anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

That hand presses down to keep him steady, keep him flat against the sheets as he writhes through the worst of it. "I've ended his old life...and given him a new one."

One with untold possibility. Death? Less so. He would have bled out there, ignoble and forgotten, and what a waste that would have been. In truth, he'd hoped for a companion, someone who could understand him and this age they both existed in. York could provide that.

He simply had to fight for it. For a soldier? That should be as natural an impulse as any.

The noises twisting out of York are wretched, almost inhuman. Deep, full throated cries that Taper into wounded sobs, fingers clawing at the sheets. It hurts- everything too sharp, like ground glass under his skin, like needles under his nails, like fire in his veins. Words start to form, broken and begging.

"Please, please-" make it end, bring the sweeter warmth back. Make it good again, not this-

"Fight."

Locus's fingers curl against him, and a softer man might have taken pity on him. Shown him some mercy. But there can be no softness now, not when he is so close. Instead, he leans over him, breaking all sight of the light beyond.

"Fight death back and tell it it has no power over you. It never will again. Fight, Agent York."

He remembers what it felt like, the agony, but it will pass. He will open his eyes to a new world, see it as though for the first time. Locus remains there, just above him, holding him in place before bloodied fingers reach to touch the side of his face. Skin to skin. A reminder.

"I am with you."

How do you fight something in your own skin? Delta scrambles along the neural lace to assist where he can but there's so much. Too much. Bright and brilliant and burning even him- everything feels as though it would break, like the very wires where he lives might melt.

York whines, a sharp, visceral keening that's three parts pain and two parts pure obscenity- arching one last time before leaning bodily into the hand on his cheek. A point of contact. Not alone, never alone again-

Edited 2017-07-19 20:14 (UTC)

The wound on his wrist is slowly closing, and he shifts, cupping a hand to it lest the smell of the blood warp York's senses entirely. It can become a focal point too quickly, and it is not the one he needs right now.

"Open your eyes."

As sudden as the pain came- it's over. He feels...heavy and cold and hungry and exhausted, something in him aching for...

The rumble of that voice settles him, eyes flicking open the moment he asks. Now he can pick out the details- green eyes, dark hair, strong jaw. He should...have something to say. Something smart.

But ask he can do is stare with sharper eyes than he's ever had before and murmur- "always been a sucker for green eyes."

"Hn."

Locus gives him a considering look before drawing back, allowing him room to rise at his own speed and take in his surroundings. Nothing spectacular to look at down here, but the difference should be obvious to someone who'd been half-blind and seeing the world through mortal eyes.

"Not your primary impetus for making that choice, I'm certain."

"Not dying kinda took priority, but the green eyes help." He smirks and it feels right for the first time in years, no crooked tug because the scar? Is gone. He's whole again in a way he hasn't been in awhile and-

Delta's a cool, grounding influence in the back of his mind, but he's not alone they're anymore. There's...Not a presance. An awareness of...The guy he had no name for that still has the whole of his attention as he sits up. Okay.

Vampire. Sires? Was that the term? "So...what do I call you? You know me, apparently. Which only now strikes me as creepy."

"Locus."

There are no titles that need to go along with that, no allusion to servitude or anything of that sort. He might have made York what he is now, but he is still his own creature. This life is his to make of what he wishes.

He rises, the pressure leaving the bed.

"I'd been observing the Freelancers for some time. Or what remains of you. The Director has hidden himself away, and the remnants now close in upon themselves." He'd just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see York fall, and be there to retrieve him.

"Oh, good. Cuz if I had to call you master or daddy for the rest of forever shit was gonna get awkward." And probably not in the way locus expects. It feels... everything feels so intense. Bright and loud and fascinating, he loses half a moment to the acute awareness of the neural lace in his own brain, of the soft hum of the circuitry. That's...trippy.

"Why, though? And why me?"

"Many reasons. Mainly...I saw something I recognized in its workings. Young men and women who were being manipulated, used, and thrown aside." There's a visible frown working at the edges of his mouth, some personal bitterness that hadn't quite faded with time.

"You deserved better."

That was part of it, at least. The part that was easier to explain than the rest.

"I'd say that I'm not that young...but I have no idea how old you are." Is that a thing? Can he ask that? He frowns and swings his legs around, standing upright. There's a moment of uncomfortable itching where he'd been shit where dried blood and torn armor rub against his skin. "I'm gonna have to get this shit fixed."

And that'll be expensive. Damn.

