kore_logs | [open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

Entry tags:

[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

Who: Ned, open to all
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]

Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.

He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.

Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.

Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.

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Ned made the decision, sometime around sundown, that he wasn't going back to the house tonight. He's weighed the odds and done a bit of soul-searching and overall he thinks it is safer to sleep out here. He doesn't know how long. What he knows is that he doesn't want a repeat of the night before.

So he is concentrating on moss - springy, soft, wonderful moss, lovely to lie on. That is, until he hears footsteps approaching, spots Meyer coming closer, counting carnations. Ned had glanced at his communication earlier in the day, been curious at the blank screen, the recitation of numbers.

"Counting blades of grass?" he asks, by way of greeting. "I wouldn't bother. There will only be more a minute, look."

With that he reaches down and rips up a clump of petunias, only to have a mass of silvery-green stalks of lavender begin to creep up out of the soil a moment later, purple buds slowly uncurling.

"I wouldn't be counting if I didn't have to."

But, at the very least, he can count quietly, so as not to bother Ned's lounging, and he moves over to the lavender. That's a bit harder to count than the blades of grass, and eventually, he looks back up at Ned, raising an eyebrow.

"So. This is what you turned into. A... flower conjurer?"

And maybe he's a little jealous. He'd have much preferred being able to make flowers grow than being stuck as a counting vampire. He's been trying to avoid face to face contact with people as much as he can today, unsure of whether he'll want to attack them or not. So far, he's found that as long as he doesn't stare intently at someone, he doesn't seem inclined to attack. He hopes that luck holds.

"So it seems," Ned says, with a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He feels bad for pointing out the counting, now that he knows Meyer can't help it. The last thing he'd want to do is make someone else feel self-conscious for something they aren't in control of. He sits up a little straighter, patting the ground beside him, offering Meyer a seat, if he wants one.

"What about you?" he asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. Meyer looks paler than the few times Ned had seen him before, but it may just a trick of the fading light. "If you don't mind my asking?" He guesses that the counting is involved, since it's not something he noticed in their previous conversations. It's no stranger than spontaneously causing vegetation to grow, Ned supposes.

He takes the seat beside Ned, although he maintains a healthy distance between the two of them. "Vampire," he answers ruefully.

Pale, certainly, and colder than usual, too. He's almost always cold to the touch anyway, but this is different -- a little icier, a little less human feeling. He hadn't immediately realized he was a vampire, not until people in town had taken it upon themselves to explain his affliction to him. If Ned looks closely, he might notice the fangs; that was what had first tipped him off that something was wrong.

"I'm just hoping it doesn't last long."

Because eventually, vampires must get hungry. And that's not particularly the way he wants to introduce himself to the people in the town he hasn't yet met.

Ned is willing to concede that, as far as options go, vampire legitimately sucks. Particularly the arithmomaniac variant that Meyer has clearly been landed with. Once Meyer gives him that hint, Ned does notice the fangs as Meyer speaks, does his best not to stare. It isn't his fault, and he must be feeling self-conscious enough already without any outside help.

"That's why you didn't show up on the video," Ned makes the connection aloud. "Do you at least have super-strength or super-speed, or can you turn into a bat, or mist, or a shadow?"

And, Ned wants to ask, how bad is the craving for blood? But that's not exactly polite, is it. So long as Meyer doesn't make his way through the town ripping out throats, how bad he might want to isn't any of Ned's business.

He's not exactly pleased by the fact that his fangs are noticeable enough that they glint even in the dimming light, and he's certainly not pleased by the counting problem. He'd always enjoyed math, especially statistics, but this had taken the interest to a new and unpleasant level. Several people had already attempted to diagnose him with some kind of psychological disorder, as if the vampirism wasn't bad enough.

"I'm slightly faster than usual. No super strength that I've noticed, sadly, and I can't turn into a bat, or mist, or a shadow, but I've found myself able to climb walls."

The craving for blood hadn't started out bad. Throughout the day, he'd mostly been able to avoid thinking about it, although there had been an unfortunate moment when he'd lingered too long gazing at his roommate's neck and had unpleasant thoughts. Somehow, though, sitting beside Ned is making those thoughts crowd to the front of his mind again -- which is probably evident from the slightly hungry expression on his face as he gazes at him.

Ned doesn't notice the change that seems to be coming over Meyer's face. He's not exactly big on eye contact most of the time, and he's very concerned with not staring. So instead he is looking up into the trees and the canopy of flowers that's been making its way up into their branches. He reaches up and plucks down a kiwi, running his fingers along the fuzzy skin without realizing he's doing it.

