Logs:Alpha Blood-Suckers

Alpha Blood-Suckers
Dramatis Personae Cletus, Dusk	cn: mild violence, blood "I fucking EAT people."
Location <BOM> Ascension Island
It's a mild night -- chilly by the water but pleasant out here in the woods, with the trees as a windbreak for the breezes that come in off the ocean. The small cabin that's tucked out here underneath a stand of aspens is a solitary one, far from many of the others closer to the center of the compound. Its lights are currently off, inside and on its little front porch both, but that doesn't seem to bother Dusk, currently seated on the roof, one leg dangling off its edge, in old corduroys and a grey zip-up hoodie, unzipped over a black and blue long-sleeved raglan tee. He's been rolling a joint, slowly, and now, flicking a lighter, is equally slow in taking a first drag. Something stirs among the trees; at first, one might be forgiven for mistaking it for fox, or perhaps another nocturnal predator. But then -- there's a very distinct scent carried through the trees by the ocean breeze. A figure emerges from the edge of the treeline, clothed in tattered old grey hoodie -- not unlike Dusk's, but without a zipper -- and it's seen far more wear and tear. Dark stains. Hood pulled up, tied tight. Beneath that, a pair of pants that look suspiciously like what you'd expect to find a patient in a hospital wearing. Or -- maybe a 'volunteer' in a lab. Whoever he is, he's slowly approaching Dusk's cabin, walking with a notable limp -- making no attempt to stay hidden. He also carries the distinct scent of... well -- blood. Dusk's nose twitches, first. Then a soft growl, that rises low in his chest, rumbles briefly and fades away. His wings lift, half-mantling behind himself, casting a darker shadow against the sky. Another small sniff, sniff, at the air. In the clear night, no moon overhead, only a glimmer of stars to see by, he's just-barely visible by the intermittent crackling cherry of his joint as he takes another drag. "Whoever you are," he calls down, clear but not loud, "probably ought to turn 'round. Don't take kindly to visitors, 'round here." The hooded figure stops. There's a clear moment where he's watching -- admiring? -- Dusk's silhouette; the way those half-lifted wings create a distinct and visible threat, cast against the starry sky. The burning tip of that joint perhaps only adds to the threatening image. And then, a voice -- haggard and crooked -- calls back: "You that fuckin' Nosferatu, right? Am I supposed to get invited to your little island? Izzat how it works?" The scent of blood briefly intensifies. "That's not exactly my name." There's something new in Dusk's voice here, now -- surprise? Maybe. "Usually people get an invite first. The ones who don't get a quick trip out. Why, did you want to stay?" The growl has returned, with that intensifying scent -- not replacing his words but rumbling right alongside them, adding a throaty second layer to his speech. "Do you know where you are?" "I ain't got a fuckin' clue." The hooded figure stops, again. He's a good 15, maybe 20 feet away from the cabin -- head craned up. A hand -- his left hand -- reaches up to grab the hoodie. In the darkness, it's hard to make it out... but the hand doesn't seem quite... right. It's shimmering, undulating, almost like liquid... and though the light is low, it's clearly not flesh-toned. More like... a dark, writhing crimson. The hoodie pulls back -- revealing two moon-yellow eyes in a sea of red. The face's mouth is a crooked, jagged line; it's hard to tell if it's grinning or grimacing. "So how's this work, Dracula? We sniff each other's butts? Figure out which one is the alpha blood-sucker?" Carnage sounds like he's kidding. Probably. "Shit." Dusk's fingers snap, point down toward Carnage. "The lab. I remember you." He takes another drag from his joint, his wings mantling out just a little further. "Glad you made it out." He gets to his feet, wings still only half-stretched as he drops from the roof to land light on the ground. He offers the joint out toward Carnage as he takes a step foward. "Never met another vampire. Can't say I know an etiquette. You here for a pissing contest, though, that's really gonna harsh my buzz." "..." Carnage's jagged mouth is definitely grimacing, now. He seems... suddenly put out that Dusk has utterly deflated what might have been, in his mind, some epic showdown between primordial predators. Or maybe he's just pissed that he's not stoned, yet. He does take a step back when Dusk lands on the ground, though. Assumes a brief defensive posture... then slowly drops it when he offers the joint out to him. "You... for real?" Sniff, sniff. That left hand -- the one made of blood and crimson claws -- extends out for the joint, before retracting from it, like a vampire touching a cross. "The fuck is this place? I smell --" The face twists into a deeper grimace, exposing layers of shard-like teeth. "--this your fuckin'... bloodfarm, or something?" "My what?" Dusk's wings pull back in tight behind him; as large as they seemed while mantled they manage to fold up quite compactly, now. "I live here. A bunch of us do. I don't have a -- blood -- farm, I just -- did you think I was joking about asking people?" He's half-lowered his hand, the joint temporarily forgotten. "I don't know. Maybe they're into it. Maybe... maybe -- fuckin' hell, man," Carnage grunts, and the redness of his face is receding, revealing -- pale, freckled skin, red hair... normal eyes. Well, one eye. The other is just a socket -- a socket filled with red, from which a moon-yellow glow peeks out. "I don't know -- I don't know how any of this shit works. I just fuckin'... eat people. Y'know?" A flicker of something sweeps over Cletus's face; a convulsion of nausea. It swiftly fades. Dusk offers the joint out again, when that red recedes. "Some of them get pretty into it," he admits, one side of his mouth hooking up in a quick flash of smile that fades just as fast. His shoulders tighten, his