"You will be safe here. You may remove it, if it is uncomfortable."

Locus's eyes survey him briefly, before he moves towards a table, set against one of the bunker walls. His arm, meanwhile, looks to be sealing itself back up, little by little. A good feeding will see it seal all the way closed, but to move now would be risky.

Better to be certain the other Freelancers have departed.

"I thought I was used to the pressure, but..." everything feels like so much now. He doesn't think twice, popping off portions of his armor and setting it neatly aside to be cleaned later. Seeing his blood is...

He nearly died. He did die and this is... he pushes those thoughts away, focusing on the way the air feels against his skin through the torn undersuit.

"...thank you, by the way. For saving me."

"You are welcome."

He turns back briefly, watching as York peels himself out of his armor. The damage is staggering to look at. He most certainly would have died, but the skin under the tears in his undersuit is smooth and unmarred. There is a brief clink as the bullets that had been pushed out in the healing clatter against the floor.

"...I suppose you could return those to their owner, were you feeling generous."

"Reggie?" Nothing personal, only business- he knows the usual lines the bastard would use. It'd be the easiest thing in the world. With delta and this in his system? It'd be so damn simple-

And not worth a damn thing. He reaches up to rub his hand over his healthy skin, still smudged with his blood. "...not a risk I feel like taking. I stayed alive by avoiding them. Figure I ought to go beck to that."

Not prone towards revenge. That bodes well, in the years to come. Locus merely nods, drawing a chair away from the table and taking a seat. The bulk of his armor shifts around him.

"There is much I will have to teach you. The light of the sun contains a spectrum that reacts poorly with what we are. Any star can have this effect, if close enough in proximity. There are ways to avoid in while traveling however..."

And one hand lifts to tap two fingers against his suit.

"Fire should likewise be avoided."

"Do the 'stake through the heart' church, invitation to cross the threashold and silver myths hold up?" He may have been a vampire nerd for a brief portion of his youth- then he moved on to werewolves because they were cooler, then aliens because they were impossible.

Until they suddenly, viscerally weren't.

Not too terribly unlike Vampires, he supposes. Still. Another reason to avoid going out in the sun and- well. He's always been more of a nightowl anyway. He can live without the sunrise.

"Not particularly."

He tilts his head, waiting. York appears to be grasping all of this readily. Surely he'll have questions of his own. Some things, even Locus doesn't know the answer to. Experience has taught him much, but not all, about the state of his existence as this...thing.

He knows enough to know he prefers it to death. Without question.

"Does what we eat have to come from a live human or can we make fucked up juiceboxes out of bloodpacks from a bank?" He's not above robbing those if he can get away with it, because right now? The idea of biting someone is... Yeah. No. No thank you.

But he's still full of Locus' blood that made him what he is- when that goes? When the hunger hits again? God only knows how long his principles will hold up.

"You can survive that way, easily. It will be akin to eating MREs. I'm sure you remember those."

Survive, yes, but it's a half-life. There is something in them that craves life, that spark that inhabits living blood. It would not be the same.

"That is not to say every feeding must be a kill. It requires more planning, but it is not entirely objectionable. It can even be...enjoyable, if done correctly."

"If we're in transit it'll be the safer option." One vampire knocking around and eating as they like is probably simple enough to hide in a galaxy of strife. Two of them? Establishes a pattern and ups the risk of people thinking something is going down.

But hey.

Enjoyable, that has him curious, sitting back on the bed facing Locus, elbows propped on his knees. "Like...how I felt when I had your blood?"

"No. That is a different experience entirely. That is taking into you something unique. It will never feel that way again, unless feeding from one of us. Feeding from a living person will be comparable, but less rapturous. Feeding from a bag? You can imagine."

York gets a blank look at that.

"Being fed from is...there are no words for it. It is how I was made. It is seductive, exhilarating. Nothing compares, no drug, no carnal experience."

"Is that a thing? The feeding from another vampire." He's got a feeling that way lies- well. Bad shit. Things that feel that good tend to end poorly if done in excess. Also- well.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Damn. Where were you when I was knocking around clubs? That mighta been nicer meeting than 'oh dear god i'm gonna die.'"

"Perhaps. On an evening where we both have a little more to spare, I might demonstrate."

After all, they're going to be traveling together for the time being. They'll certainly have the time. These are things that should be explored, shouldn't they? York has an interest in exploring them at least.

Locus, for his part, is simply glad for the company. And York is taking all of this in stride. Much better than he had, at the time.

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