For the most part, Ned doesn't think that the change has affected his mind, but he does notice that he is much more tactile. He seems to have swung from one extreme to the other. Normally he walks around with his hands in his pockets, tries to avoid touching things, and particularly people. Now, he can't seem to stop himself. Perhaps it is the knowledge that earlier, when he caught a dead leaf in his hand, it stayed dead. His usual powers are nowhere to be found, and the respite is utterly delightful.

"Do you want one?" He asks, gesturing with the kiwi before taking a bite. "You could be one of those vampires who can eat human food, too. I think I've seen a few movies where they could do that."

He looks at the kiwi, then back at Ned. Normally, he wouldn't think twice before accepting the offer of the kiwi, but he doesn't even know if he can eat normal food, and besides, he's more interested in finding out just what Ned's blood tastes like. It's a struggle not to think about it, but he's trying his hardest, so he nods at the question. "Sure, I'll take one." It's an attempt to refocus, just like staring at the flowers instead of staring at Ned is an attempt to refocus.

Maybe sitting this close to someone wasn't a good idea. From here, he feels like he can practically smell Ned's blood -- whether or not that's true or just his imagination is debatable, but his mind just keeps returning to unpleasant places. Without conscious realization, he scoots a little closer, ostensibly with the excuse of accepting a kiwi. Somehow, though, he doesn't think regular food is going to cut it.

In fact, he feels almost intoxicated, far more so than he'd felt this morning. Maybe the lack of blood was getting to him -- he had no idea how long it took for a vampire to really need to drink blood -- or perhaps Ned had extremely alluring blood. Either way, he's vaguely aware he's leaning closer, yet not stopping himself from doing so.

Ned doesn't realize that something is of until Meyer is quite close, in his personal space, and his regular defenses kick in. Perhaps he ought to have been more concerned, when Meyer admitted to his vampirism. He is all alone here, with a blood-drinker, acting as if nothing could possibly go wrong.

He goes still, like a startled rabbit, eyes widening. His heart is racing, blood pounding in his ears, the vein at the side of his neck showing his quickened pulse. Ned doesn't pull away or try to run. He doesn't want to be rude, if this really is nothing. But that look Meyer is giving him, as if he were dinner, makes him pretty sure it's not nothing.

"I-is everything alright?" he asks, nervously. "Meyer?"

Edited 2013-04-07 00:03 (UTC)

Everything's not all right, not even close, but he has no idea how to express that, because this close to Ned, the only thing that's going through his mind is how hungry he is. He can't believe he's been able to repress the urge for this long, now that he's come face to face with someone. Just looking at the vein on the side of Ned's neck is bad enough, and smelling him -- he's almost certain he can smell his blood, something that he'll later think is crazy, but which makes perfect sense right now -- is even worse.

He may not be much faster than usual, but he's still moving quickly enough to grab for Ned's arm with one hand, a fumbling attempt to hold him right where he is so he can lunge for his neck, or his shoulder, or whatever he can reach. Having never done this before, his motions aren't smooth, and he's acting on sheer instinct, but if it allows him to sink his teeth into bare skin, he'll take what he can get.

The only time he'd ever tasted blood before had been his own blood, blood in his mouth from being punched in the face, most likely, and he hadn't enjoyed the taste of it. He'd never even thought about tasting someone else's, never conceived of himself as the type of person to lunge for someone's veins and attack them as though he was starving. But then, he'd never been a vampire before, and the taste of Ned's blood promises to be just as intoxicating as it smells.

It all happens in the blink of an eye. Meyer is lunging forward, grabbing him, and then there is a white-hot pain in his neck. Ned reacts instinctively, trying to wrench his arm free, but the other man's grip is strong. He doesn't want to thrash too much, doesn't want those sharp sharp teeth to rip into him any more than they already have. He can't stop thinking how icy Meyer's mouth is, how being bitten shouldn't be so cold. In a way it lessens the pain, numbs the point of contact.

"G-get off me!" he pants, already starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss. He finally manages to get his arm free, elbows Meyer squarely in the solar plexus, and breaks free. Ned scrambles away from him at once, pressing a hand to the wound on his neck. The blood is flowing freely, but not worryingly fast.

Ned holds up his hands, a gesture that is half-soothing, half supplication.

"You don't want to do this," he urges, hoping that merely saying it will make it true. A drop of blood drips from the heel of Ned's hand. The second it hits the ground, dark red flowers burst up from the grass. They do not grow slowly, as the others have been doing, but they surge up at a rate that doesn't seem possible. Ned looks down in confusion for a second, but he doesn't have time to wonder what's going on there.

