Loki (hamrammr) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-01-17 08:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !plot, ~john mitchell (oe) |
Who: Mitchell (oe) and Ira Spencer
Where: Their cell
What: The island gets a new vampire
When: Thursday afternoon
Rating: High for death
Open: No
Status: Prewritten/finished
Mitchell’s mood was spiraling downwards every single day. From shouting and fighting he had gone to glaring at the wall and the bars that held him prison. His head hung low and a curtain of slowly greasing hair shadowed his sight. The low drumming of Ira’s heartbeat filled his ears. He needed to get out of here, away from Ira and the torture his presence provided and back to Annie. Maybe she would be okay again. Maybe she was back to normal and not cold and alone. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t get her back. She was dead and he was stuck in hell for the rest of eternity. They were starting to run low on food and Mitchell started to care less. No rescue team, no help. No nothing. No Annie. He didn’t want a world without her. He wanted nothing without her. He needed her! How could he go on without her? George had Nina, Maryanne had Daryl. He wasn’t needed anymore. They may care for him but they had their own rock. They weren’t alone and he fucking was! It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair! The pounding in his ears continued and he wanted to scream and to rage but he felt weak. He was exhausted, mentally and physically to a point where even small movements were too much. Again and again, he tried to change. But everytime had left him feeling more drained. If only he could get back on his feet again. Blood! Shit, he needed blood! And hell, he wanted it. “I need to change,” he mumbled, head lolling to the side and his eyes looking up at Ira. --- “What are you going to change into?” Ira asked, his voice low and thick. He hadn’t had anything more than bread and water for days. He needed protein. He needed sunshine. He needed...so many things, thing he couldn’t even remember. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember, because remembering hurt. He shifted, felt his backbone press uncomfortably against the wall. “There’s nothing to change into, man. There’s nothing...” Ira’s head lolled forward then rolled back to bump the wall. He barely felt it. he barely felt anything any more.”Nothing,” he added, voice barely a whisper now. “Fuck, but I feel like shit.” He pushed himself to his feet. He felt unsteady, and he reached out to try and steady himself. His hand caught Mitchell’s shoulder. Ira swayed, then moved his hand to the all too close bars of the cell. He lurched forward and rested his forehead against the bars. “I hate this place. Why are we here? Why?” He looked back at Mitchell as if he expected the other to have all the answers he needed. --- Mitchell glared at the other man. All the anger and despair put into one simple look. “Change forms.” An unspoken ‘idiot’ was added behind it. “Shift... turn... whatever you want to call it.” His voice started to go hollow from exhaustion again. He shut his eyes shortly. “Fuck, I don’t know why we are here. We need... how much food have we left?” The vampire looked up, his head swimming from weakness. The hunger was eating him up from the inside. Normally, he ate more. A lot more. And it helped. With the hunger. With everything. This was living hell. --- Ira glanced at the meager ration of bread. He shook his head. “Not more than a couple days,” He closed his eyes. They were going to die in here. He was going to die. Locked away and forgotten in a jail cell, and he didn’t even know how or why he was there. Like coming to the island to begin with. There were no answers, only certain death. “What if you...” Ira’s voice broke off. He brought a hand up to his neck, instead of continuing the sentence. He knew Mitchell needed blood. If he was going to die anyway, he may as well give Mitchell a fighting chance. “Maybe it’ll make you stronger?” --- Ira didn’t have to state his offer. The vampire knew, guessed and longed. The low thuds in his ear tore at his nerves and began to eat the last bit of self-restraint away. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Mitchell said, a bit too fast, a bit too certain. The vampire pushed himself into a more upright position. Strength filled his body at the prospect of what he was about to taste. “I can get out and then I can get help.” The words were directed at Ira’s neck rather than his face. He could see the blood beneath the veins, hear it float through the body. It his and he would take it and then he could forget. --- Ira nodded. He knew what he was suggesting, and mentally he berated himself for not offering sooner. If he had to die, at least maybe he could make his death mean something. If his blood made Mitchell stringer, and allowed him the strength he needed to get out and get help for everyone else, then it was worth it. Whether or not it played out that way, Ira might never know, but he had to believe it. He had to believe his death would save the others trapped in the prison. He nodded. “How do you want me?” Ira accepted his fate. He embraced it. He would sacrifice himself for countless others. He didn’t want to be a hero, he just wanted to be a good man who gave everything he could. His life was the ultimate price. --- Mitchell swallowed. „Just expose your arm and stretch it out.“ The vampire got to his knees staring at the arm that would offer him his next meal. “You might need to stop me,” he mumbled. It was the last coherent thought he had before the lust took over. His eyes turned black and the anticipation let him shiver. --- Ira drew a deep breath. He wore a long sleeved shirt that had once been fitted around him. He’d lost weight, and the shirt had been stretched out a bit. He rolled the sleeve up to his elbow, folding it over and over to try and make it tight enough to stay. “Take as much as you need. Save the others. Promise me you’ll get them all out of here.” --- Fangs snapped out of his upper jaw. “Yeah,” Mitchell mumbled, uninterested in what Ira’s actual words had been. If the human would pull away now, he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t simply attack him. But Ira seemed willing enough. And so Mitchell bit into the arm offered to him, fangs tore the flesh apart and the first blood hit his system like a kick. It was better than any orgasm could ever be. Life flooded through him and greedily he took more. Some vampires got clean to experience the first kick again. Mitchell sucked, licked and swallowed. His hands held the other man’s arm firmly in place as the warmth he normally lacked started to flood him. The original sensation subsided but the comfort of drinking still stayed. He felt warm and alive. --- Ira closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see it. Feeling it was enough. He gasped at the first prick of fangs on his skin. Was this really happening? Was he dreaming this whole thing up? Everything, the island, the prison and all of it. No, the pain was too real, and he could feel the life rushing out of him. He could literally feel himself getting weaker as Mitchell drank from him, and he realised it wasn’t really pain. Discomfort, sure. But the pain subsided almost instantly, even as his heart beat started to slow. --- Mitchell was lost in his very own world. The blood was getting less and less with every swallow. But he still craved more, needed more. The life was not enough and he would soon feel dead and empty if he stopped now. All thoughts about the human the blood belonged to were gone. The irony taste on his tongue, the life prickling in his body - it chased away all thoughts. Sensation that was all his world consisted of now. Blinding sensation. But it got foggy. It was clear. The life got strained. Everything became less satisfying. --- Ira had resigned himself to death. He believed his death would help Mitchell and the others stuck in the jail cells. But somewhere the wires got crossed and he suddenly found himself struggling against the heaviness that pressed down on him. He clawed at the hands that held his arm, he struggled to find his feet, so he could kick at Mitchell. He didn’t want to die, he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet, not like this. --- Mitchell was finally ripped out of his world and brought back to reality. He opened his eyes, saw the blood smeared skin and let go of it. Shit! Shit, shit, shit! He stumbled back. Blood was dripping from his chin and soaking his shirt. “God! Shit,” he mumbled, linking and wiping the blood off his face. Ira had stopped him. Everything was going to be okay. He had stopped just in time. --- Ira slumped against the wall. His legs gave out and his entire body seemed to fold in on itself. He lacked the strength to pull himself back up. He hadn’t stopped in time, he was still going to die. He could feel it happening. His heart had slowed considerably already, and seemed to be in slow motion now. He wanted to tell Mitchell to make it all mean something, but there were no words in him. No voice to speak. No breath to breathe. I don’t want to die! he screamed in his head. He heard a low, weak grumble. Had he made that noise? His eyes fluttered, then went still. --- Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! That didn’t look too good. Shit! Mitchell swallowed. “No, no, no! Shit! Stay with me,” he said urgently. “Come on, man!” He jumped to his feet, ignoring the slight dizziness that tackled his head. Hands grabbed Ira’s shoulders and shook him. What had he done? What had he fucking done? Mitchell shrugged out of his shirt and wrapped it around the bleeding arm. The blood flow wasn’t strong. Not strong at all. “Hold on!” --- Ira’s head lolled from side to side as Mitchell shook him. His eyes remained closed. His mouth fell open. Any muscle tone he might have had was gone, his body resembling a wet noodle. He breathed out one last low wheeze, and then there was nothing. |