Trip Ryker (silvertongued) wrote in the_dome, @ 2013-05-16 20:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | 03-29-2017, mannix, mannix and mickey, mickey |
Reasons to Drink
Who: Mannix and Mickey
Where: Mickey's House
When: Noon-ish
Warnings: Language
It had been late when Mannix had returned back to Mickey’s house, currently the only house in Delphi that could shade him from the sun. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but he’d been up all day and he figured he’d exhausted himself to the point where sleep would come easily. He was right-- the moment he collapsed on Mickey’s couch, he was out, which was just how he wanted it. No dreams of how’d he’d fucked up an already fucked up life, no nightmares of blood or destruction. Just the sleep of the dead.
He wasn’t sure what woke him, though it was probably the light coming in from the curtains. He wasn’t nocturnal by nature, at least not yet, so even if he hadn’t had eight hours rest, he awoke, sitting up on the couch and looking around the living room.
Mickey was in the kitchen still, watching the window that looked out over December’s house, but the curtain over the back door was drawn to keep the sunlight to a minimum. He was working, or he had been. He was staring out the window now, glass of water in hand. The clouds were starting to roll in and he still hadn’t seen her. He heard the noise in the living room which had him looking that way instead of out the window, even if he couldn’t see the couch.
It didn’t take a lot of noise to catch Mannix’s attention, what with his hearing more sensitive than it used to be. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but it was definitely clear now. Everything seemed loud. Slowly, he rolled up on to his feet and padded into the kitchen barefoot, but still in the clothes from the day before. “Morning,” he said, stopping in the doorway when he spotted Mickey. It was darker outside than he expected, but he couldn’t tell if that was from the weather or the time.
“Afternoon, but I get the idea,” Mickey said looking back at the window for a moment longer. He didn’t like having Mannix in his house, but what else could he do. “There’s something for you in the fridge,” he said nodding towards where he’d stored December’s blood bags, then went back to the kitchen table and the coffee maker he was working on. The radio was done, sitting in front of him.
“Please tell me it’s coffee,” Mannix said, frowning even before he opened the refrigerator. Cold coffee wasn’t his favorite, but anything could be heated up. Blood, however, sounded disgusting no matter what temperature it was. He stared at the blood bags, then picked one up, his body telling him the opposite of what his mind felt. He was hungry and this would do the trick more than anything else in the kitchen. “Did she do this?” he said, looking back at Mickey.
“You wish,” Mickey said not looking up. He knew exactly who Mannix meant. “If I had to guess, yes. It arrived anonymously.” But it begged the question of just who else would do as much. There wasn’t anyone else Mickey could think of and all he could do was hope it wasn’t all hers.
Mannix took the blood bag and sat down at the table. When he squeezed it, it sloshed around, thick and deep red. He wondered if it was hers, or someone from the hospital. December might be able to get her hands on some blood, but she couldn’t do so too often or people would start to notice. “Have you seen her?”
Mickey tried not to watch Mannix playing with his food. “No. I don’t think she wants to see either one of us.” Though for different reasons. And maybe Mickey wasn’t entirely sure on the Mannix front, but he was willing to make assumptions.
It bothered Mannix more than he let on. For the first time in years, he was stuck in one place, and the one friend he had outside the family was now avoiding him. He wasn’t sure Mickey was a friend, or if Mickey even wanted to be a friend, though he now owed him for letting him stay the night. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered a moment of playing with the blood bag, then opened one end so he could taste it. Immediately he had fangs again, something he felt he was going to have to work on, but the taste of blood on his tongue was better than anything he could have imagined.
“You’re sort of out of options otherwise, aren’t you?” Mickey asked, glad Mannix hadn’t asked most about December. He didn’t want to go through the same conversation as before with Zan. He glanced up when Mannix started the process, curious look on his face as he waited to see how it was.
A few sips in, Mannix opened his eyes, finding himself in a much calmer place than he had been moments before. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. If he’d put this off longer, how much worse would it have been? Right now he had control, but there was so much he didn’t know. “I knew I’d have to figure something out,” he said, wishing his fangs would go away so he could stop flashing them around. Apparently blood was too exciting for his mouth to behave itself. Mannix licked his lips, then took another sip. He frowned. “Do they let you donate blood when you’re drunk?”
