ugly ragged holes straight into Steve's throat. Steve remains still when Dusk comes at him, though the widening of his eyes and the abrupt racing his pulse suggests he might prefer to flee. More or ignoring the attempts to at grappling, he bearing the smaller man down to the floor and pins him there as best he can, though by necessity leaving the wings free. He does not, however, try to avoid Dusk's fangs, as such. He curls an arm around the other man's head and actually pulls them together as he turns his head and bares his neck -- strategically, steering the bite clear of major arteries and minimizing unnecessary movement. He still grits his teeth, though, his entire body tensing as Dusk begins to feed. His fingers tremble, and he stills them by twining them into Dusk's shaggy hair and holding fast. Ion draws in a slow breath. Holds it, as Dusk lunges at Steve; releases it slowly when Steve bears his Brother to the ground. It's after that that he moves closer, skirting up alongside the others to sit, cross-legged, by the wall near Steve and Dusk. One hand presses to the floor, back leaning up against the wall and his other arm wrapping tight around one knee. His eyes stay fixed on the other mean with a steady intentness, fingers gripping tight at his shin. Dusk's snarl is harsh and angry as he is pressed back. His talons, at first, scrabble against the floor, wings attempting to keep him upright. It's an ultimately futile effort, between Steve's greater strength and his own distraction as the first rich hot blood begins welling. Growl still rumbling -- soft, now, felt more than heard where his chest presses to Steve's -- his teeth sink in. Hungrily, desperately, teeth clenching down harder -- then shaking, as best he /can/ in Steve's firm grip, releasing and sinking in again and again when that is less effective than it should be. Steve hisses quietly and tightens his grip on Dusk's head. "The blood you can have, my friend, but I'd prefer to keep my /head./" His voice is only just above a whisper, and the quaver in it somewhat spoils the cavalier tone he was probably going for. "If it's -- all the same to you." Even as he speaks he's relaxing by degrees, though he fights it visibly and even more sensibly. He lets out the breath he had been holding in a soft sight, more of his weight settling onto Dusk as the venom courses through his body and does its work. Beneath Steve, Dusk is slowly relaxing. For a value of relaxing, at least; slightly less tense, his teeth settling into one steady grip, lips pressed firm to the other man's skin. His growl has softened; though it does not cease, over top of the low rumble a quiet whine hums in the leaner man's throat. His suckling is still fierce, but gradually eases, gentling, tongue lapping still at the deep wounds. By the time he does break off his chest is heaving, eyes wider. A small whimper catching his breath. "No --" His attempt to push Steve /away/, now, is about as futile as his earlier efforts at grappling him. Steve does not seems to initially realize that Dusk has stopped. Only when the other man starts pushing at him does he rouse, blinking in the dim light. "I can take it," he insists muzzily, pulling Dusk closer. "You -- you need..." Ion is still watching, hand clenched tight around his leg and his other pressed hard to the floor. "He need more than food." It's quiet. Soft, though not exactly casual. "No," comes again, though at a whisper this time. Dusk is easily pulled, though, pressing back closer to Steve. His eyes squeeze shut; his breath trembles as his teeth sink into Steve's neck again. This time, the fresh tearing of flesh comes with a trickle of tears, slipping down Dusk's cheek into the dark scruff of his beard. Steve's grip eases -- it's hard to say whether he does so intentionally, due to blood loss, or the effects of the venom. But his hand smoothes down the side of Dusk's hair now, gently, then slides back down to cup the back of the man's head. "You've got more than food." The words come out a bit groggy and uneven. "You've got us." For all Steve's been the one losing the blood, Dusk is somewhat shaky when he breaks off again. Half his face is smeared liberally with blood; it's dripped down his neck and onto his chest as well. "You." This comes at a growl, too, muffled against Steve's torn and bloody skin. "You shouldn't -- be here, why did you --" He shakes his head slowly, one fist moving (slowly, as well) between their bodies to circle, over and over and over, against his chest. Steve rallies again and eases some of his (rather significant) weight off of Dusk. He does not release the other man altogether, gathering him close and pulling him along when he sits back up. "We heard they weren't feeding you." He shakes his head, and, judging by the wince that follows, regrets it in fairly short order. "You -- you've done nothing wrong. Prison isn't a fit place for anyone, but this is beyond cruel." Even through the cloudiness, there's an edge of fury in his words. "You our family." Now, there's a restless jitter in Ion's fingers. Tapping lightly against his shin. In his toe, bouncing against the concrete floor. In the rapid drum of his knuckles against the concrete. "Yo, Brooklyn, you ain't gonna die, huh? If we ain't out here in a hurry?" He's eying the wounds in Steve's neck with a crease of brow. Then rolling his head back, looking up to the ceiling. "{'Cause I could go. Give you a couple minutes quiet. Together. If --}" A small sharp flick of fingers in Dusk's direction, tiny dim sparks crackling off the ends of his fingertips to fizzle and fade in the air. There's a brief moment of resistance when Steve sits up, for all the good it does; despite the tension and pull Dusk's bony frame comes easily. His resistance dissipates easily, too, hands dropping to his lap with a rattling of chains and his wings folding -- one around Steve, one limply behind him, as his body sags in against Steve's stronger one. "They think I'm too dangerous fed." His growl has finally faded; now his voice is dry, his eyes flicking to the gouges in Steve's neck with a shudder. They linger there through Ion's question. Another shudder. He buries his face against the (undamaged) side of Steve's neck, a quiet strangled sob rising -- catching, dying. "{-- God. I've missed you,}" not so much shuddering now as a ceaseless faint tremble running through his back, his shoulders, his wing where it tightens around Steve, "{you should go.}" Steve's arm curls tighter around Dusk -- almost too tight for a moment, though he quickly eases off. "{I'm fine. This,}" he says, gesturing at his wounds, "{isn't as bad as it looks. If you are willing to risk making another trip in here, I'll stay a while.}" His free hand, still trembling ever so subtly, lifts the wing that's flopped against the floor and drapes it carefully over Dusk's shoulder and his own. "I've missed you, too." He presses his cheek to Dusk's hair. Ion rolls up, bounces to his feet. A single short step brings him alongside the others, one hand dropped to each of their heads. "{For this man?}" It's Dusk's head that he tips back slightly, Dusk's forehead that he presses a firm kiss to. "{I'd risk the fucking world.}" 'Ten minutes,' signed, silent, before he takes a step back. Vanishes with a quiet pop, leaving Dusk and Steve alone in the dark and bloodied cell.