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Entry tags:
→ make up something to believe in your heart of hearts,
Who: Charles & Ned.
What: Y'know, just casual breaking of ethics and the destruction of boundaries.
When: Day 62 ( evening )
Where: House 8
Warnings: Blood, violence, general dubious consent in regards to feeding.
At first it had been fascinating; the hypervigilance, the way his senses had changed and shifted, the biological differences. Charles had been without this kind of fervour for learning since he'd completed his thesis and he'd relished it. The first few days had been spent scrawling things on scraps of paper as he explored what he could and couldn't do. The sunlight burnt but he healed, his focus was sharper, more severe. It had been easy and almost ... fun to be something new and unexplored.
Of course that was before the hunger had hit, that was when a pulse fluttering delicately didn't make him feel like a rattlesnake. He can feel it in his veins, knows the very intimate ache in his throat. He thinks of diving to save Erik, of the moment where his lungs had hurt in their yearning to breathe again. It had been passing then, now he doesn't sleep and he can't eat and even being in the same room as his sister and his friend leaves him horrifically aware of just how different they are. He can no longer read minds, he no longer knows a person's temperament just by focusing on them. Erik is suffering the most, of course he is, but Charles finds himself startling too easily when he realises just how silent everything is.
It's the silence that outweighs the thirst, the fact that it is been days and things aren't reverting. The house is too quiet and when Charles focuses the only thing he senses is his own distemperment. He pushes aside his notes and frowns, runs a hand through his hair. He can't imagine how he could live his life without being a telepath. The future yawns unpredictably before him and his fingers scramble to leave a message. There is someone in this place that makes Charles relax just by being near; he supposes they are somewhat of a kindred spirit in the same way as it was easy to attach himself to River. Ned is calm, Ned is careful. Charles is a thing of social needs no matter what kind of creature he is and the invite is perfectly cheerful, bright even. They did say they'd have tea and it might sate the fog of panic in his mind for the time-being.
What: Y'know, just casual breaking of ethics and the destruction of boundaries.
When: Day 62 ( evening )
Where: House 8
Warnings: Blood, violence, general dubious consent in regards to feeding.
At first it had been fascinating; the hypervigilance, the way his senses had changed and shifted, the biological differences. Charles had been without this kind of fervour for learning since he'd completed his thesis and he'd relished it. The first few days had been spent scrawling things on scraps of paper as he explored what he could and couldn't do. The sunlight burnt but he healed, his focus was sharper, more severe. It had been easy and almost ... fun to be something new and unexplored.
Of course that was before the hunger had hit, that was when a pulse fluttering delicately didn't make him feel like a rattlesnake. He can feel it in his veins, knows the very intimate ache in his throat. He thinks of diving to save Erik, of the moment where his lungs had hurt in their yearning to breathe again. It had been passing then, now he doesn't sleep and he can't eat and even being in the same room as his sister and his friend leaves him horrifically aware of just how different they are. He can no longer read minds, he no longer knows a person's temperament just by focusing on them. Erik is suffering the most, of course he is, but Charles finds himself startling too easily when he realises just how silent everything is.
It's the silence that outweighs the thirst, the fact that it is been days and things aren't reverting. The house is too quiet and when Charles focuses the only thing he senses is his own distemperment. He pushes aside his notes and frowns, runs a hand through his hair. He can't imagine how he could live his life without being a telepath. The future yawns unpredictably before him and his fingers scramble to leave a message. There is someone in this place that makes Charles relax just by being near; he supposes they are somewhat of a kindred spirit in the same way as it was easy to attach himself to River. Ned is calm, Ned is careful. Charles is a thing of social needs no matter what kind of creature he is and the invite is perfectly cheerful, bright even. They did say they'd have tea and it might sate the fog of panic in his mind for the time-being.