toothache

The teeth of a six-year-old. Charts : development and growth of the teeth. n.d.

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: Lestat smiles. Howard isn't wrong. This is the unfortunate reality of being on the other side of the rockstar rainbox: a victim to the masses, even if he gets the vampire to himself when the time comes. And what is after the tour? Interview, conferences; someone even mentioned going to Warped Tour, whatever the fuck that means. The Vampire Lestat would like to think about a new album. It is his job to do so, and he has enough fortune to branch out. Never sleeps. Never eats aside from the occasional bloodbags that became a necessity as of late because of laws and regulations. He doesn't really like taking creative breaks. Revenge became an obsession and then a passion.

He tilts his head to regard the photo before it vanishes. Ah, yes, that one. He knows that one well. The celebrity chuckles. "Yes, but million billion isn't going to have me in their bed kissing up on their pretty ears, mm?" Lestat flirts as he reaches with his bent index finger to gently outline the shell of Howard's ear. His handsome gentleman-in-waiting. Lestat sighs. He has been compared to godhood in many ways. This is the one compliment that makes his dead heart flutter. Oh, Howard has a way with words. And Lestat believes him with every passing moment. A grin stretches across his lips. "A week, mon cher. I promise. I will be here." Lestat squeezes Howard's hand, leaning over closer to press his face to the vampire's chest.

"I miss you," he whispers, nuzzling against his collarbone. "My green room is so quiet. Lonely without you. I keep thinking about you on stage. I want to speed it all up and get to you. The tour bus is filthy with fans. Fuck, I am getting so exhausted. " The vampire peels his face away before he decides to cancel tonight's afterparty. Rumor has it, someone is going to be a lamb for a dose of DMT.

"Can I get you anything in the meantime, my love? I will be passing a couple of stores on my way. Buy you something nice. A gift for the trouble." He smiles, reaching over to stroke Howard's knee.

“Ah, ha, did you really,” Howard propped his head up with an arm. “I thought I’d be fine, jostled around the tour bus for another week, but if I do it for another day I swear I would lose my mind,” he laughed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t join you on this last leg of the journey. Too noisy, too many people, and the--” he rolled his eyes, “throngs upon throngs of fans, by Jove, it’s driven me mad too. Though not in the way you think.”

He tumbled backwards playfully as Lestat drew near with a soft chuckle. “In a very quiet, jealous way, to be exact. In a way that I don’t want anyone near you for a time, after you’ve wrapped up your tour and what comes after it. Gods, I’m sick of all the hands and mouths around you, one week feels like an eternity. Alas, for the time being, your picture will be the salve to my heart.”

“I waaaaaaaaaant…..” Howard hummed, purred. “A beautiful house overlooking the Straits of Gibraltar. I want it tangerine orange on the inside, with all the bells and whistles of the Moorish architecture. I want the bedroom to have a balcony where I can lounge on piles of rugs in the late evenings. And a house studio where my rockstar boyfriend could sit down and record his ideas down when the inspiration strikes. I want a courtyard with a fountain where I can whisper sweet nothings into my lover’s ear, bits of poem and my soul I hope rejuvenate him enough for his next endeavours.”

“And another one of these,” he lifted his wrist, showing Lestat a gold bracelet dangling against his sallow skin with a cheeky wink. “For the trouble, of course.”

the best part of having powerful blood was that he rarely had to reveal the limits of his strength. little tricks were usually enough to keep any threat in line. for other vampires, his presence spoke for itself. to be an ancient vampire with far more ancient blood in his veins was to have a strength he was comfortable in. he'd never had the desire to flex it, however. others might have derived pleasure from showing their fangs after the smallest betrayal. but, armand found that a little too insecure for his taste. it was just business, after all. nothing personal. death just happened to be the punishment for thieves.

he isn't sure howard wants to meet him. he hadn't expressed such, but armand had an interest in meeting him. if the vampires were dead and his items retrieved, then he'd done the job he asked for and there was nothing to complain about. in fact, wouldn't it be more polite to thank him in person? and if anything were missing, he could deal with that second. as the car arrives, armand leaves the window and makes his way out to the driveway to meet them.

five hundred years hadn't done anything to dampen his inquisitive nature and armand would be lying if he said that it wasn't part of this whole scenario. this could be politeness, but it was also curiosity. as the car door opens, he hears the question, an amused chuckle falling in spite of himself. ❝ if it puts your mind at ease, if i wanted you dead, i would have had it done at the scene. ❞

a half-truth. but his favorite targets were his prey. armand doesn't expect to put him completely at ease. frankly, if he had no hesitation about him, he would have thought him foolish. vampires weren't always known for their hospitality.

