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batsinmybelfry (batsinmybelfry) wrote in nybynightic,

Tristian was happy to get his arm back. Dropping the brush in his left hand he carried on with the right, really trying to dig that pigment into the wall. Yellow was such a difficult shade to work with, but it was also necessary.

He didn't seem to notice Cian leave the room, or even remember that the other Kindred even existed at all until his face was being turned towards the Elder again. Even as he was being made to face Cian, Tris' eyes were on the wall, still trying to work on the flames even as the blood was being poured into his mouth.

Normally the younger Malkavian was a careful feeder, but not tonight. He gulped down eager mouthfuls, tongue lapping at the edges of the bag hungrily. Something else was taking over, something he kept caged and quiet, and Tris moved forwards on his knees, grabbing at the bag, trying to pull it free from Cian's hands so he could finish it.

When the bag was empty he licked his lips and wiped a hand across his mouth. Tristian was still pawing at the corners of his mouth and licking the blood off his fingertips when someone switched on the lights behind his eyes and the owner of this sad, confused vessel returned home.

The words were still there on the walls. If anything there were more of them this time, not all of them written in ink. He kicked some of the pens away from himself and drew his knees towards his chest. His entire body trembled, making him seem less like a dangerous nocturnal predator and more like a frightened rabbit.

But now he wasn't alone.

Tris looked up and met that familiar gaze. "Key," he whimpered, and quickly wrapped himself around the Elder. "Rusty's dead. He's dead. J-J-Julian told me and I didn't believe him but he's dead and now I don't know who I am. I keep doing this and I-I can't stop and now and now I think. I think it could have been me the whole time." He was sobbing again by this point. "And now I don't know who I am because if-if it was me then that means I'm-" Tristian swallowed the word, but wasn't difficult to guess what he meant. "Please, Key. Please tell me I'm not crazy. I can't be, I can't. Please." Fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes as he looked up into Cian's eyes, begging.