folkooc | July TFLN 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."

Mayerling brushes one hand through Sharon's hair, an act so wild and forward when they have but conversation between them, yet he allows himself that much as gift and latitude. It eases that knot that threatens his feeding teeth to descend. Yet through it all, his hand avoids the side of her neck and the veins within, so as not to feed temptation. His control remains, yet when speaking of nearly losing that control, Mayerling cannot help but wish to take extra measure for her safety.

"I regret that experience not at all, love," Mayerling says softly, "for it led me to another of my kind. A much younger vampire, experiencing the very same issue, came into the room, shutting the door, and pressing himself against it. I was able to help him, so newly turned, when we had previously been unaware of each other. Robin has returned home, has long since departed Folkmore, yet I remember fondly each vampire I have helped in my time here. I would gladly submit to be tempted, for the sake of helping another."

There is no promise he will resist temptation every time, no hubris that Mayerling need not worry about it. Nay, as he described to Sharon over the relic, it is a constant struggle that must always be fought and never fully won.

Sharon's statement makes his heart soar far beyond the conversation they are having, so high that it overshadows the whole conversation about bloodlust and its eternal damnation to live in his breast. Ever. Ever. Ever. Such strong words. They remind him of what conversation they agreed to partake.

"As greatly as it pains me to burden you so terribly, I would ask the same of you as I did of D," Mayerling says seriously, "Should I bite someone, I need you to kill me. As in Trench, I should return, but whether I return or not, it is the only way to free them from a vampire's curse. I would rather die than live with someone cursed on my account."

It was easier with D, whom he knew less well, who had tried to kill him before, whom he didn't love. They grew closer over time, so much as D let anyone grow closer to him. Yet it cannot compare with how he feels for Sharon.

Mayerling takes multiple deep breaths, smelling the sun off her skin and the anger simmering in her blood. Her hand against his neck, her azure gaze meeting his eyes, the heated space between them... the other conversation vibrates deep in his bones.

"Familiars help Legends and Myths," Mayerling says, "your very presence eases the turmoil within. Though my emotions continue strong, they have an anchor, a lighthouse, a tether. I have been told that the bond amplifies such effects, a part of the greater whole that forms the bond. It sounds, I admit, much like the empathic bond that permits one to feel each other's emotions. The exact effect is not identical from bond to bond, which drives me to believe its nature depends also upon those entering the bond.

"I would not have you form a bond with me solely for my sake. It would weigh too heavily upon me that you would yoke yourself to me. It must—it must or I cannot bear it—also help you."

He gazes down at her, intense, and it feels as though his heart may burst in his chest. "I love thee, Sharon, and I promised you this conversation, yet I know not what will result of it."

A large, tender heart pounds away in his chest. It's the thing that drew her to him in the first place. It's his nature to find the positive in even his most harrowing moments. The light in the dark. A direct contrast to her own habits of searching for the worst parts of even the best situations. He may not regret the temptations Baba Yaga imposed upon him (knowingly, she thinks sharply) but Sharon won't let it happen again, not if it's in her power to change it.

"If you ever bite someone," the words are a promise on her lips as she presses her other hand against his chest, above the heart. She knows what it takes to kill a vampire: heart, head, fire, "I will kill you." Saying it out loud makes her heart sink. The very idea breaks it. "But I will do whatever it takes to make certain it never comes to that."

By any means necessary. For every doubt she has stuffed away in her, she doesn't lack for confidence in at least one area of her life.

There is something daunting about the connection a bond would create between them, though whatever wariness she feels has little to do with the intensity and depth of his emotions. She would have no problem drowning in him. But what of the things she'll gift to him in return? Would he see the monsters she does when the stress gets to be too much? Feel the rage and violent impulses?

She drops her hand from his chest to rest it on his hip and her gaze drops with it, lips pursed. Idly, with her other hand, she plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"You know what a bond might help me with?" She asks him seriously, attention pulled back up to his face, "It might give me a heads up when shit gets bad for you... and vice versa." She doesn't have to worry about bloodlust but she does have a rage that can twist the world.

"It might give me an extra moment to help you or stop you." This is just as much for her as it is him. "But killing you," she laughs suddenly, eyes damp, "I would rather kill every single person I've ever met here." Wide-eyed and serious. Her promise stands: she will kill him if it comes down to that but that doesn't mean she wouldn't rather do anything else.

"The only thing about a bond that puts me on edge," a moments hesitation as she tries to build up her courage, "is what you will feel from me. I don't think you know just how awful I am."

And still, she's willing to risk it for him.

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