Gretel (_gretel) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-03-13 18:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: the walking dead, character: eric northman, character: gretel |
Who: Eric Northman and Gretel
What: A semi-broken Gretel meets a new resident
Where: The hotel in general- lobby, kitchen
When: Day one, before the sun rises
Rating: Language, vampirism
Status: Complete
The hotel had brought Eric in at night, before the sun had risen and many of the residents realized what new world they had been dropped into. It could have technically brought him in just as easily during the day, but the sunlight that streamed in through the windows would have killed him within a minute and he would have remained as ash and a little more grime inside the hotel lobby until it moved again.
He immediately suspected magic, and growled quietly to himself. It wasn’t anger. He didn’t fly through the hotel just yet to see who was responsible or who he could tear apart until he felt better. A younger vampire might, but Eric was old enough to understand the value of patience and not immediately give into his more primal instincts.
Instead he dropped the pen and picked up the guestbook, flipping through its pages and looking for any recognizable name. It appeared he was not its first victim, but the book looked neglected over the years as did the rest of the hotel lobby. When no recognizable name came to mind, he left the hotel in a blur, only to return minutes later when he did not recognize his surroundings and the world looked dead.
“Hello?” He called. There was a measured level of authority to his voice. Eric Northman was not a vampire to be trifled with, yet even he recognized there was something more to his situation. He inhaled deeply through his nose to pick up the scent of the nearest living creature, if there was any, and listen carefully for a pulse. “Is anyone there?”
The first thing that Gretel noticed when the hotel-induced sleep ebbed away wasn’t the dilapidated state of the walls, or the dust smell of her covers, or the stale air everywhere- it was the sense of a missing limb; the phantom pain of loss, sucking like a wound to her chest. The physical and mental connection she’d experienced last week had made the absence of her brother tolerable- she’d even been happy, for the first time since Hansel disappeared, not crippled by loneliness… until the end of the week approached, and she understood it was going to end. Like a falling ax, she knew it was coming, and she was completely helpless to stop it.
Now, in the pre-dawn hours before most would even begin to stir from their magical coma, Gretel dragged herself out of bed and discovered the state of the room with a detached sort of recognition. She had the memories of Negan, of Stevie, of the lack of void in her soul- but the void was back, and it felt like loss all over again. Her movements now were more survival routine than anything else. Her motivation, immediately, was to head back to the lounge and drown herself in the first bottle she could find.
The lack of electricity didn’t bother her; she simply fashioned a torch from a bit of moldy curtain and the fireplace poker, lit by a few drops of her special witch-burning oil and a spark. She dressed herself as she would when confronting the unexpected, her leathers and weapon-ready corset, her hair haphazardly braided and loose between her shoulderblades. With her crossbow resting heavily across her back and the oily firelight throwing long shadows on the crumbling wallpaper, on her way down the stairs is when she heard the familiar lost call of someone in the lobby.
She moved into view cautiously, though not nearly as careful as she was when she cared about her life. Torch first, then her dark, doe eyes, Gretel paused at the top of the stairs looking down on the tall gentlemen lingering by the front desk.
An average human would not have had the reflexes to accurately predict the time between the first and second second it took for Eric Northman to close the distance between them. First he had been standing in the lobby with his eyes locked on her, then he was standing on the steps below her, still slightly taller than her, dressed in dark jeans, a black sleeveless shirt and leather jacket, all cut pleasantly on his broad shoulders and lean frame.
He was pale, and though his fangs extracted with a soft click, he was careful not to growl and kept his voice dispassionate. “Perhaps you would like to explain where I am.”
A more mentally connected Gretel would have engaged her deeper survival instincts to at least recoil back a few steps at the fellow’s sudden proximity, but the gap between was still too wide and too raw in her head to bother. She stood where she was, maybe with a little extra tension between her shoulders and a held breath- things she had no mental control over. Likewise, if she hadn’t still been emotionally detached, she would’ve been more inclined to offer her usual sympathies to new arrivals.
As it was, she saw the fangs, and exhaled through her nose in a jaded sigh. Another vampire. Fantastic.
“Ever been to Hell?” she asked dully, but her tone wasn’t all cynicism; some people she’d known over the years had literally been to Hell before. As flat as it was, it wasn’t an entirely rhetorical question. “You’re next-door.”
“Is that why the people outside are literally walking corpses?” Eric asked. He may have noticed a few on his very quick look around. “And who do I have to thank for bringing me here? I think I would like to speak to them in person.”
Eric liked Gretel. She was human, as far as he could tell, and she smelled and looked not unlike the way humans used to smell and look, when they tasted infinitely better. He could not have retracted his fangs, between being displaced and the lovely potential walking meal in front of him, if he had wanted to.