❝ if you'll follow me, we can take the conversation inside, ❞ he offers, waving a hand towards the entrance of his home. ❝ and if there's anything you need, please, don't be afraid to ask. ❞

Secretly, Howard wondered if the reason why he was summoned was the sheer fact that they were so very different. It must be strange for their bloodline to think of a possibility that they weren’t the only bloodsuckers out there; though Howard’s pedantic nature would quickly correct that they weren’t even the slightest related to one another, be it kingdom, genus, nor species. They all quack the same way because they were hatched inside the same flesh suit, and that was where all of their similarities would end.

Not that it bothered him a great deal that they were, it just felt to Howard like the most logical explanation to this meeting. Not one of his coven members agreed to meet nor speak to Armand directly, always putting Howard between their conversations, which was how he was sent on this merry chase to begin with. It did make him feel quite like a freak show animal on display, though.

“It wouldn’t make any sense either for you to kill me. I’m sure you’ve got all your business down pat around these parts, but I don’t think you’d want to pick a fight with the likes of ours for no good reason. Logistical nightmare,” he pointed at the sky, “we’ve all got stuff to do that isn’t picking fights like television vampires. But we’re not known to have much sense after a few hundred years, so, a man’s got to be wary and all that.”

He nodded and followed Armand, eyeing the men surrounding him briskly before planting his gaze gobsmack on the back of the elder vampire’s head. “Clever thing you did, hiring me to jump them instead of your, uh,” he glanced over his shoulder again, “Navy SEALs you’ve got working with you over there. Would’ve terrified your lead.”

❛ you know, i really don't agree with this idea that i'll get meaningful results from anything you dole out, anyway. you're obviously more . . . lucid than what's out there, so there's no guaranteeing the results would be the same. especially when we're dealing with something as delicate as neurological function, i mean— ❜ he realises his error retrospectively, coffee lidded and brought over in a walk that carries an apologetic slump in his shoulder. outstretched arm takes a little less caution than any of the others would be pleased with as he provides the cup, a weak smile following the curve of his head as neck tilts. ❛ hope you like your peace offerings strong and scalding. ❜

i don't agree with all this ' specimen ' talk either : but then again, i nickname everything from astrophage to more complex organisms. when we are clearly faced with something— no, someone with as much mental capacity as us however, one would think certain courtesies would remain. one would think.

howard offers a perspective he hasn't really possessed, thrown in the deep end with no preconceived notions of those that preceded him. he hadn't really considered that others had, which is a lousy oversight on his behalf, but something to ruminate on later in private. ❛ you'll be onto the next guy soon enough. they think i've got it all cracked because of a paper i wrote years ago, but it's a stroke of luck. ❜ this 'special' thing is all smoke and mirrors, something built on false pretences that stratt doesn't seem to understand no matter how much he enforces it. ❛ but the current working theory surrounds all things cerebral, that there might be some protein or— ❜ a small bark of a laugh. ❛ lipid if you prefer, that might interact favourably with the virus. or even the astrophage, just balance the whole chemistry out — kill the virus, but not the host. so essentially, i've got a chemical playground going with amyloid, tau, glutamate, and so on, seeing how they play ball with our buddies. which means . . . a lot of trial and error, a lot of time killed, and a lot of coffee. ❜ he has retrieved his own drink, gives it a final waggle in mid air.

He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but a person could easily be persuaded to go outside the norm when all Howard was allowed to ingest were bland nutritional slurries calculated down to the nanogram of nutrients and energy that would constitute as survivable for a man his size and weight. The only reason why he hasn’t accused the institution of human rights violations (on top of all the other poor treatments he had received) over the pink slop was the fact that everything tasted like cardboard anyway to him. Vampire curse, and all that. At least he wasn’t purging anything but blood violently like some other species of bloodsuckers would.

