Blood, quicker than mercury

D

Draugvan

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@Dramatic Karma

Draugvan found himself thinking consecutively in the silence of night, sinking into that sense of nearness to God that sometimes comes into the stillness and darkness. Palelight washed over the piss-stained concrete of Downtown. The usual stink of beer, sweat and sex scoured his nostrils. Then one particular stink cut through the mix. Blood.

Draugvan mused maybe – maybe not; toyed with the idea of going on his way. The wind must have changed because tonight Draugvan was pulled to indulge himself. Ok. Where was the fateful bugger? Where was the hateful drugger? Draugvan flicked a fingernail off his others while he searched for…while he searched…Why was he doing this?

A sidelong glance to each side found no one in sight. Music thrummed faintly in the distance. Draugvan nibbled on his thumb bashfully. Shit. Well its done. Let's find the sod. Draugvan searched more expertly, peering into shadows and behind bushes, stalking with emphasis.​
 
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@Draugvan

Ever since that fateful day, Mathias knew something about him had changed. He felt himself almost lose control around any blood that wasn't his own, and when he cut himself, he healed within seconds. He didn't understand; what had his master done to him? The image of his master's lifeless corpse flashed through his mind. What did he do to his master?

He had long since given up on living. He knew that if he didn't eat food or drink water for long enough, he'd die eventually. He had to, right? Now, he sat alone in a narrow alley, hidden from view from the street by a dumpster. It smelled something foul, but he liked the privacy. He could die alone, on his own terms. He was satisfied with that.

He knew he must look like a mess. His hair was disheveled, and stained with dirt and grease after almost a week without a bath. His clothes, stolen from a man who had nearly tricked him into being caught by the police, were stained with blood around his collar, and dirt practically everywhere else. It didn't help matters that the shirt was white, so it showed up easily on the fabric. He was barefoot, perhaps not the best option in the middle of autumn, but he hadn't had time to steal shoes and his masters never gave him any.

Hearing footsteps approaching, his gaze moved steadily in the direction of a shadowed figure on the other side of the alleyway. He said not a word, and yet his gaze was sharp and cautious. If he was going to die, it'd be on his own terms; he wouldn't let anyone else kill him. His eyes didn't leave the mysterious figure as he reached with one hand beside him, to where a shard of glass still rested from when he had tried to stab himself. It's sharp edge was crusted with dried blood.

He managed to get ahold of it, cutting his finger a bit in the process, but the wound sealed itself within seconds. He held it, but made no move towards the figure, waiting for the other to make the first move instead.
 
Draugvan found his quarry laying under the open top of an old dumpster. The man stirred at Draugvan's approach, grabbing a shard of glass from the ground. Draugvan kept a span between them as he perched down to inspect the sod. He looked homeless with rough feet and baggy clothes, albeit he wore a suit. Though it was baggy, the suit appeared relatively clean for someone living the streets of Downtown, which spoke of theft. The sod's white shirt was stained with blood around the collar and chest though he had no apparent wounds. The ground was littered with beer bottles, some broken, speaking of assault or murder.

"Sorry thing aren't you?" Draugvan called in mock-sympathy. "Looks like you're out of drink. Is that right? It looks right to me. I bet you want some of this-?"

Draugvan reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a whiskey flask and unscrewed the lid to spread a hearty aroma. Inside the whiskey was laced with blood. The sod wouldn't know that though, it was Draugvan's little secret. He would drink it lively like any other morsel Draugvan found sleeping the streets. If the sod wanted it, he would give it to him. Lure him into the city and blaring music where noone would hear him wail. Here you go, drink up - Draugvan would say - there's plenty more where that came from. Follow me. Do you want to live forever? I didn't think so - it was always the same. He held out the flask temptingly.​
 
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The figure was still shrouded in the shadows of the alleyway, preventing Mathias from seeing any details of his form, but he could tell the form was distinctly male, the light reflecting off his eyes as the man examined his own pathetic state. Mathias couldn't help but feel ashamed, because even when he had been under the care of his master he still managed to bathe regularly and keep up with his own hygiene.