Despite the emotional fog she was still working through, the thing about ‘walking corpses’ tugged her eyebrows up at the middle. The expression didn’t last long, as it was replaced with a wash of unhappy recognition, and a small roll of her eyes; they aimed down at the dirty lobby doors, as if she could see what he was talking about. Walking corpses. So that’s what they got to deal with this week, though it didn’t explain why the hotel was rotting explicity- it still made sense.
As much as this place ever could.
“There’s no one to take your complaints,” she told him flat out, then switched the torch in her hands and began to make her way around him, intent on going down the stairs. “No one knows how or why; it just is how it is. You’re trapped here like the rest of us.”
Eric appeared in front of her again and smiled, “You are insolent. I cannot think of the last time anyone was foolish enough to treat me with such blatant disrespect.”
And yet the vampire did not look offended as much as he was amused. The smile was short lived, however. “There is one thing you are wrong about, Miss Crossbow. I am not trapped like the rest of you, you are trapped here with me. You say there are others? How many still living? I cannot eat the walking corpse people outside and I am hungry.”
Eric didn’t take yet. He was strong enough and he was fast enough, but he wanted to see how Gretel would react and if she would offer a solution.
Though she did stop, considering there was a very large, yellow-haired wall blocking her way, Gretel did not look surprised, perturbed, or even remotely concerned. If anything, she looked unimpressed, but also uncaring. Not that she didn’t believe he was an existential threat- she just didn’t give much of a fuck.
“If you see facts as disrespect, you’re going to have a worse time here than necessary,” she told him bluntly, bringing her eyes to his face without flinch or waver. “And I’ve been trapped here with worse things than you. Now as for your other questions, I’ll happily keep you informed- even fed, since I’ve helped members of your kind plenty of times before-” Her tone at the word ‘happily’ was definitely not happy. “But waving your dick at me won’t help you. So attack me or let me by.”
“Your facts are appreciated. Walking away when I am not finished talking to you is not,” he said. Ugh, humans. He had to explained everything to them. They exhausted him. When her eyes met his- she was very brave- Eric’s gaze intensified. It would be easier to glamour information than continue this chit chat to get it freely.
When he spoke, it was softly, lulling her tongue to loosen up, “What’s wrong, Miss Crossbow? Is it this place? Tell me what makes you so apathetic to a thousand year old vampire?”
The instant he flexed that consciousness around her own, the subtle edge of world-weariness in Gretel’s expression melted away, leaving it just as apathetic, but also relatively blank. Inside, conscious of what was happening -at least to a certain degree- the removal of her personal agency almost felt like relief. She had been carrying that pain for so long.
“Death means nothing here,” she answered, dull and complicit, held in place by his eyes. “If you kill me, I’ll just return when the Clock chimes. Everyone does.”
Well, that was good to know. He continued to speak softly. It was the kindest his voice ever sounded, “Including the walking corpses outside?”
“They are part of the outside world,” Gretel answered, soft and dutiful. “The hotel moves within dimensions every seven days.”
Eric lifted the glamour. That was also another good piece of information to have. He stepped aside and gestured for her to pass, though he would walk with her. “I can see how that would wear someone down. How long have you been in this place?” he asked.
Gretel blinked a few times, feeling like a mild wave of something passed. A second later she realized exactly what happened, and gave him a look of dull disapproval as she passed.
“Five, maybe six years- and you don’t have to do that to me,” she told him, making her way down the stairs. “I have no reason not to tell you anything.”
“I’ll stop swinging my dick around when you stop complaining about it,” Eric said blandly, which he expected to be never. At least before he got answers without her walking away or talking more than she needed to. “Until then, I would be amenable to an arrangement. I feed from you tonight, and then I leave and get out of your hair. Tomorrow night, I’ll be back and you or someone else can agree to feed me again, and I’ll be out of your hair, and so on. Would this be agreeable to you?”
Reaching the end of the stairs, Gretel started directly for the kitchen- aware that he was following. His ‘proposal’, however blunt, was unsurprising. What did surprise Gretel was the wave of heaviness that considering it brought with her. Just yesterday, she had hated vampires with every fiber of her being, thanks to the change that had made her also feel more complete than she’d known in so long. Remembering that hatred without actually feeling it struck a dissonant chord in her spine that made her sigh.
“Fine,” she agreed without much heart, but at least she was honest. “Just know my blood sometimes has… unexpected side effects to your kind. Or variations of your kind,” she added. “I’ve seen at least five different species of vampire, so I have no clue how you’ll react. Also…” She trailed off a bit, looking at the state of the kitchen by the light of the torch. Her expression tensed a little. “...looks like feeding the ones you’re feeding from is going to be more difficult this week.”
Eric only barely managed to say ‘not my problem’. “That sounds like another agreement. We can work out the details later. I think I can manage to find food for one human at least.”
