folkooc | July TFLN Time

There are some things I can't let go of, you know? [ Deep-seated things that make her heart race and fill her with a need to scream. A lava in her chest and lungs and filling her belly. Hungry. ]

I'll get over it, though. [ They both know that's a lie. ] Or swallow it.

I know. I have my own. [ His are sad more than angry. Sadness, depression, existential angst over his species and their decisions. The tragedy, along with the wonder, of loving humans. ]

Or let it out a little piece at a time?

I know. [ And she would take them from him if she could. There are few things that can quell the fire in her but love finds a way. ]

I don't think I really know how. I sometimes feel a bit like I'm a bomb.

We can experiment and learn, until you find a way. It's worth it.

If so, you are also explosionproof.

It might take a while but I'd like that.

You know, I've only ever really exploded once. In Trench, I came close a few times but maybe I could never fully reach that point because of the Beasthood. [ She might have to be more aware of herself in FM, though she's got no doubt that the fox would be able to stop her if necessary (and it grinds her gears). ]

It's what we'll do. Have you ever done art in this mood?

I wonder if Beasthood is possible here, without the blood pollution of Trench. Even if not, it showcases the idea wonderfully: as a Beast, you lashed out without fully exploding. A safer option.

I have. I create nightmare fuel.

I don't think there's any way for us to determine if it's still possible unless one of us reaches that critical point. It might be good to try and figure it out. We don't have a bond or a blade of agency to bring either of us back down, though.

If it helps you, then create nightmare fuel.

It would be good to figure out how to bring each other back in advance, rather than force desperate measures upon whoever faces a beast or together we face the precipice of beasthood. Tools from Deer Country are possible, as all things are, through Lore, but a blade of agency would mightily expensive. Folkmore has its own form of bond, which includes an emotional connection—only the one to Trench's four, yet— [ As much as Mayerling longs for everything with Sharon, every bond, every measure, every— He does not want to overwhelm Sharon with his feelings, positive or negative. ] I would only want to form one for positive reasons, not to avoid negative one.

I never turned into a beast in Trench. I spent much of my time reducing my corruption because I did not want to attack people in the city. That— after your death is the most corrupted I have ever been, and you brought me back with nothing more than being yourself. It may be the same is true as a beast.

Nightmare fuel time it is.

Yeah, that would make more sense. [ Sharon jumps into the water without ever bothering to check the depth. He's right. She's grateful he considers these types of things. He reminds her it's okay to slow down.

The mention of the bond has her smile down at her Relic and it barely dims at the mention of his corruption or her death. They got through that all right. ] Does that mean you'd turn me down if I asked to bond right now?

I would be most honored to get to see your nightmare fuel.

I— [ Mayerling stares at the screen as his heart beats mightily in his chest at those few short words. Yet Sharon does not ask to form a bond. Tis a question about asking. A step removed. ]

I would wish us to have a conversation before answering one way or the other.

Is that a conversation you're interested in having now? [ It's not as if she hadn't considered asking in Trench. The moment she'd seen how the corruption had affected him, she was willing to do whatever it took to ease that. She's less worried about Beasthood and corruption here but now that she considers the possibility...

Sure, the bond would be preventative in some way but it would be just as meaningful. ]

[ Mayerling stares at the screen a long time, the blinking line in an empty response box in its way a fair representation of his mind. Yet his heart bursts at the seams with emotions he barely knows how to contain. Surely they would be evident were this conversation face to face, rather than through letters. ]

I would be interested and willing to have that conversation whenever you desire.

[ He knows how he feels about her. That tis not the question at hand, the worry which shadows over this most glorious idea that makes his soul sing. It's a great deal for someone to handle, his emotions. It would mean more than the bond that she could sense his feelings. He considered the 'enemy' bond in Trench, that his power might help her defend herself and never be killed again, but emotional? That one seemed too pushy, to forward. Yet that's what avails them here, that's what she asks after. ]

Let's do that after I cool off. [ In truth, just talking with him over the Relic has helped her come down from a boiling rage to a quiet simmer. He's one of the few people she's ever met capable of such a feat. ]

That sounds wise. [ Mayerling appreciates having a little time to mentally and emotionally prepare for the conversation himself. He mentioned bonds, yes, but he hadn't expected Sharon to leap at something so clearly a part of Thirteen's magic. He hasn't seen her shift yet, which is far more common magic. ]

You are welcome home whenever, even before you cool off. Should you want it alone, I would gladly leave.

[ The last text has her stop dead in her tracks and it's this moment where she forgets, far too briefly, that she was ever upset at all. The excess of her rage peters out and leaves behind hot, damp ashes; dangerous unattended. Even cold ash can start a housefire. She takes a little longer to respond this time. ]

I've always liked moving when I'm upset. Long walks. Patrols. Anger is energy. It's either burned out or smothered.

But thank you.

Yes, but you could have painted. Movement while staying, relatively, still.

You are welcome. I look forward to your return.

I won't be gone much longer.

What do you do when you get angry? [ It might have just occurred to her that she's never really seen him angry. ]

I'll have some tea ready.

Usually, there is already violence when that occurs, so it is easily handled in combat. I am ashamed to say that sometimes they are merely on the precipice of violence, and I commit to it. Or, as happened early in my time here, I challenged someone to a duel. Fortunately their partner was able to calm things down or we very well might have fought.