Little blessings. “They think it’s only a matter of time before I burst out of here slurping brains and trying to eat buttcheeks off the bone. I struggle to understand why, I suppose the compound feelings of distress and fear from all the deaths around the world blinded them to the fact that maybe I’m just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Howard took the proffered cup, careful not to touch the researcher in case that was a violation too. “Sure, I’m dead, I’ve been dead, I’m deader than dead. But it doesn’t mean anything when you put it against the probabilities of -- quite literally everything. Coincidences are far more likely than you think, and hypotheses start sounding like zodiac reads.”

He sat nursing his mug quietly as Grace explained the running theory, the latest astrological mumbo-jumbo masked as informed guesses as to what was going on with the rest of the world. Howard snorted once, sipped on his coffee, and nodded.

“I’ve read somewhere before that Alzheimer’s is caused by an accumulation of proteins in the brain. Small, tiny strands only observable under a microscope, and you lose all sense of yourself, your motor abilities, your memories. Everything.” Another sip to break the grim sentence. “You’d think if they haven’t found anything after poring through my brain cells -- yes, they scraped some off of mine, took a huge bone drill and --” he demonstrated with a free hand against his head, “-- but humans are really, really dogged on an idea when it’s already between their teeth.”

“I’m no researcher, so I’ll be careful with my biases.” Howard settled into his chair, sinking into it with a hunched shoulder. “There’s something not quite right about this whole thing. I’m not trying to downplay your achievements, I’m sure you’ve done your best. But of all the hundreds and hundreds of faces I’ve met before we were introduced, you’re still committing to the same routine tests they’ve probably done to hell and back?”

“Have I gone crazy, or does it not sound strange to you at all? You’re telling me that nobody considered proteins before you did. Really? Luck. Is that what they've told you?” He narrowed his eyes. “All the researchers from all sorts of fields are out there, Nobel prize winners, all around the planet, having the same access to the virus as you do. You should be swimming in their reports, and here you are,” he gestured with his mug, “playing hot and cold with a bottle of black goo and a 300 year old dead guy who seems to have the same black goo, but a different kind of goo. Not that it matters, if my guess is right.”

She spells a word against her teeth, the tip of her pink tongue ever in motion, licking the enamel, the sleep-layer of grime. Aftershocks, she spells. It comes back to her in waves. The heat of his skin, the ease with which he'd taken her, the weight of him flattening her like a penny on the railroad tracks. An ache between her legs, where he's been. Where he etched himself into the grooves left by those that came before him. Regret sours her breath. It stands in the room like a third body, like a silent spectator. It's not hers. Howard brought it with him. What she has is... Well, a satisfaction, perhaps. A brave little satisfaction that grimly nods its head.

It's good, she thinks. It's good to know that she is always always always right. It's good to know that she was right about Howard, too. Makes no difference now, who held back from whom. Meat will have its way. And he can cry about it after, and she sees him stealthily rubbing at the sting, but this is the law of the jungle. Miriam licks her chops, coughs up a fly. It stabs at her liver, to see him trying to carry on. Courts her cruelty. She aches to press her thumb in the wound.

"... I need to get cleaned up first." She announces flatly. For all her mewling and writhing, sex never makes her softer like she thinks it will. It doesn't make her like anyone better. Miriam swings her bruised legs over the edge of the mattress and stands up. Her nakedness is a lightning strike in the dull room. The blanket falls away and she doesn't dive after it. You'd think she's capable of arching her spine into the shape of an accusation.

But he looks like a kicked puppy, sitting there. He can't help it, she must remember that. They all can't help it. And would she have been flattered if he had refused? She doesn't want to be cruel. She doesn't want to put up her fists just because she's used to an uppercut on the comedown. Miriam looks over her shoulder and smiles back at Howard, on her way to the bathroom. It softens her, turns her from pit to peach.

When she lifted herself off the mattress, Howard could feel dark tendrils nestle in the imprints of the bedclothes she had left behind. He poured himself some tepid, stale bedside water in a cup and drowned the taste of her scalp from his throat, bile and all. She was sweet, down to the bone, because she wanted herself to be sweet. She was told all her life that she was a fruit for the Lord, nectar dew-drop reserved for the most holy -- the most holy, the Father, the father -- and that was what she was. Will be. It baffled Howard, the hunger of mankind, and perhaps this time, in the corner of his blackened, damp, filth-ridden mind, he was the least of all evils that had reminded her of her holiness.

