#kim interactions

The creature must be hungry, it needs blood right? I call the guy who lives with me, I put him right in front of the creature, he doesn't struggle, he is volunteering to help.

"Eat all you want", I say as I pat the creature's hair, "That's an order", I say to be sure, I don't know if the creature would accept the meal so easily.

The boy swallow hard, but stay still, looking at the vampire, waiting to help the poor starved thing.

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You bring it into the house.

You bring it into the house.

This is going to go so badly; do you have a room with all windows? Or one where you can watch it stay awake all day, squirming at the end of the tether on its new collar to just barely stay out of the sunlight?

But it can't disobey; that would only make things worse. You're scary and unpredictable enough now, and that's without being angry. So it comes inside like you command.

It kneels at your feet when you stop walking. Even without a muzzle, it knows its place. Maybe if it proves that well enough, you won't feel the need to put it in its place again? It doesn't have the strength to survive something like that again...

And then you call for another human. He's a boy, seeming not to mind the foul creature kneeling on your floor.

"Eat all you want," you say, patting its hair again.

No. No, it can't, it can't, that was what got it muzzled last time, it can't drink from humans, it can't attack humans, it's just a filthy monster and it knows that but its trying to be better, why are you trying to trick it into this?

"That's an order." That tone is harsher, with an edge of the iron that will surely be used to burn it if it doesn't obey.

It looks back to the boy. He's scared, but not running. Maybe he's too scared to run, too.

He smiles at it though, an unfathomable kindness to such a creature. He kneels in front of it, bringing himself down to its level.

It has to stay. It wants to run. It needs to eat.

And it has to do as it was told.

So it gently—so gently, knowing that it's already doing something forbidden, something awful, and the least it can do is not make it any worse for him—takes the boy's wrist. Its fangs are extended, venom beginning to drip down to pool in its mouth. It licks the boy's wrist first, hoping the venom will numb his skin. It's been so long since its done this.

Please, please, don't let me drink too much, it thinks, hoping someone will stop it if needed.

It places its mouth on the boy's wrist, like a parody of a kiss.

A clean leather collar, I put it around the creature's neck, not loose, but not too tight either, I don't think the thing breaths, tho.

I make the creature look at my eyes, "Did you like it?", I ask with a smirk.

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You lift its head. You lift its head. No, no, nonononono it couldn't, did you want to take its eyes? Was that its punishment? It couldn't—

"Stay still," you say.

It locks all its muscles in place. It doesn't even breathe. It doesn't have to, though its body sometimes forgets that. It can stay still, it can stay still, no matter what it is you're getting or planning to do to it, it will stay still, it will do as it's told.

You come back holding something. It has to keep its head up; it wants to collapse into a ball, curl up and protect all of itself it can, but you told it to stay still.

What are you holding? Is it a knife? A whip? A new muzzle, this time made of iron and silver so that it burns?

No, it's a collar. And... just a collar. Leather even, not like the previous one that burned it. There don't seem to be any spikes facing inwards. Maybe you want to tighten the collar so it can't breathe? So it can't get enough air to scream?

It stays still, so perfectly still as you put it on and begin to tighten it. And then stop. It's not even cutting into its skin; it certainly isn't cutting off its air. It doesn't even hurt.

If it isn't meant to hurt, what is even the point?

You force it to look at you, smiling in a way that makes its stomach churn.

"Do you like it?" you ask.

"Dirty", I say touch the still not-clean-enough hair.

But it'll do for now, I think as I unconsciously pat its hair.

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It doesn't understand. It knows it's dirty, it tried its best but its best isn't good enough, it never is, it can't do anything right, it can't—

But instead of slapping it, you... put your hand on its head? Its hair, oh no, it didn't get its hair clean enough, it's such a snarl that it will probably need to be cut off, when she— it, not she, it, only people get pronouns, and it isn't a person— used to have such lovely hair.

"Dirty," you say, suspiciously softly. patting its head lightly.

It knows that this won't last, that something bad is coming because it always is, but...

Better get the water even colder in the meanwhile.

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(yeah, no indoor plumbing, so just... wish the weather colder I guess.)

The vampire cowers under your glare. It knows exactly what that kind of look means for it.

It gets out of the bath; the water is an opaque brown. The creature isn't as dirty as before, but it certainly isn't clean. It considers which punishment will be worse, and decides to take a towel. Better to dirty one towel than drip filthy water all over the floor.

It tries to take the tub outside to empty it, it truly does, but it's starved and wounded, and can't manage the weight. It sees your glare get even colder and has to keep from falling at your feet and begging for mercy. It's too unclean to even touch your floor. It doesn't deserve any mercy, so there's no use asking for any.

The creature takes a bucket and goes outside. The sun is down, thankfully, though the nights here get bitterly cold. It finds the well pump. Its mangled fingers have trouble grasping the handle, and its emaciated frame can barely provide the energy necessary, but somehow it manages to use the pump and fill the bucket.

With the bucket full of water and the towel it took, the vampire works to clean the rest of the filth off itself. It takes more than one bucket of water, and the longer it's outside, the colder the air is getting. It gets most of the dirt and grime off using the towel, but it can't reach the center of its back.

That spot has some of the worst burns; it had curled up when it was forced in the sunlight, trying to protect whatever it could of its body, so its back took the brunt of it.

This is going to hurt.

Taking unnecessary breaths to steel itself, the vampire lifts the bucket of water. Then it pours the contents down its back.

Its flayed nerves don't know what to make of the input. It's freezing, it's burning, it's knives, it's agony. But it still has to get clean.

Not wanting to risk your wrath, it carefully pours water down its back twice more before deeming itself as clean as it can manage.