[ Ashamed, he says. Her smile is soft and small and immediate. It's funny what sorts of things you find endearing in the person you love. If someone has angered him enough to violence then they get what they deserve. ]

You never struggle with it? [ Calmed even after trying to duel someone. What an odd thing to find attractive in a man. ]

Compared to bloodlust, anger is easy to handle, so much so that it is difficult even to compare them. However much would a broken nose bother you when you are eviscerated with your organs spread around you in bloody wreaths? It takes but a moment to set your nose, and the rest is a battle for your life.

[ Mayerling struggles every day, every moment of every day. Anger, though, it be not. ]

What do you do in those moments when you feel like you're about to give in to it?

[ She was asking the right sort of questions but she'd focused on what she struggled with the most, not what he did. Not that she would ever compare their struggles, bloodlust and rage are two different beasts but she could see some similarities. ]

When it's someone I know, I consider what I want for them, my hopes and dreams, my desire for them to remain the person I love. It need not be enough to quell my thirst. I only need to survive the moment, then the moment after that, the one after that, and so on until it is greater under my control. When necessary, though time in Folkmore and in Trench have greatly increased my stamina, I remove myself from others.

Back in Trench, D and I had an agreement. He would kill me if I drank from someone. That reminder of mortality helped serve as one more reason to resist the urge.

[ Usually, Mayerling does not speak of these issues with people. He does not wish everyone to fear him at all times, the way that would be natural upon hearing that he always longed for their blood. Mayerling remembers the ball, last fall, where Baba Yaga offered human blood in goblets. He had fled and hidden in a room away from everyone, terrified that he would lose control.

He hadn't bitten anyone. His greatest accomplishment to date in both Trench and Folkmore. It helps that Trench had easy access to blood and Folkmore can provide him synthetic blood at a moment's notice. The urge remains, but it helps. ]

It's a way of life that strikes her as draining. A daily fight against a hunger he can never fully satisfy. She doesn't send another text but gently holds what she wants to say in her mouth until she makes it home; until the door is shut with a soft click and she finds her way to him to loop her arms around him, pulling him toward her whether he's sitting or standing. She smells like the summer heat.

"You are amazing," There's a firmness to her statement as if it were an undeniable truth. Mayerling walks a hard path in life, one he's chosen to commit to, and he's worked hard to succeed. There is something deeply admirable about that, especially for someone who is prone to taking a leap based on her emotions and current desires. He is so consciously aware of everything he does. Her hold on him tightens, "Have you had any issues here?"

She remembers the agreement he had with D. Although she's never once worried that he would lose control (his self-control will astound her into infinity), she knows it's something he worries over. It's something she should have asked after sooner.

Sharon does not answer, and Mayerling forces himself to turn his gaze from his relic. She said that she would return, so he pushes himself into the routine of readying something for her. Water is set to boil. A tea set laid out. Small cakes filled with jam. Everything is fussed with and made just so, despite the fact that he knows Sharon will not. He takes some synthetic blood, something that dulls some of his bloodlust, sits, and waits.

Though Sharon loves him, Mayerling cannot help but worry. She didn't grow up with an understanding of vampiric bloodlust and what a bite can do. She hasn't known that deep in her bones and accepted it intrinsically as part of being with him. Perhaps D taught her at length about what vampires can do in their worlds, yet he knows not and cannot ask the man. For all these worries, Mayerling can only wait and brood and attempt to believe in the best, despite the existential question that has haunted him for millennia: who will mourn vampires' passing?

Sharon opens the door, and in a moment, Mayerling stands—only to be hugged and fold himself around her in return. It eases something deep in his soul that Sharon at least accepts him with open arms, even after the poetic description of bloodlust.

"I love you, Sharon," Mayerling declares. It must be said, for the feeling swells so large in his breast.

"Only one time came hauntingly close, the time Baba Yaga served blood, human blood, at her ball. The smell of it fresh and warm was not only enticing in its own regard but brought to the forefront the smell and flow of warm blood in the veins of all those around me. I fled to a private room," one meant for sex, he could tell, "for there was no escape from the party itself in full, and there I cowered for some time."

Until another vampire ran into the room with similar reaction to the blood. Neither of them aimed for farther private rooms, needing only to be away with the illusory barrier of walls and a door between them. Mayerling takes long breaths and focuses on the smell of the world on Sharon, the warmth of the sun heating her skin, and not that which flows in her, though he knows from D that drinking Coldblood is... not the best experience.

"It is much easier than Trench with its blood pollution and blood magic wherein people spillt their blood daily for whatever purposes they needed."

He's set everything out so nicely. Thoughtfully. And none of it goes unnoticed, not even as she pulls him into her, arms looped around him in more of a hold than a hug. She notices he's even pulled out her current favorite tea, a fruity white, and set out the little cakes she enjoys with it. Her heart flutters in her chest with warmth and appreciation.

She presses her lips against his cheek in a silent show of that gratitude and in direct response to his declaration of love.

Her teeth grind together briefly when he mentions Baba Yaga and how she served blood. Anger rises up her throat like stomach acid. The only real sign of her rage is the slow way she exhales out her nose, carefully controlled, as her hold on him tightens. No escape, he'd said. Cowered. She breathes him in to keep her thoughts from straying far.

The horrors she would inflict upon this world for him.

"Remind me not to accept her next invitation then," She tries to sound light-hearted. Unbothered. As long as she is here, she will turn blood into ash if it lessens his stress and suffering. Even if he's handled worse, even if Trench was worse, she wants nothing more for him than peace of mind. She pulls back from him, her cool palm against the nape of his neck, blue gaze thoughtful.

"If there's anything I can do to help you out, you'll let me know, right?" No matter what it might require of her. Even if he needs her to stop him one day, "You don't have to deal with it alone. Ever."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject