∞ [ action post ]
✏ LOGGING: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, [] are fine too.
✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a ( Read more... )
✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a ( Read more... )
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Who the fuck are you?? [Back atcha, Frankie. He's not gonna put that gun away either but the blood from his punctured artery is seriously calling for some attention.] Shit man, fucking shit.
[Freddy's backing away after all. Hospital, right. But he takes another look at Amory, then Frankie, committing their faces to memory.]
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Fuck.
[It's a flat and surprisingly matter-of-fact profanity, and he lowers his weapon. Slightly. Somewhere in the back of his mind Frankie thinks, if he had never been other than he is now, this would turn his stomach. But Amory's bloody mouth suggests an answer to his question which makes a certain amount of sense. He doesn't come any closer-- in part because he knows the temptation of a beating heart on an empty stomach, but also because he remembers that there's something wrong with Amory's blood, so he'd rather not have it literally on his hands.]
Runs in the family, right? [he mutters, almost absently, moving the remains of the chair entirely to one hand and digging in his pocket for keys. Taking Amory back into the Blue Light right now seems like a shit idea, the best he can manage is to let one of the other servers know what's ( ... )
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His stomach- something in his body gives a lurch at the thought; as if mind and body have suddenly slipped out of sync. There's something disgusting going on here; a grotesque specter within his thoughts. He doesn't know what haunts him, though. He doesn't anything, really. Where he is, who these people are- his memories are somewhere off in the distance.
Amory's attention shifts anew, now that Freddy makes his departure. His restraint, while enough to hold him from pursuing the other, slowly comes apart upon successive seconds. Hunger, the only distinct thought, prevails; and Amory rushes forward to make a grab at Frankie, mangled shoulder and all. ]
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What'd I just say, Amory?
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In his weakened state, the blow is enough to send him stumbling backwards and onto his knees. He's a pathetic example of a vampire, but events prior to his "arrival" have weakened him, including a voluntary and forced hunger strike. By the time Amory gathers his senses, Frankie will have a enough time to do what he needs to do. ]
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Up and get marching. Underground. Remember?
[Since of course, there's no guarantee that Amory knows who or where he is. Frankie sure didn't.]
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[ At least it's a response. A rare instance of lucidity as he scrambles up to his feet, examining Frankie from neck (and lingering on said neck) to the club in his hand. ]
I don't.
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[He gestures directionally with the chair leg, looking every bit the soldier. It's an air of authority he desperately needs right now.]
Don't even fucking think about biting me, either. Won't go well for either of us.
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[ He hisses out the words, nevertheless, heading in the pointed direction. If anything, he'll find another source of food-- one that's nearly not as much trouble as Frankie. ]
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Going to the Raven. Keep it together and you get fed, yeah?
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