ArchivedLogs:Turning

Turning
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Joe	2014-04-06 Dusk and Joe have a sleepover. (Part of the Perfectus TP)
Location Perfectus hidey hole
As prisons go, it could be a worse one. There's thick plush carpet on the floor, the room actually kept fairly warm via a pair of steam radiators in the corners. Beneath the carpeting the floor is just heavy solid concrete -- the walls as well, implying the place is likely in a basement of some sort. It's a large room, but plain, bare of any sort of decoration. There's a set of full bunk beds, liberally adorned with pillows and blankets, and a bookshelf at one side of the room holds an eclectic assortment of the sorts of paperbacks found at the grocery store -- tawdry romances and thrillers and whatever happens to be Very Popular at the moment. Up near the top of the room there's a tiny slit of window, long and narrow with barely enough room for an average person's hand to fit through even /before/ the grate that sits over it; this, as well as another window in the thick heavy door, provides the only source of light, making it dimly lit during the daytime and nearly pitch-black at night, save for the light that glows in from a streetlamp across the street. In the back of the room there's a tiny -- windowless, lightless -- bathroom. Sink, toilet, no shower, no door. It's mid-afternoon and Joe is finally coming around. He was brought to the room Dusk has been in an hour ago, and it looks like the drugs are finally wearing off. He's been propped up against the wall, and the bloody bandage on the right side of his old-man love-handles is visible through his white, unbuttoned tuxedo shirt. Jacket and tie are gone, but he has his cheap, shiny shoes on at least. Eyes puffy and face pale, Joe groans as he approaches consciousness. "Wuhthefuck?" Joe isn't alone in the room when he comes to. Dusk is perched on the edge of the lower bunk, enormous fuzzy wings draped along the mattress behind him. He's shirtless, a black sweatshirt crumpled on the mattress beside him, otherwise just dressed in jeans and no shoes. His head is tipped downwards, elbows propped against his knees and his palms resting against his eyes; from behind his splayed hands there's an edge of white bandaging visible, too, plastered somewhat haphazardly across his face. "Shit. You awake, man?" His voice sounds a little scratchy-rough, from disuse or parched dry-mouth, perhaps. He drops a hand from the patch of bandaging it covers, fumbling on the floor beside him for a lightweight metal pitcher of water. "S'some. Water. Don't know if you're up for drinking." Joe blinks and finally comes fully conscious, if still a little drug-addled. He squints and is finally able to focus on Dusk across the room from him. "Oh shit, great..." Joe says. It sounds like he would have been a lot more concerned except for the note of Surrender to the Universe in his voice. "Just fuckin' great." He winces and grunts then as he tries to move forward. At that point he actually cries out and falls onto his hands and knees, panting from the pain. "Fuck this is gonna feel great when the drugs wear off." Joe crawls half way across the distance to Dusk and the water, asking as he goes, "Got your fuckin eyes huh? What the fuck are they doing here?" There's a quiet clicking that fills the room, only barely in the range of hearing as it echoes off the walls and furniture. Dusk leans forward, here, dropping off the bunk to bridge the rest of the distance to Joe, offering the pitcher out to the other man. "Fuck if I know, man. Fuck if I goddamn know. Best we figured before I was yanked, these fuckers are --" He slumps back against the floor, wings puddling out on the carpet behind him. "Stealing mutations. What'd they take off you?" Joe is briefly glad Dusk can't see his horrified expression when Dusk comes close to him. Eventually he gets himself under control, and hefts the pitcher to his mouth for a drink. "Ok man, don't kill me, but I gotta say this. You're fuckin scary to wake up to. And I dunno what they got. Something outta my guts, I guess. What the fuck is on the side? Spleen? Liver? Kidney? Who knows, man." Dusk exhales a sharp breath, quick and heavy and a little tired. "Yeah," he allows. "I'm fucking terrifying." He sinks down to lie on the carpet, slumping exhausted onto his side with one wing draped down over his bare chest. "Side? That's vague. Fuck. An /organ/ -- nngh. I don't suppose you heal particularly fast? You gonna /survive/ that?" "Fuck no," Joe says. "And I've had the shit kicked out of me enough to know I don't heal up. I'm not even..." Joe lowers his voice, and tries to drink some more water. This time he ends up coughing, and it sounds /painful/. When the fit finally chuffs to a stop, he quickly gets the crying under control, and probably thinks Dusk doesn't know, just because he can't see him. Nevermind how much he /sounds/ like he's trying to hide it. Either way, coughing after sloppy abdominal surgery probably really hurts. "How the fuck do they even know? I'm registered human." For a moment, Dusk actually smiles. It probably doesn't help much with his fucking-scary impression -- the gleaming fangs in his mouth are /very/ large, and /very/ sharp. "Yeah, I'm not even registered," he tells Joe, "beats me how they knew." One wing twitches agains his chest. "Look --" He starts to push himself upright but then sinks back down against the floor, pale and rather shaky. "This is going to sound weird as fuck, okay? But I can help you heal faster." "Help /me/?" Joe sounds incredulous. "Have you looked in a- yeah, well ok you /can't/ look in a mirror, but you look like /shit/ bro. Also. We get outta this? I swear to god I'll pay you a /thousand/ bucks to walk into some MRA office and tell them to register you as non-mutant." Joe chuckles and instantly regrets it. Looking down, he sees fresh blood in his bandage. All the coughing must have ripped his stitches. Joe can't smell it, but the rich scent of fresh blood wafts through the room. Subconsciously, Joe inches back from Dusk, just a little bit. "So, all I mean is, how can you help me when /you're/ all jacked up- wait, what the fuck do I call you, anyway?" "Dusk. I'm Dusk. What about you?" Dusk shudders, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as the tang of blood drifts across his senses. He turns his head away from Joe, clenching his teeth hard, his muscles flexing into tense definition as he pulls in slow strained breathes. "Vampires don't have reflections anyway, didn't you know?" The humour in his tone is bleak and dry. "And sure. I'll tell them I'm cosplaying." He still doesn't turn towards Joe, not yet. "Won't grow you a new organ, but it'll keep you from going septic. Keep you /chugging/ without -- whatever the fuck they took, if you're not dead already then it's clearly something you can do without for a bit. I -- heal pretty fast, myself. And anyone I feed --" There's a wry note of awkward apology in his tone on this word. "So do they." Joe nods, still forgetting that Dusk can't seem him. "I'm Joe." He starts to chuckle when Dusk talks about Vampires, but stops for two reasons. One, because it really hurts to laugh. And two, because he can tell Dusk isn't kidding. "Hey, no man you don't have to do that. And to be honest, if I'm gonna die anyway, I don't wanna go out as some homo in an Ann Rice novel, you know?" He can't stop the chuckle this time, and his tone makes it clear he thinks Dusk is on the same side as his 'joke', but the laugh quickly goes south as Joe doubles over, crying out in pain. "Fuckfuckfuck..." Dusk's wing tightens around himself, and he snorts slow at Joe's response. He rolls slowly over onto his side, very sluggishly-painfully dragging himself back a few inches closer to the bed before giving up and just flopping back against the floor once more. Face-down, this time. "You're dying in some goddamn cell and you're worried you might get some /gay/ on you?" He sounds juuust a little incredulous. "Jesus, dude, I didn't tell you you had to suck it out of my /dick/. Suit yourself. But when that starts going septic you might want to reconsider." "Oh shit," Joe mutters. Pulling himself up, Joe is kneeling on the carpet, hunched over slightly. Pulling his shirt the rest of the way off, blood is running freely from under his bandage, trickling down to spill over his belt. At least his pants are black. He blinks, just staring at it for a minute, and then looks back up at Dusk. "Shit, you /are/ gay? Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm an asshole on my best days, just for the record." He speech seems a little off now too. Blood loss and a decent concussion can do that, after all. "Fuck it, I could never pull off the 'tough guy' routine anyway. What do I have to..." His voice trails off as his chin dips down, the action muffling his voice as he goes. Then his head comes back up, "Will I turn?" Sounds like somebody's been watching too many movies. "I'm not." Dusk is speaking through his teeth, now, as he turns back over. His wings stretch out wiiide agains the carpet, enormous enough that they're practically a second layer of carpet all on their own where they spread out beneath him. His soft growl rumbles again, nostrils flaring as Joe continues to bleed. "-- Gay, I mean. But you're still an asshole." One of his wings presses back, very slowly levering himself up into a sitting position; it's clearly something of a