Entry tags:

ginger, peter vincent

Ginger & Peter Vincent
Tuesday evening, March 6, 2013; Ginger's apartment
Peter knows something's wrong and decides to investigate.
Foul-mouthedness, vampire-nomming, and angst/complete

She was just so hungry, but food wasn't satisfying it at all.

Ginger had known going to meet Maleficent was a bad idea and overall just incredibly stupid, but she hadn't anticipated exactly what was to come from it. It had been nearly an entire day since she had left that cafe and she felt like she was going to explode. She was just so hungry, but food wasn't satisfying it at all. It wouldn't, and she knew it wouldn't, but she'd tried. And earlier in the day, it seemed to curb it, at least a little, but it wasn't even doing that now. That bitch had cursed her, turned her into the very thing she feared the most, only instead of blood, she was supposed to feed on emotions. Ginger wasn't even sure how that worked, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to avoid finding out for very much longer. She was starving.

Peter had stopped seeing Jerry, though, which almost made all of his worth it. Until she thought about what would happen when he found out what happened, what she'd done, what she was now. It made her stomach turn. He'd hate her. But maybe all the hate in the world would be worth the assurance that he wouldn't be driven completely over the edge over a damn hallucination.

She never should have made that post on the boards. She should have expected him to know something was wrong. And the thing that made it all the more worse was it wasn't as if she physically couldn't tell him what was wrong. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want to. But that, she should have known, just made him worry more and now he was on his way down the fucking hallway to her apartment. At least the door was locked. It wouldn't stop it, but it'd at least slow him down.

---

Peter was unsteady as he made his way down the hall. Exhaustion had more than caught up with him at this point; his whole body felt heavy, his heart pounding just from the short distance between his door and Ginger’s. As weary and miserable as he was, it made his temper shorter than normal. He didn’t like that Ginger wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. She wasn’t the type to hold back when she had a problem. Maybe she didn’t want to worry him; she did have a tendency to fuss more over his well-being than she should and he was quite obviously a wreck right now. But not knowing what was wrong and worrying about her made it worse, made him more anxious and he couldn’t fucking handle that on top of everything else.

His biggest concern right now was that Maleficent may have done something to her. He knew very well that his attempt at distracting her had been ridiculous levels of stupid. Ginger had a bad habit of not knowing when to let shit go, and with someone like this, that was going to get her killed. He’d hoped to draw her attention away from Ginger, but all he’d done was make her a bigger target for the psychowitch.

Reaching Ginger’s door took far longer than it should have considering she was only just down the hall. Peter stood in front of it, trying not to sway, and knocked. “Ginger, open up,” he called. “I’ll fucking stand out here as long as it takes for you to open the fucking door.”

---

Ginger bit her lip when she heard him outside the door. She didn't want him here. Peter was sort of what one might call an emotional person. And that was sort of the last type of person she needed to be around right now.

Then he was talking and she let out a nearly inaudible little whine. "NO," she said, rather emphatically, through the door. "Peter, I told you, I don't want to see you right now."

---

His temper flared a bit. “Fucking hell, Ginger, we’ve been fucking dancing the fuck around fucking everything for nearly a fucking month now. I’m fucking sick of this bullshit.” He reached down and tried the handle. Locked, of course. Peter sighed. He was too tired to even attempt patience right now.

“Ginger,” he growled out, “Open the fucking door and talk to me, or I’ll fucking pick the fucking lock. You fucking know I can and you know I fucking will.” He didn’t even wait for a reply, just pulled out his lockpicks and set to work. He wished she’d just open the door. He was getting really tired of having to pick the locks on his friends’ doors all the time just to ensure that they were alright.

---

"I told you, it's not about that. Us. It's not. It's really not, Peter." She knew her words meant nothing at this point. He was already fiddling with the lock, trying to unlock it.

She leaned heavily against the door, a sort of half-whine, half-whimper escaping her. She just wanted him to go away. "Peter, please, you don't understand how badly I need you to GO AWAY right now." She could feel it, even with the door between them. He was so....many things. He was anxious, but he was also angry, and that was just the top layer, because Peter was a complicated person and felt so many things at once that, honestly, sometimes she wondered how he didn't explode.

But this time it was different. She wasn't a friend picking up subtle, nonverbal cues to his moods or emotions. She was feeling it. Literally. She could feel it in her head, feel it just...pouring off of him. She needed it. As much as she wanted him to go away, she wanted him right next to her too. And that second instinct was taking over more by the second. "Peter, please...." she begged him, "Please just go."

---

“So maybe it’s not about that,” he said, working the picks and feeling the tumblers click into place. “I don’t particularly fucking care. I do fucking care that something is fucking wrong and you won’t fucking talk to me.”

Perhaps he was being too pushy. Perhaps he should leave it alone. But with the past week, how he’d kept trying to drop hints with the others, how he couldn’t tell them that the witch had done something... what if Ginger had been cursed as well? What if all his foolish attempts to distract the witch from her, to protect her even when it meant risking himself, had been for nothing?

She kept begging him to leave, but he didn’t answer and kept working on the lock. He would not abandon her again, not even if she asked him to. He’d already gotten her killed once back home, already broken her heart. He hadn’t even tried to save her before. If she had gotten hurt again because of him... Finally, the last tumbler clicked into place, and he turned the knob and opened the door.

---

She heard the click of the lock and backed away from the door as he opened it. "You can't be here. Peter, please..." she stood there in the middle of the room, staring at him. He looked like death warmed over, all disheveled and out of it, and she took a couple steps toward him, wanting to reach out, comfort him, but he felt like dinner and that thought made her step back. If he didn't leave, she knew she couldn't stop herself any more. She was too fucking hungry to hold back. It was taking every last ounce of her being to just let her new nature take it's course.