It comes back in with the towel and bucket. It's still dripping, but at least this water is clean. It thinks that a human would be shivering from the chill it feels, but it isn't human, not any more. It's just a monster now, so the chill seeps into its bones, making it hard to move, hard to think.

Well, hex. Corva understood her power theoretically, but not in practice. That's just... that's an invasion of privacy, is what it is.

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The vampire gets out of the remains of its clothing hastily, throwing little glances at you to make sure it's doing as you want. It lets out little whines when the clothing sticks to particularly bad burns and takes skin with it when removed.

It goes into the tub when you point. A small noise of discomfort escapes it when it discovers the water temperature, but soon enough it's hastily washing itself, removing layers of dirt and revealing burns, bruises, and broken bones.

I came back a few minutes late, in my hand is a pot with steam leaving it, of course there would be steam with how the water was, but I was careful not to burn myself.

Before he could process what was happening I already had grabbed his hair, after a few days without food or water he was too weak to get free, "You asked for water didn't you?", I say before starting.

CW: burns, mouth whump

It takes Emmett a moment to realize just what the woman was planning. Getting more water sounded good, but she was definitely threatening him, so where was the catch?

He figures it out pretty quickly once she comes back holding a steaming kettle.

He tries to get away when she grabs his hair, but he's exhausted. He's had no food, and only the tiniest amount of water in the past few days. She holds him easily, shaking him a little like a cat scruffing a kitten.

"You asked for water, didn't you?" she says sweetly.

He tries to keep his mouth closed when she starts, but she grips his jaw with her other hand and forces it open. Then the kettle is at his lips and she's pouring water into his mouth.

It's not boiling, is his only consolation. The water is still hot enough to burn, though. It burns his tongue, his cheeks, the sensitive roof of his mouth. It spills over onto his chin when he can't keep up with how fast the woman is pouring it in.

By the time she's done, he's gasping. His mouth tastes like blood, and everything throbs with pain in time with his heartbeat. He collapses once she lets go of his hair.

"Now. I believe you have something to say to me?" she says, still in that fake sweet tone.

It takes him a moment to register what she's said, still panting. The cool air flowing through his mouth is the only relief he can get.

"I'll keep on giving it to you until you thank me properly," she had said. Which means...

It means he had to choose between his pride, or doing this ordeal all over again.

"Tha- thank you," he says between gasps. His cheeks are burning, and not all of it is from the hot water.

"See, was that so hard?" she says. She pats his head—like he's a dog—before walking off again.

I sign for the boy to come closer too, what he does, even if still scrambling, almost falling, relieved when he could kneel again, it would not end well if he were to fall before getting at me, “You must be hungry”, I say to the boy, who responds with a small nod, “Did you talk?”, I ask and the boy nods again, shivering and covering his wrists with his hands, I pat his head for a bit too, “Good boy, go make some food”, I order.

The boy struggles to get up but as soon as he manages to he leaves the room, now there is only me and the vampire, I turn back to it, opening its mouth to see its fangs, point little things, really to my liking, “Cute”, I say taking a closer look, caressing its hear while I am on it.

“I need you to tell me one thing, can you do that?”, I ask after getting down to its level, looking into its eyes, it nods, “Good", I say, still caressing it, "the thing is that I don’t like useless things, so what can you do for me?”

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"It's the second time you didn't answer me," she says to it. The boy flinches from his spot on the floor and tucks his head even further down, like he's hoping to become invisible.

It doesn't understand, though. Answer her? Answer her how? What kind of answer is she looking for? And it sounds like she wants it to talk, which is just... bizarre. Taking off its muzzle to feed it makes sense, and leaving it off makes sense too if she's testing whether it will misbehave given the chance. But talking? From a creature like it? It isn't human, it's so much less; it knows that, it does, it doesn't need her tempting it to forget its place.

"Don't do it a third time," she says, putting her hand lightly on its cheek. The creature has to take a moment to remember what she's talking about; stupid, stupid, stupid, it can't even hold on to the flow of a conversation.

The hand on its cheek feels nice, though...

Then she removes it, gesturing at the boy. He gets up, still uncoordinated from blood loss, to scramble over and kneel by her feet. Once checking with him that he and the creature had talked, she sends him to go make food.

Then she and the vampire are alone.

She turns back to it, getting close, too close, why is she so close what is she doing—

She opens its mouth.

She opens its mouth. She puts her fingers right next to its fangs, and calls them cute.

This woman must be some kind of apex predator, to own and control vampires and humans both, to get right next to a vampire's weapons and be so certain it won't bite.

It wouldn't. It wouldn't. It knows its place, it didn't even want to bite the boy, it's done more than enough harm already.

But having someone get so close to its fangs feels like a threat.

She looks down at it, putting her hand in its hair and stroking gently. She bends down, keeping her hand on its head while getting down to its level.

"I need you to tell me one thing; can you do that?" she asks, looking into its eyes.

It nods hurriedly. This woman is dangerous; it knew that from the beginning, and she's only been confirming it since then. It doesn't want to anger her.

“Good," she says, still stroking its hair. "The thing is that I don’t like useless things, so. What can you do for me?”

Its eyes, so recently healed, go wide. It scrabbles backwards, shaking its head furiously. And oh no, now it's undoubtedly angered her, but there's only one thing it could do for her, and it doesn't want to.

It can take pain. It can be a punching bag, taking the abuse it's due for being such an unnatural freak. And it doesn't want to, the humans who had it were cruel enough, this woman would undoubtedly be worse, but what else can it do? The humans had punished it cruelly when it tried to escape, cutting its tendons so it couldn't run again. It doesn't want to know what this woman would do to it for trying the same thing again.

Slowly, crying blood-tinged tears, it turns around. It bares its back to the woman, showing her the wounds and scars there.