The fangs were weird. He’d seen them on Zan, but not for this long or really this close. It was just strange to see. Like some bad horror flick. “Well this is better than jumping someone in the street.” Mickey went back to his work until Mannix asked that question and he had to stop, frustration creasing his brow. “I’m gonna kill her myself.” Of course she didn’t steal it. Of course.
“Jumping anyone would insight a panic and that’s the last thing Zan and I need on our hands. We don’t know how many of us are out there, but if people start dying, someone will come hunting.” Mannix knew that from experience. He’d been a zombie hunter, of a sort, and there were traders locked in the dome with them. Traders who’d likely get a free ride of they could rid the dome of a murderer. “I can’t do this,” Mannix said, screwing the end back on the blood bag, though he continued to stare at it, craving it. “What the fuck is wrong with her? And how much blood is in there? Can one person even give that much?”
“That they will.” And if Mickey hadn’t known two of them, he might have joined up with the group that went looking. “Why? Because it’s hers?” he asked, looking back at Mannix. “And I have no idea. I’m a mechanic. Not a doctor. Probably not, but she’s not exactly reasonable when she’s upset.”
“Because I’m not exactly sure I needed to know how she tastes,” Mannix said, anger flaring, though more at himself than anyone else. It scared him how much he enjoyed it, and he knew without a doubt that he could drain the bag in seconds if he wanted to, then go for another. He wouldn’t, because he knew Zania needed some, but he could. And even though it disgusted him, he had that creeping curiosity about what it would taste like warm. “Why exactly is she upset, other than the fact that vampires exist? Because I’d say we’re all a bit upset about that one.”
“Didn’t you already from the little display outside?” Mickey asked, one eyebrow raised. That was a sickening concept though, knowing how December tasted. “You scared her. And she and I got in a fight.”
He was right, but Mannix had been so distracted by the actual act of what was happening that it hadn’t stood out in his memory quite the same way. Now that Mickey reminded him, he remembered. The difference was definitely the wine in her system and the temperature. “It all kind of just happened,” Mannix sighed. “I didn’t mean to scare her. What’d you two fight about?”
“Yeah, well I told her not to and she did it anyway,” Mickey said shaking his head. As for what they fought about, he hadn’t wanted to get into that with Zania and he wanted to even less with Mannix. “Us. And me being nice to the point of being suicidal.” Mickey’s tone was short, not inviting Mannix to ask more.
Mannix raised both brows, but didn’t push. A part of him thought December was right. Mickey was out of his mind to let two vampires stay with him. “I went to see my brother last night. He’s staying on my sister’s couch. She was sleeping. He tried to invite me in, but he couldn’t. So... thank you. It’s one thing to tell him what’s going on, and another to tell her.” And he would have had to explained because you don’t wake someone up in the middle of the night just to invite them through the doorway.
Mickey nodded to the blood bag. “She and I are alike like that. She doesn’t much care for Zania I don’t think, but she still did enough for her too. Same with me and you.” And Mickey would rather Mannix stay with him than with December.
“What’s she have against Zania?” Mannix asked, deciding that he would have another sip, regardless of who it was from. He was hungry and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. He just needed to talk to December before she did this again. The human body could only donate so much blood, and only so often. Surely she knew that.
“It’s not so much her. It’s...the idea of her. And the vampire thing. Though really, I’m not sure where she’s landed on that now that she knows Zan wasn’t just screwing with me.” There was that impression Mickey had that December was jealous, but he didn’t go into that with Mannix.
“How’d she feel about her before the vampire thing?” Mannix asked. He’d tried to pick up on it all the night before, but a lot had happened in a very short period of time and, in the end, dealing with his own personal issues took precedence. “You two hooked up?” There’d been something in there about screwing on the table, or something along those lines.
“Couldn’t tell,” Mickey said because he really hadn’t gotten a good read on what December was thinking beyond thinking it meant that he wasn’t serious about December herself. “No.” That much he was sure about, he and Zania hadn’t and weren’t going to any time soon. Which was a shame, but what could he do about it?
“Why not?” Mannix said, deciding to push that button. He figured discussing Zania had to be easier than discussing December, and if not, then why was Mickey tracking down difficult women to begin with?
Oh because that answer was so much easier. “Because I didn’t make a move,” Mickey settled on, going back to his work and not looking at Mannix.
“You’re not into her?” Mannix asked, because in his opinion that would be the reason not to make a move. In fact, it was pretty much the only reason not to.