To say that he's not thinking clearly would be an understatement. The second he tastes the blood in his mouth, there's nothing else in the world, nothing else he could even begin to focus on. He doesn't want to let go of Ned's neck, doesn't want to break away for even a second. It's like a very strong alcoholic drink consumed too fast -- one moment he's feeling almost normal, the next moment he feels like his mind is reeling, like everything is upside down.

When Ned elbows him, though, when he shoves him away, reality begins to seep back in. To say he snaps back into awareness would be implying that it happens quickly. It doesn't. There's a moment spent blinking in confusion, a moment where his tongue darts out to taste the blood on his lips, and the words Ned is speaking sounds like they're coming from far away, or maybe underwater.

After a few seconds, though, he understands the meaning of the words, the blood dripping onto the ground, and he stares in horror, even as the sight of the dripping blood makes his stomach jump with anticipation and hunger. Meyer is many things -- a drug dealer, a gambler, a gangster, and generally amoral -- but the one thing he's always prided himself on is the fact that he doesn't lose control. This, though, this couldn't be defined as anything but a loss of control, and it's that realization that makes him reel back, putting a safe distance between himself and Ned.

"I'm... I didn't..." He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, disgusted by the blood because of what it represents, not how it tastes. "I didn't mean to." It's a weak protest, but it's true, and it sickens him.

Ned can see that comprehension, that awareness creeping back into Meyer's eyes, and the self-disgust that follows, and it is a huge relief. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and clamps it to the side of his neck, trying to staunch the bleeding. The wound is really starting to hurt, now, and Ned hisses gently as he puts pressure on it.

His heart goes out to Meyer, it really does. He knows what it is like to hurt people without meaning to, and he will be nothing but sympathy and forgiveness - once he's sure he's safe.

"I know you didn't," he gasps, nodding once and then feeling faint and dizzy. Right, the blood loss. No nodding for now. "It's just what vampires do. B-but please don't do it again." There is still hunger there: Ned can see it in the twitch of interest in Meyer's expression as the handkerchief begins to turn red with blood. "And if you can't c-control it, then you'd probably b-better go. For both our sakes."

Faint and dizzy is something he can relate to; he feels a little drunk, like he's not quite in his body, like he's floating somewhere else. He doesn't know whether it's the blood or whether it's the shock of what he just did. He wrenches his gaze away from the handkerchief with no small amount of effort. He doesn't want to see the blood, he doesn't want to think about the blood, he doesn't want to focus on the fact that he could bite Ned again, and he could bite him longer this time, and he could probably kill him, if he really wanted to.

"I won't do it again."

The blood he was able to get before Ned shoved him away will tide him over for now. Unfortunately, it's also given him a taste for blood, something he'd only been able to speculate about before. "I can control it." That's partially true; he's not ravenous enough to be out of control, and he feels pleasantly drunk, almost too lethargic to put any effort into attacking the other man again.

"Is there anything I can do? Or should I just go?"

"I'll be alright. I don't think it's too deep, I-"

Ned had been about to say that he'll just go to the clinic for some bandages when he sees that Meyer is swaying slightly in place. His pupils are dilated, his face flushed. Perhaps that is normal, for a vampire who has fed? Or perhaps (Ned feels a sudden sinking in his gut) it's some side-effect of his blood. Does he have toxic blood? Has he poisoned Meyer without even meaning to?

"You okay?"

Edited 2013-04-07 18:06 (UTC)

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I feel..."

What he feels is drunk, not poisoned. Then again, he's never been poisoned, so maybe they feel the same. And he's never drunk blood before, so how would he know if this is normal?

"I feel drunk."

And a lot warmer than he'd felt before, too, although that wasn't particularly difficult, given that his skin had been icy cold only moments before.

"Drunk?"

That was definitely not the response that Ned had been expecting, but it's certainly preferable. Of course it wouldn't have been his fault, if his blood were poisonous and Meyer came to harm by it. He hadn't asked to be bitten. But Ned has some bad and complicated history with thinking of his body as toxic, as deadly. He'd much prefer to merely be intoxicating.

"How on earth-"

But Ned breaks off once again, eyes widening. This time it is in surprise, rather than fear. He moves the bloody handkerchief away from his neck, runs his fingertips over the bite inquiringly. Or, he would be running them over the bite, were it still there. The skin is sealed up, smooth, whole, though sticky with leftover blood.

"It's gone," he says, utterly baffled. He feels the area again, searching for any kind of indentation, any tear, but it is gone. The area is still sensitive, still painful, but it is unmistakably... "Healed. I must've... gotten healing powers, with the flower powers."