head dipping. "Yeah. I know. Little bit ago I lost control real bad and --" He shakes his head, one long thumbclaw flicking dismissively. "Shit. You got somewhere to stay?" Cletus eyes the joint skeptically -- but then, finally, reaches out to grab it -- with his right hand. He sniffs it, inspects it, then proceeds to take a drag... followed immediately by a wheezing, hacking, coughing fit. He buckles forward, stumbles back, grunts -- and reluctantly offers the joint back to Dusk. Wisps of smoke emerging from his nostrils. "Hnhh. I don't... I don't need a place to stay, I just. I just need to fuckin' eat," he says, his voice hoarse and raspy. His nostrils flare, again; there's a hint of something familiar in his eyes -- the way he looks at Dusk. It's not in control, but it's there; that raw, animal hunger. "Slower, maybe, if you're not used to it." Dusk takes the joint back for another long drag. His eyes -- a faint animal shine to them, in the starlight -- meet Cletus's steadily. He lifts his hand to his mouth -- there's a quick flash of fangs, two clean puncture wounds in his wrist. A thick welling of blood there when he offers his arm to the other man, brows slightly raised. Cletus stares, slightly slack-jawed at the puncture wounds -- at what Dusk is offering him. There's several conflicting emotions in his expression, all at once -- hunger. Confusion. Shock. Astonishment. More hunger. His nostrils flare again, and... ...he leans in, ever so slowly. Close. Mouth opening wider. Before, with a glance up to Dusk, as if to confirm... he presses his mouth to that wound. At once, Dusk can feel it; there's a brief pull that goes beyond the mere suction of his mouth -- as if his blood is being drawn into Cletus's jaws. There's a brief spike of flow, a grunt -- a groan. Cletus's eyes roll back. A shudder ripples through him. He's pulling even more. And then, suddenly -- all at once -- with an animalistic snarl -- Cletus tears his mouth off, teeth scraping, biting through Dusk's skin, almost taking a sizable piece out of him -- as he roughly, violently shoves him back. Away. "Fuck," Dusk hisses, hand jerking sharply back at that scrape of teeth; despite his lanky frame he proves hard to shove -- like shoving a cement wall. He doesn't pull away any farther than that initial reflex, taking a half-step back but then just settling. There's still blood dripping down one hand, over his palm and off his fingers into the grass, and he makes no move to clean it up or stanch the wound. Just looks at Cletus -- a mild concern in the furrow of his brow. "Hey -- man, you okay? I usually need like -- well. A lot more than that." "What the fuck." Carnage -- it is Carnage, now, as his face turns red, a swirling maelstrom of crimson sweeping over his expression, his mouth becoming a jagged landscape of sharpened teeth once more. "Why the fuck does your blood taste that good?" he hisses. He takes two steps back. Staring up at Dusk, slightly hunched, his arms... red, extending; fingers becoming claws that gouge at the soil, at the ground beneath him, furrowing long, wicked paths. "Why is your -- fuck." His whole body ripples with something. "Just. Just give me a fuckin' second," he snarls, his voice shrill and hollow. "I'm just. I'm just... fuck. I'm... I'm just tryin' not to fucking EAT you." Dusk blushes at this, a flush of blood burning up through his cheeks as now, he does take a step back. Takes a seat on the front steps of his cabin, wings wrapping around him like a suede cloak. "Just special, I guess." There's a slight bitter note in his voice here -- but only slight. It's cleared up when he offers, "Hey, I'm in no rush." He pinches out his joint. Leans back on the stairs, elbows propped on the stair above him as he watches Carnage swirling. "Sure you don't want to stay the night. They gotta be looking for your freaky ass." It takes him a moment -- several moments -- but Carnage calms down. All the while, it's clear there's something whipping, twisting, writhing across his body, underneath his clothes -- there's the sound of the hoodie ripping as little scything blades of crystalized blood carve paths across the fabric. His breathing is hard enough to make his entire chest and body (both having swollen slightly in size) heave; then, slowly but surely, the breathing slows... and the hissing grows under control. Carnage drops down to all fours. His head sinks; teeth snap into a thick branch; there's a crunching sound as he starts to just... tear into it, gnaw on it like a bone, grinding and chewing it to pieces. After a few fierce, hard chomps, having stripped most of the bark away, he pulls his jaws back -- threads of something like saliva trickling down. "Hnh... fuckin'... what the fuck is wrong with you?" he hisses, before spitting out a chunk of tree bark. "You ain't got eyes? You see what the fuck I am? You want me to bunk with you? Have a fuckin'... fuckin' sleep-over? I fucking..." Chitter, hiss. "I fucking EAT people." He seems to be back in control, though; his breathing is slow, the red starting to recede. Dusk's eyes have gone somewhat wider, through this display. His pulse is faster, his breathing as well, though he hasn't moved from his seat on the stairs. He swallows, his head shaking slowly. "... how do you think I stay alive? Because eating my Wheaties really doesn't cut it." He gets to his feet, shaking his wings out behind him. "Besides," his pulse hasn't returned to normal but there's a pensiveness in his voice, "kinda work we do around here -- I think maybe we could use someone like you." The red retracts almost completely; Carnage's face is still there, but it's no longer making his hoodie expand or threaten to tear beneath a mounting pressure. He rises; his own pulse is still fast, but he's not lunging for Dusk. Instead, he meets his gaze, yellow eyes glowing, rising to stand back on two feet. "Hnh... you're... bleedin'," Carnage mutters, staring at Dusk's arm. Before, adding -- almost distractedly: "--what kinda work?"