The figure spoke, and Mathias considered protesting, stating that he was hardly an alcoholic, but decided against it -- he hardly thought it a good idea to provoke the man. He just hoped he'd leave soon; he would much prefer to die alone. When the male reached into his pocket, however, his grip on the glass shard tightened, prepared to attack from the slightest wrong move. Instead of a weapon, he pulled out a flask, and Mathias relaxed slightly. He'd never had alcohol before, and he hardly planned to now. However, when he unscrewed the lid, his interest was suddenly garnered, and he stared with intensity at the flask. It smelled...strange, for alcohol, but it was the kind of scent that made him want to lose all control and snatch it from the male. He almost did, but he held himself back; he had to be cautious. After all, this man was a stranger, and he had no idea what was in that drink.

He eyed the man cautiously as he held out the flask, and yet he felt himself drawn the the flask the longer he tried to hold back. After a brief moment, he leaned forward and swiped the flask from the male, taking a big gulp, before spitting it out at the taste. Shit, so that's what alcohol tasted like. It was hardly pleasant; it scorched his throat, and yet somehow the taste was at the same time exquisite. It felt like his body was hungering for whatever was in that flask. With no regrets, he downed nearly the whole flask, pulling it from his lips and struggling to swallow the foul liquid, his hands shaking. From nervousness or some other reason, he couldn't be sure. When he was done, he stared at the flask in almost astonishment, wondering what had come over him. He spoke up, his voice rough from both misuse and from the alcohol that had just seared his throat. "What was in that?!" He asked, his tone slightly aggressive. Realizing what he was doing, he suddenly adverted his gaze from the male, closing his eyes as if expecting to be struck for his rudeness.
 
Draugvan watched contently from a crouch as the man before him quaffed the flask in one breath. The look on the stranger's face was priceless. The look was also quite telling, though Draugvan would keep that to himself for the time being. Draugvan smoothly knicked the flask straight from the man's hand then returned it to his pocket and regarded the man with a smile.

"There's plenty more where that came from. Follow me..." Draugvan recited, as promised.

He dusted himself off as he stood, turning half-toward the music with an air of impatience. He kept a side-long eye on the man while he waited for compliance. He led the man on a winding path through Downtown. Like rats to a song, they shuffled forward. Draugvan was wary of the strength of the liquor that man had just imbibed, and what other mental ailments plagued the sod. He moved slowly and ever two steps ahead while never making contact.

In ten minutes they reached Underground. A tasteful nightclub for doe-eyed demons and split-tongued satyrs - metaphorically, of course. Draugvan led the stranger past the bouncer after barely a glance.

The beat of Underground was complex, playing to every level of intoxication. On the highest level, that of hyper-focus, colored light shows flashed frenetically to pitched, synth-modulated electronica. These sounds never left the basement walls to reach the street. On the most basic level, that of no intoxication, smooth electronic backing and amicable vocal melodies weaved an ebb and flow around the pitched peaks that was easy to dance to. These sounds wafted through nearby streets to draw in passers-by. On a lower level, that of inebriation, rumbling sub-woofers pulsed a concussive rhythm through their bodies. These sounds pressed people together in a mindless desperado. On the lowest and deepest level, that of unconsciousness, was bass so deep it went otherwise unnoticed. It thrummed a funny number like being swallowed in the sea. Each layer of sound intermingled so as to be subliminal, and the result was a rat-trap of stunning efficacy.

At the other end of the room, the cheese - a red-lit curved bar where bottles hung from the ceiling. Two men in black shirts and a woman in a tank-top fawned in mock-earnest over stragglers looking for more booze, a request which they were happy to fulfill without upfront payment. Draugvan called for three shots of the same blood-laced vodka and slapped them down before the sod. Not one of them was for Draugvan.​
 
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Vaguely surprised by the fact that he had not been struck for his rude outburst, he briefly noted as the man spoke that his question had not been answered. He watched as the man turned and began to walk away, his eyes widening in surprise. Did this man actually expect him to follow a total stranger who spoke cryptic messages deeper into the city underbelly? Fuck no!

He wasn't sure if it was the liquor messing with his brain or the fact that this man seemed to know something he didn't, but he threw his logic out the window as the man grew further away, scrambling to his feet and shuffling forward a bit unsteadily, clearly having not walked in a while, not to mention the flask of alcohol he had just greedily consumed. His stride leveled out quickly, although remained slightly irregular as they continued on their way. He didn't dare to ask any questions, despite the fact that many of them were swimming through his head. After all, he hadn't been beaten last time, but he didn't know if he'd be so lucky again.