Edited 2013-04-07 19:05 (UTC)

"Drunk," he affirms, closing his eyes for a moment to attempt to quell the feeling of being slightly off balance. He doesn't drink to excess much, and being drunk isn't necessarily one of his favorite feelings -- again, it's far too close to losing control for his tastes -- but he can't deny that there's something slightly pleasant about this. More pleasant, though, is the fact that he doesn't want to bite Ned again. Not yet, at least.

When he opens his eyes, he's even able to glance at Ned's neck without that surge of hunger, despite the leftover blood that still remains. The fact that there's no broken skin, no visible wound, is confusing, but then, this whole day has been confusing.

"You're... it kind of makes sense, doesn't it?" His words are ponderous as he tries to get them out without stumbling over them like the drunken idiot he now fears he sounds like. "You can make things grow. You can heal things. Or at least heal yourself. Like growing the skin back."

Ned can tell how deliberately Meyer is speaking, how carefully he is trying to avoid slurring or mixing up the order of his words. It is the same peculiar kind of slow, deliberate dignity he sees sometimes in people who are intoxicated and trying to hide it, and he feels bad for wanting to laugh. He keeps the smile that is twitching at the corner of his mouth from spreading too much. Now that the pain is fading, now that he knows he can heal, his apprehensiveness of Meyer is falling by the wayside again.

"Well no harm done then," he says, wanting to make it clear that he's holding no kind of grudge, even if Meyer hadn't known he would heal before he bit. "Well, a little harm done, to both of us, and nothing we can't handle."

He sees Meyer shutting his eyes and says, "You can lay down if you'd like. Or... do you want water?" Can vampires drink water? What is he going to do if he gets a vampire hangover? "Or I could walk you back to your house, if you need." That's Ned: ever-helpful.

From what he's found, vampires can drink water. They can do just about everything a normal person can do, except they have this unfortunate tendency to want to drink blood. Frankly, if Ned were to laugh at him at this point, he's not sure he'd noticed. He's found staring at the flowers Ned has made extremely fascinating, the way things are fascinating when someone's intoxicated.

"I can't go back to my house. Charlie's in a bad mood."

He still hasn't figured out that his roommate got turned into a dragon, but he knows that whatever he is, it's angry. "I'll just lie here for a minute. I won't bite you."

He hates that he even has to say that.

"Okay, I trust you," Ned says. He's willing to be accommodating, within reason. He trusts Meyer less because he's willing to take his word and more because, well, he doesn't look up to biting much of anything at the moment.

Ned wipes some of the blood off his hands onto the grass and, once again, there is a rather alarming outburst of deep-red anemones. What is even up with that?

"Who's Charlie?" he asks distractedly, glancing between his blood-smeared hand, and the ground, and back again.

He looks at the flowers that suddenly spring up from the blood on the ground and smiles slightly, finding them awfully pretty in his altered state. After a few seconds, though, he lays back on the grass -- or rather flops over, really, in a not particularly dignified manner. Good thing he's too intoxicated to feel particularly self-conscious.

"Charlie's my roommate. My business partner."

His best friend. He pokes at the anemones that came from the blood Ned wiped on the grass, and frowns. "Did you mean to make those flowers grow there, or did it just happen?"

"I think the blood is doing it," Ned says. He takes the bloody handkerchief, wrings three drops off blood out of it. The second they hit the ground, the anemones follow. Their petals are the exact same shade as his blood. It's beautiful and more than a little... "Creepy."

It reminds Ned of a story, something in the back of his mind, but he can't quite remember.

"Your business partner? That means you knew him before you came here? You're from the same time and place?"

That seems to be common enough, apparently. Galen and Jesse had known one another, before being brought here. Erik and Charles.

He continues to stare at the anemones -- it's better than staring at the blood droplets, anyway. If they turn into flowers, they're far less likely to arouse his hunger. He doesn't feel like getting up, doesn't feel like moving, but he knows he'll have to eventually. He can't stay out here all night, and he's heard there are things in these woods that would be dangerous even to a vampire.

"Yeah. We've known each other since we were kids."

Someday he'll try to wrap his mind around how this place works, how it decides who to bring here and where to bring them from. For now, though, he knows those thoughts are far beyond his comprehension. Even the abundance of flowers that Ned has created strikes him as almost incomprehensible.

Childhood friends to business partners? That's a little bit adorable, at least to Ned, who had never had any business partner's, and who hasn't seen his best childhood friend in 20 years. There's something to that continuity, that stability and length of association, that he envies intensely.

"So why's he mad now?" Ned asks. There's probably something unethical about prying into Meyer's social life when he's so clearly wasted, but Ned can't help but be curious. Besides, it gives him something to do, other than sit here while Meyer stares at the flowers with a dopey kind of wonder.

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