He wondered if she would care if the others in the hotel starved to death or not. She did not seem to care much for her own safety, perhaps knowing that she would be resurrected with the chime of the clock. He wondered if the safety and comfort of others might motivate her and how much it was worth.
“When you’re ready,” he said, and looked at her expectantly for his meal.
Under normal circumstances, Gretel would have already asked about specifics- things like exactly how much he planned on leaving her, when he planned on being back. Those things still passed her mind, but the normal click between survival necessity and concern for herself and others didn’t connect like it should. It sparked and fizzled like a live wire, never quite turning over.
The only clear thought she did have was that it’ll be a lot easier to get drunk when anemic.
She sighed faintly, fighting a flare of uncomfortable heat behind her eyes, then set the torch up through the useless rungs of the stovetop, and peeled one leather glove off, frayed fingers first.
Eric waited patiently until her wrist was made available to him. There were plenty of other spots he would have preferred to bite her from, but he would wait until another night or two to see how much he might be able to get away with. She mentioned her blood had effects on other vampires, and he was curious. She smelled human, albeit better than most modern humans.
“Thank you,” he said. Humans liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? He bit deep, but he wasn’t a savage about it. The thought may have crossed his mind to be a little less gentle about it, but in the end he also decided against that.
He didn’t spill much of her blood, she tasted too good for that, the way humans used to taste before processed food and advanced chemistry to create artificial flavors and preservatives. If all humans tasted as good as she did, he might prefer his new circumstances.
When he released her, her blood was smeared bright red on his chin. “My blood will heal your wound if you do not wish to waste time recovering.”
Gretel was no stranger to pain in any of its forms; her tolerance was high, and it wasn’t the first time she’d had a pair of fangs in her flesh. The most recent experience had been far worse, in a confrontation brought on by the change in the hotel and everyone within it. The blond Ancient’s bite certainly hurt- and her body showed it with tense shoulders, risen heartbeat, and a hiss- but she didn’t pull her hand away. She certainly didn’t watch- only covered the wound with her other hand once he let her go.
She already knew before examining the gash closer by the torch light that it was going to cause her trouble. He’d gone deep, and blood was still pooling under her other palm. She exhaled shortly, closing her fingers as her arm tingled, reacting to the loss. Tendons and micro muscles stretched and ached hot around the bones, disturbed and punctured by too-long fangs.
“Shit-” she huffed, looking back up at him with reluctance in her eyes, but it didn’t last long. “Fine. ...thank you.” The last she added with every bit of sincerity she’d heard in his own statement of gratitude- which wasn’t much.
Eric liked this one. He bit into his own wrist, deeper since the wound would heal fast, and brought it to her lips so that she could use her good hand to keep pressure on the other. “You will not turn, but you find that your strength, reflexes and senses will temporarily improve,” he said. His blood would do more than that, but he did not see the need to alarm her or explain the full cost of drinking his blood just yet.
The amount of obvious reluctance in Gretel’s face noticeably increased when it became apparent that she would be drinking his blood. The idea wasn’t exactly foreign to her, but it still struck a few dissonant chords- mostly from her human side. Getting over those qualms took a few extra heartbeats, but eventually she complied. The taste was vaguely surprising- the normal old copper hint of normal blood, but also something sweet and peppery at the same time.
She only realized she was pulling deeper when the tingle in her arm began to change; a burn, but a pleasant one, centered deep in her wrist, distracting her from her mouth on his arm. She pulled back, a ribbon of red dripping down her chin, so she could see the wound closer to the light.
Sure enough, it steadily closed under the bloody mess, and the burn diluted pleasantly through her whole body. She felt… good. Then again, she could also smell all the mold and rot in the kitchen about ten fold. It made her wrinkle her nose, scrunching freckles together.
Eric did like seeing his blood smeared on very attractive faces. He allowed himself to admire it for a moment before a more dispassionate expression returned to his eyes. “I’ll be off. I need to find somewhere to sleep during the day and I do not trust the integrity of this building to protect me from the daytime. Will there be anything else, Miss Crossbow?”
He’d learn her name eventually, but thought his nickname was cute. It suited her.
For some reason Gretel was fine with the moniker- just as fine as she was with not bothering giving him her actual name just yet. She was still adjusting to the molecular changes pulling strings and tightening bolts in her body; the sensation was odd, but not unpleasant. Either way, she hadn’t expected it. She was so distracted by it that she didn’t even notice the appraising look he’d given her- however briefly.
“The boiler room has no windows,” she told him, blinking a bit, like she’d lost her train of thought. “Or any of the lavatories... “
“Tempting,” he said, in a way that indicated it clearly wasn’t. Eric looked around the kitchen with distaste. “I’ll see what I can find outside for you when I return tomorrow night. If you require more assistance from me, I’m certain we can come to an arrangement.”
Eric disappeared in a blur.