Her hands were shaking and in an attempt to cover that fact, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Peter, I.... If you don't leave, I...I don't know what's gonna happen exactly but I...I can't promise I won't hurt you. I don't want to, but..." she didn't want to finish that sentence.

---

Peter’s frown deepened as he watched her. She looked like a frightened animal that had been backed into a corner, a far cry from the confident head bitch in charge he was used to. She moved away, then closer, then away again, faltering back and forth like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be close to him or not. He entered the room slowly, not wanting to distress her more than she so obviously was already, but unable to give in to her pleas for him to leave.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Ginger,” he said, voice low and soothing. He didn’t understand why or how she thought she might. “Let me help you,” he pleaded. Hesitant hands reached towards her, wanting to help but not sure how. He was shaking nearly as bad as Ginger was - he couldn’t have not noticed - but even with how worn out he was from just a short trip down the hallway, he was determined to do whatever it took to help her. But he could only do that if he could find out what was wrong.

---

She bit her lip when he stepped closer, "You can't." she said softly when he asked her to let him help her. "You can't help me." But she couldn't wait, she couldn't hold off. He was too close and she was too hungry. So, instead of fighting it, she just let go and let it happen. She linked her fingers with his and leaned into him. That was it. That contact was all it took. She could feel all of what he held in just absolutely pouring into her. It was a warm sort of tingling sensation as the energy passed from him into her. It was a bizarre feeling, but at the same time it just felt good. Satisfying, even.

And that thought in and of itself scared her back to the reality of the situation. She was stealing the energy, and probably life from her best friend and former lover. She let go of him, dropped his hands like she had touched fire and backed away from him. "Leave. Peter, just leave. Now." she said, voice low, the fear quite evident in her voice.

---

The moment she touched him he could feel it, feel the energy being leeched away from him. Maybe it was because he was exhausted already, but he could hardly keep his knees from buckling. Ginger might have been leaning against him but he was positively sagging against her, his hearing going soft and vision tunneling. He knew distantly that he was on the verge of passing out, but more pressing was the matter that, even though it felt different, he almost recognized the sensation. He’d felt it - or something similar - before.

Then she suddenly wasn’t there, she’d let go of his hands, and his last vestiges of strength were not enough to keep holding him up. He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as though he’d just run a mile. Her scared voice reached his ears, but the words couldn’t register in his shocked state. He just barely clung to consciousness, waiting out the ringing ears and fuzzy vision until the world around him became clear once again. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up and back until he practically fell onto his rear, scooting himself away from her on the floor until his back was pressed against the door frame.

His eyes were locked on her shocked, fearful face the whole time, his own quietly rising terror evident. “What - what the fuck was that?” he asked, voice hushed with dread. Icy hot fear sent tingling waves through his nerves, his whole body taut to repress the twitching aftershocks of sensations. “What did you - did she - what the fuck are you?”

---

She watched him with wide eyes, unable to move, to speak, to do anything for several very long minutes as Peter was on the floor, trying to regroup. She felt tears spring to her eyes when he backed away from her, that terrified look on his face as he stared at her. She didn't want him to be afraid of her, but there was no turning back from that. Not now. God, why couldn't he have just listened?

"I'm sorry," she said, choking on a sob. "I was just trying to help... I wanted her to leave you alone." she said, leaning heavily against the wall behind her, eyes locked on him. "Sh-she...she made me...one of them. I...That's why I wanted you to go away..." she explained, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. Why did it always come down to this? Why did it seem like everything between them kept ending in tears?

---

She shrank back from him, accent getting stronger as she tried to get the words out past the tears. Peter could see her pain, her fear, but was numb to it. She was no longer Ginger. She - it - wasn’t human. He knew exactly what it was, though he’d never met one of this breed before. The vampire looking back at him, it wore a familiar face, sounded and smelled like her, but it was not her. It had just fed off of him. Maybe it didn’t need blood, didn’t need claws or teeth to tear him open and feed off of him, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous of a parasite.

Ginger was dead again. Dead without dying. He’d tried so hard to protect her, to subvert the witches attention. He’d done nothing but plant her more firmly in Maleficent’s view, given her one more tool to cause pain. And now Ginger was one of those things and it looked at him with her face and he could no longer see her, just the monster, the creature that had just moments before been feeding on him, drawing out all his confused feelings and exhausting the last bit of strength he had. The very thought made him shiver with revulsion and terror and this horrified, blinding need to escape.

Limbs weak and shaky, he gripped the doorframe and painstakingly pulled himself to his feet. Brown eyes wide with fear stayed on the vampire the whole time, tracking her movements. He tried to step away and nearly fell, catching himself on the other side of the doorway. He was gasping, heart beating frantically in his chest, and he wondered if she could hear it the way blood-drinking vampires would be able to. Still watching her as best as he could with his fading vision, he staggered away as quickly as he could to the safety of his home at the other end of the hall.

His vision blurred as he moved, but it wasn’t from the exhaustion. He blinked, feeling the hot tears roll down his face. He’d failed to protect her. Ginger was gone, nothing but a new fucking vampire left. And it was all Peter’s fault.

---

Ginger slid down the wall as she watched him. The look on his face, the fear in his eyes, it made her stomach twist and tie in knots, made her sick. She was the reason for it, the reason for every ounce of fear written across his face in that moment. And she hated herself for it.

She didn't try to stop him from leaving. She wanted him to go, really. She couldn't take looking at him stare at her like that anymore. It was too much for her to take. To know he was so terrified of her. She still felt like herself, mostly, but there was that glaringly obvious difference now and there was no denying it.

Ginger slowly pulled herself to her feet, trudging her way across the room to shut the door. She collapsed against the door, sliding down to the floor again, curling her knees up to her chest, hands pressed to her eyes as she sobbed.