struggle, wobbly-weak before he finally gets upright. "You won't start craving blood or burning up in sunlight, if that's what you mean. You'll heal faster than a regular human. You'll get hella fucking strong. Faster. Better reflexes. Whole vampire package, without any of the downsides. For about a -- little less than a day, usually." His teeth bare in a thin smile. "And for the first hour or two it'll be a kinda rush. Druglike. Given the hole in your side it might be a blessing. It'll wear off." Nodding, slowly scoots forward, walking on his knees, smearing the blood running down his right leg into the carpet. "Yeah ok, man. Sounds like next bug drug, the way you sell it." He places himself awkwardly in front of Dusk, not really sure how to proceed and then he thinks of something. "But wait - how much like a vampire /are/ you? Don't /you/ need to feed?" Another shudder shivers through Dusk, as Joe approaches. His wings curl in tight around himself, his teeth clenching hard. "Yeah." It sounds odd, when he speaks -- his words come out normally /despite/ the fact that his low growl hasn't /ceased/ rumbling underneath it, two pairs of vocal cords operating simultaneously. "I need to feed." There's a noticeable tremor shivering through his arm as he lifts it towards his own mouth, fangs briefly baring and then sinking down in against his vein. Blood starts to flow from the two deep puncture wounds, bright crimson against way-too-pale skin. He tips his arm up and outward, extending it generally in Joe's direction. "Salud." The offered toast is kind of wry. Joe takes two deep breaths before finally shaking his head and taking Dusk's arm in both his hands. Drawing the puncture wounds to his mouth, Joe drinks deep and long. He's about to pull away when the rush hits him like a freight train and he tries to drink more. Finally he pulls himself off of Dusk's arm and falls back off of his kneeling position, just sitting in the blood stained carpet. "Holy fuck balls man, that shit comes on /fast/." His mouth hangs open for a second as his head finally starts to clear a little after being drugged for so long. "Jesus, how do you live like this, and still put up with shit from /anyone/?" Joe blinks and shakes his head, before stumbling back up to his knees, and holding his wrist out, putting it right into Dusk's outstretched hand. "I owe you, man. Lemme repay the favor." "Kind of a rush, huh." Dusk wobbles slightly again where he sits, wings spreading behind him to help keep his balance. "Usually don't. Motherfuckers shot me in the fucking knee." Which might explain the difficulty he's been having dragging himself around. "Only so much help muscles are against a fucking bullet. -- Oh shit. Oh /shit/ are you serious." It might be a rhetorical question -- at least he's desperate enough that he doesn't wait for further invitation past Joe actually /placing/ his wrist in his hands. His head drops with a low hungry growl and though the initial stab of fangs is as painful as might be expected it fades surprisingly quickly into a similarly druglike euphoria-rush as Dusk starts to feed. Kind of /ravenously/, he's been here a couple days. It probably takes some modicum of self-control to pull away without making Joe pass out, but he does, pressing the back of his hand to his lips. He sinks back down against the increasingly bloodstained carpet, a hint more colour in his previously corpse-pale complexion. His wing drapes across his chest again as he sprawls back down. And, after a silence: "... feel gayer?" Sure, some of the strength Joe felt, drains back away again, but when the cycle is complete, Joe has definitely come out ahead of where he was when they started. "Fuck /yes/ I do. If I have to go gay to get /that/?" Joe flops onto his back as well, pasty, flabby chest smeared with fresh and drying blood. At least it seems like the wound in his side has slowed down some. He takes several deep breaths and whispers, "Dusk, I think we need to plan our escape." "Yeah? And here I was just starting to get comfortable here. They even bring you room service, you know." One wing twitches towards the -- actually, it misses the door, but it twitches in the general direction of the wall where the door is. Dusk curls his arm against his chest, the blood seeping from his wrist slowed as well. "I think you need to stop bleeding out of your gut first. And then we can punch the hell out of shit." "Yeah," Joe agrees. "Maybe just a nap first." Tired, Joe surprises himself with the ability to stand on his own two feet. Super soldier: arise! He rises slowly, carefully, but he manages it in the end. He staggers, helping Dusk get into the bottom bunk, and then actually climbs up to the top bunk on his own. "Just a quick nap."