He followed at a safe distance until they arrived at a building that looked to be a nightclub, and he was guided past the bouncer without pause, although Mathias glanced at the intimidating man and cowered slightly, before side-stepping him to follow the stranger inside. The music seemed to pound into his bones, and perhaps if he wasn't so confused he'd be compelled to dance, but right now he wanted answers, and he hoped this stranger could give them to him.

He pushed through the dancing crowds to the bar at the back, struggling to keep up with the man and avoid losing sight of him. When he managed to find a seat next to the man, he found himself trembling in a combination of adrenaline, fear, anxiety, and pent-up frustration. He didn't really hear the order the man made over the sound of the music and his own racing heartbeat, but he wished he had because he soon found himself confronted by three shots of a liquid that smelled quite similar to the one he'd just drank. Sweat beaded down his brow as he stared at them, clearly debating whether or not he should let his instincts take over and drink them, or wait for the stranger to give him his answers.

He frowned slightly, tearing his gaze away from the drinks and towards the male in front of him, although he was careful to avoid eye contact. He remained quiet, too afraid to ask his questions without being given permission to speak, yet his eyes clearly relayed that he had quite a few of them.
 
"He's a funny one, isn't he?" teased Tania from behind the bar "More shell-shocked than anything. I wonder what he's thinking?"​

Tania eyed Draugvan's companion quizzically while she leaned on the counter like a cat, exposing her chest. She gave the man a twice-over trying to make up her mind as to what Draugvan had dragged in. She gave the man a hard stare, a pout, then turned away like she wasn't interested. Tania shot a look over her shoulder at Draugvan - Did I get a reaction? - which Draugvan returned with amusement.​

Draugvan leaned backward on the bar, regarding the stranger.​

"What's with the face? I promised you more, so here you go! This is for you."​

Draugvan knicked one of the shots and held it out temptingly. Like history repeating itself, if they were given a choice, Draugvan found it was hard for his guests to say 'No'. He chuckled.​

"You have questions written on your face. Well, I can assure you that this time, you will find the answers at the bottom of a glass."​

Draugvan wiggled the shot.​

Draugvan kept his arm outstretched as Tania pulled him backward to speak without the stranger hearing.​
 
He startled visibly at the comment from the other side of the bar, looking over at the young woman, who seemed to know the man he was talking to. She leaned forward on the counter, exposing her chest visibly before feigning disinterest. He froze momentarily, seeming to be in a state of shock for less then a second before he turned away abruptly, seeming visibly disturbed. He decided immediately that he didn't like her; she brought nothing but bad memories.

Upon Draugvan's words, his attention was drawn back to the shots before him. He hesitated once more, unsure of himself, but the aroma was more certainly tempting. Upon being told that his answers were at the bottom of a glass, he gave in to his instincts, taking the shot from his hand and downing it, surprised to find the taste was much different from the previous flask. It was difficult to describe, almost like spicy salt water. Not nearly as scorching as before, though, surely. A different alcohol, he could only assume. It still had that metallic taste, however, although it was most certainly subtle. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, but he was sure it was the source of this overwhelming instinct to consume every drink in his path. He downed the other shots just as quickly, although his desperation seemed to wane with every glass.
 
Draugvan turned back from Tania to find the shot glass missing from his hand. Draugvan grinned, and Tania scowled at that because she wasn't getting anywhere near this rat.​

What a marvelous fool. Draugvan clapped and cheered him on, noting the last shot glass slip away and shatter under a table. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and guided him toward the dance floor, speaking a few words in the man's ear.​

"You're doing good. Just keep going like this, you'll be alright. OK pal? I'll catch up in a second...get that blood flowing."​

With a pat on the man's shoulder Draugvan winked back to the bar, leaving the drink to work its way through his guest. Tania was still scowling as she picked up the broken shot glass.​

"You could be wrong once in a while," she sniped.​

"If were wrong, you wouldn't have food on the table."​

"Well keep an eye on him will you? He isn't drunk yet. Go finish what you started."​

Draugvan waved her criticism away with one hand. Tania was a great cook, but Draugvan knew that it was all about the method. In a word - preparation. Draugvan was prepared for drunks, and for fighters, for runners, for screamers and fainters. You only had to identify which box the rat fit into. It was always the box with the cheese.​

Draugvan let the stranger get lost in the crowd. He enjoyed seeing his prey shift from compliance into helplessness. In a minute he would stop by and find his guest a dance partner. A woman? Or does he prefer men?​
 
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Mathias, left to his own accord, was lost.