“That’s not really the issue,” Mickey said, shaking his head. He was into Zania. He liked being with her, she was cute, and after she kissed him, that definitely worked. But she wasn’t December and that was what he was trying to get.
Mannix didn’t know what to say to that. Mickey was harder to get conversation out of than December, though a good part of that was that Mickey probably didn’t want to talk to him. “It’s none of my business, and I’m the last person you want to talk to about women, but is it possible you’re running off the girl who’s interested in you so that you have a chance with the girl that’s not talking to you?” Or him, for that matter, but he was trying to look at it from the outside.
That got Mickey to look sidelong at Mannix and he looked far from impressed. “That’s the point Mannix. She’s mad at me, but I give enough of a damn to fix it. To stick it out.” His tone said he wondered if Mannix got that or if he just bailed the moment things got hard.
“I’m not saying don’t fix it,” Mannix said, rolling his eyes. “But you want more than to just fix it, don’t you, cause fixing it means you just want it back the way it was, and you weren’t happy with the way it was.” He knew what Mickey wanted. It was December’s feelings on the matter that he wasn’t as sure about.
Mickey looked at Mannix for a long while. “Do you know how long we were together? It’s not that I won’t be happy. It’s not a matter of happy. It’s matter of her being there.” Which he knew didn’t make sense, not when he was fighting her being with someone else so hard, but he was more torn up at the idea of her not being there.
“Since Chicago,” Mannix said. He listened more than Mickey seemed to think he did, and he’d asked the both of them at least once. “Which I’d say is about four years, going on five, depending on when you met up. You got out of the city together, which was a huge feat.” He knew from experience, having escaped New York himself, but he didn’t feel the need to point it out. Mannix wasn’t one to talk about himself, especially to people who didn’t want to know. “I’d say you’re the closest thing to family she’s got, which is why you should fix it, romantic attachments or not. She’s not going anywhere.” Not to his knowledge, at least.
It wasn’t until Mannix said it that it hit Mickey. Why he’d been jealous. Yes, he was crazy about December in that way that went well beyond friendship, but it was that he needed her there. That he couldn’t imagine her with anyone else at her side. That he didn’t want to be replaced. “Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping.” He got up from the table, more interested in putting space between himself and Mannix than anything else, going to the cabinet over the fridge for a jar. Something stronger than the beer. “You have a plan for tonight or are you planning on sticking around here?”
“Well, I think that depends on how fast Jack can get us a house,” Mannix said. That still hadn’t sunk in yet. He was stuck there, in the dome, not because the doors wouldn’t open, but because he couldn’t do what he’d always done now that the sun was an issue.
Mickey looked over before pouring some of the homemade liquor into a glass. “Can’t be that hard. There’s some around right?” He wanted to ask what he could do to help, but that seemed a little forward and too much like he was rushing Mannix out.
“I hope so,” Mannix answered, sucking at the blood bag for a moment. It was incredible how quickly he was going through it, even when he was trying to take his time. “I’d go with him, but Zan swore I’d catch fire if I set foot in the sun.” Which caused him to look back towards Mickey’s bedroom. “I guess she found somewhere else to stay?”
Mickey focused on his drink. “Hopefully he has luck.” And Mannix would get out of his house. Which he didn’t say out loud because it was cruel and selfish. He looked back to his room too and frowned. “Yeah, she just got a new place. Went back there to move more of her stuff in before dawn.”
“Yeah,” Mannix said. Hopefully Jack would have some luck and he could get out of a place where he wasn’t wanted. He’d enjoyed staying with December, but this? Not exactly a slumber party. “Oh. Gotcha,” he sighed, then rose from the table to throw the blood bag in the trash. Looking towards the window, he wondered how many hours he had to go before he could leave.
“Yeah. It didn’t go well.” Mickey finished off the glass and considered another. What would another be? It wasn’t that early in the day was it? He glanced up to see Maniix looking outside. “Looks like clouds are rolling in. You might not be stuck here for too long.”
“Thank God,” Mannix said, deciding he no longer cared what Mickey thought. It was funny that he still thanked the Lord at times like these, even as a vampire. He wondered if he even had a soul. Mannix’s fingers wrapped around the pendant at his neck; it had never been more fitting.
Mickey had to agree with that statement and refilled his glass and held it up in honor. He had a similar cross around his neck, though he didn’t find the same comfort in it he guess Mannix had.