Having followed orders his entire life, to be lacking one was akin to a punishment. He had no idea what to do when given freedom; a choice. So when the stranger guided him towards the dance floor before leaving him stranded, his first thought had been of panic. He searched the crowd for the man, but he had already disappeared. Lost and helpless, he felt a surge of emotion hit him. What had he done wrong? Was this his punishment for speaking out earlier? For him, he thought in blacks and whites -- good and bad, reward and punishment, although it was rare for him to receive a reward, which was likely the main cause for his low self-esteem.

He shifted towards the edge of the dance floor, his expression both numb and hopeless. Although he had trained himself for years to hide his emotions, he most certainly still had them, and maybe the alcohol was an influence, but right now he felt overwhelmed. The music felt less like an incentive to dance and more like someone beating on his cell bars to keep him in line.

A young woman with glasses suddenly appeared in front of him as he stood near the wall, a kind smile on her face. "Hey, you alright? You looked a little overwhelmed..." She asked, her voice surprisingly soothing. He stared at notebook she held in her hands to avoid looking in her eyes, waiting patiently for permission to speak.

The woman waited for several awkward moments before stating, "You know you can talk to me...right?"

Mathias promptly replied, as if in cue, "Thank you, ma'am."

The woman stared at him incredulously for a moment, and he wondered if he had some something wrong, before she laughed. "You're a funny one, aren't you?" She asked, pausing shortly after. "C'mon, dance with me!" She grabbed his wrist and began to drag him to the dance floor, to which she met with little hesitation. He had been given an order and he'd meet it dutifully.

It wasn't until he arrived on the floor that he realized he had no idea what he was doing. Desperate to receive approval and avoid a punishment, he did his best, although he looking more like a beached fish than a dancer. She laughed, "Follow my lead!" She shouted over the music, taking both his wrists and guiding him back in forth in tune with the music. He was a surprisingly quick learner. "Yeah, that's it! Now on your own!" She let go of his wrists, and he kept up with her with little difficulty. He didn't realize a smile had crept onto his face for several minutes after it'd appeared...How long had it been since he last smiled?
 
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Draugvan looked on with a knowing smile as a woman took his guest dancing. He looked happy. Amenable, almost. He could keep playing, for a bit.

Draugvan made his way to a back-room behind a velvet curtain. The curtain muted the music for a space to talk. A long sofa snaked through the room with tables for islands. Draugvan went to one of the islands and started making preparations. His guest would need a place to recover after all his dancing. He would need something to drink, of course, Draugvan snickered to himself. Then after all that, when his guest was snoozing softly on the crushed velvet, Draugvan would need the anaesthetic syringe taped on the underside of the table.

The curtain rustled and the pomp Adrienne entered, fondling a couple of doe-eyed humans. The pomp's face sparkled like he was the centre of the world. The women on his arms didn't seem to notice Draugvan. Adrienne cooed in tease.

"Draugvan, back again? Such a delight-!" he laughed. "You must be here for me? No? Ooooh...pity."

Draugvan sneered. Adrienne had no technique - his tone fluctuated up and down dramatically.

"I've got someone coming in 15 minutes. I need you out of here. You'll scare him off."

"Was that the dark-haired thing I saw you with earlier, in the baggy suit? Isn't he a little young for you?" Adrienne smiled a challenge. "Either way, I like it here just fine. I hope you don't find it hard to perform with someone watching…"

Adrienne took a table on the sofa behind Draugvan. Though Draugvan ignored the man and finished the preparations. Draugvan left in a foul mood, and continued to monitor his guest from the sidelines.
 
It seemed nothing good could last forever.

Moments after he began to feel the joy -- real, true joy -- of dancing, he noticed several people glancing at him in disdain, and his smile faltered as he retreated back into his shell. What had he done wrong? Was he not supposed to dance? He didn't understand. He glanced down at himself, and then at everyone around him, and suddenly he realized why. Everyone else here was clean, professionally dressed, and smelled of perfume or cologne. He, on the other hand, hadn't washed his hair in weeks, was covered in a thin layer of dirt, and smelled like the dumpster he had been sitting by. It was no wonder he stood out... He hardly deserved happiness.

"Hey...You okay?" The woman asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. He nodded, but his heart wasn't in it, and his eyes clearly portrayed how he felt.

She seemed concerned for a moment, before her bright smile returned. "I'm feeling a bit tired...How about we sit down for a bit?" He glanced at her, a bit surprised, before nodding, following her to a table near the bar. He noticed a notebook, the one she had been carrying earlier, was already sitting there, as well as a purse. He hadn't even noticed her setting it down before.

He nervously took a seat across from her, chewing his lower lip. She smiled reassuringly.

"Hey, I never did tell you my name. It's Rachel. ...You?"

Mathias panicked slightly, unsure if he wanted to divulge that information. She caught on quickly, and said smoothly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Just thought I'd ask." He relaxed, seemingly relieved, and yet he felt strangely compelled to tell her. He felt he could trust her.

"...It's Mathias..." He mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Mathias, huh?" She tasted the name on her tongue. "I like it."
 
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The lights flashed red and purple.​
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Draugvan honed in on his guest, each step seeming to leap forward between each flash of red. It was time to move up the schedule. He eyed the dark-haired woman who sat with his guest - she looked tasty enough...but he couldn't be sure she wasn't here with someone else. Meanwhile, his guest shot her a thin smile. Though, he kept looking over his shoulder to the dance fall with a sunken expression.​
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Draugvan made sure to fix his own smile before introducing himself. He slunk around a high-back stool, running his hands along the polished wood. He beamed his guest an eager grin before quickly regarding the woman.​
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"Hello there," he showed his teeth, "I don't believe we've met."​
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The woman did not appreciate Draugvan's hospitality. She stuttered first at his swift arrival, but quickly dismissed him. It didn't help Draugvan's mood.​
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Draugvan returned to his guest with a slightly more glower look around the eyes.​
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"I've got something special lined up. Come with me. OK, er…" he hadn't taken his guest's name. "...OK." he finished matter-of-factly.​
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He pulled out the high-back stools to make a way for his guest, ushering with a small bow and a tilt of his head - We ARE going this way - then began through the crowd toward the hidden backroom, just like he had led the guest through the streets of Downtown.​
 
His expression grew unreadable as Draugvan entered his field of view, but his gaze was distracted by the man, causing Rachel to look where he was staring. It wasn't many moments later before the older man introduced himself formally, although he received barely a stutter and a dismissal in response. Hearing Draugvan issue an order, he stood, immediately moving to follow.

Rachel, however, stood abruptly as well, grabbing hold of his wrist. He suddenly froze at the contact, tearing his hand away with a mortified expression. For a moment, Rachel seemed hurt, then apologetic, and then her expression fell back to neutral. She tried to pretend she hadn't seen how the touch had hurt him, and continued with what she was going to say. "Do you know him?" She asked, gesturing towards Draugvan.

Mathias faltered, unsure. Did he? Not really. His hesitation showed in his eyes until he said carefully, "Kind of.."

Rachel seemed distrustful, mostly of Draugvan, but she clearly didn't like the way Mathias seemed to be hiding something about his correlation to Draugvan. Weary of Draugvan's listening ears, though, she addressed him quickly, "Give us a minute, will you?" She then reached for Mathias's wrist again to pull him aside, but quickly decided against it and gestured him a few paced away instead.

"Who is he?" She insisted, once they were out of earshot. "He seems suspicious...I don't like him." Mathias didn't say a word, instead staring at her expectantly, like he was waiting for her to say more. "...What?" She asked, seemingly confused.

Realizing he was expected to speak, Mathias tried desperately to think of something to say on the spot that wouldn't get him in trouble. "Why not..?" He blurted out, and immediately he felt like an idiot. Questions were bad. Asking questions was worse. Especially ones that questioned a free man's -- or in this case, a free woman's -- opinions.

"Why not..?" She scoffed, before sighing. "I don't know...Gut feeling? He just seems kind of fishy." Then, her eyes lit up with a realization, and she seemed to back off a bit. "Sorry, I don't mean to be pushy -- It's your life, I guess. I'm just saying he gives me a really bad feeling..."

Pushy? He questioned internally, I don't get it...She didn't push me at all...?
 
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