“Take all the time you need. The next hole we’ll be living out of is still being worked on. We’re completely out of needles. McKesson’s getting a bit suspicious about the orders we’re placing… Too bad, I quite like their products. We’ll have to use BD or Terumo needles for the time being.” Play it cool. Yes? That’s what men do the morning after? Work. Drown it in something light-hearted, or deep-fried beige, or bland Folgers in a chipped mug. Then call her pretty, that it was great, maybe let’s do more of that someday.

“I’m sorry, Miriam.” Howard is made up of a lot of things, but lying was not part of his constitution. “I think we’re both pent up,” no he wasn’t, not quite, not for her, who was first and foremost his ward and his responsibility, “and I sort of-- I should have been a lot more.. inhibited.”

“I have this thing--” he gestured mildly into the air, freckling dust waving alongside his movements in the pillar of morning sun through the windows. “-- with… consent?” It was punctuated with a nervous laugh. “And I know we both wanted it,” it can be argued that he did, if all the revenant did was to amplify the dark wants inside of his body, “but I really, really should have made it clear before we, uh. Went at it.”

“You are… quite important to me. I think I’ve not hidden the fact that I wanted you to be more than what the world had assigned you, and,” he licked his dry lips. “I guess I wanted to be different for you, I wanted to…” a shrug, “… not confuse that feeling with other… feelings which might get in the way of things.”

Embarrassing. He held his head low in shame. Just like any other man! Like any other man! A soft, supple body and a kiss, and you fall down, down, down. Pathetic, really. Here is a woman you wanted above all else to protect. And you ruin her just like all the dogs that slaver over her form.

“I guess it boils down to whether or not we want whatever we are, to have this… element to it?” Howard lifted his head again. “I feel a little guilty. You’re someone… under my wing, so to speak. Bit of a dynamic going on and I feel like a prick coming on to you the way I did. Especially with the whole thing you’ve been through…”

He blinked quietly, once, twice. Miriam had not once mentioned anything of the sort with him.

Clark wrapped his arms around his spouse and pulled him close again, tucked him away back into the crook of his shoulder as if he could shield him from the world there.

❝ We can do that. ❞ If he picked up on the subtle intent, he made no show of it. There was nothing wrong with that sort of intimacy after something traumatic, not inherently. It would all just rest on whether or not the vampire was in a good enough headspace for Clark to feel comfortable pursuing that intimacy alongside him.

❝ We can spend all day in bed if that's what you want. ❞ And before Howard could make any sort of objections he added, ❝ I'm not pleased with the circumstances, sure. But I do genuinely like the idea of hiding away and just being in your company the whole day. And I'm sure you'd do the same for me. Probably will do the same for me eventually. ❞

The nightmares had all but vanished. But he knew they were there still, lurking. Howard's presence helped an incredible amount, but he knew the real reason they hadn't plagued him was because he was busy. Overly busy. Too busy to even relive his fucking Hell trauma, funny enough. Not just business busy but busy with a flock of disgusting creatures he needed eradicated-— the coven.

❝ Whatever my sweet boy needs, he'll get. Easy-peasy. ❞

“Okay.”

That was the shakiest, most unconvincing “Okay” Howard had ever given to Clark, ever. And he knew it; he wasn’t sure if anything was right without Victory peering over his shoulder telling him what he needed to say or do. He made a face slightly at the thought that maybe he should bring up the question on whether activities like intimacy or a ten-hour marathon of old Hollywood cinema counted as a positive reinforcement, or if it was going to become an unhealthy escapism.

“I suppose the longer I procrastinate, the harder it’s going to scrub off the duvet.” A slow push. “And after that I get to do… stuff… with my other half. Watch films and cuddle just like this,” he buried his face against Clark gently, “take my mind off it once I’ve dealt with it. I can do it. I should do it. I can’t let them win, right? I can’t let them keep doing this to me.”

Another desperate embrace enveloped Clark’s body, hands hanging onto his shoulder for mercy. Howard drew in a sharp breath, trying his best not to crumble again.

“I need. To kill them. Clark.” he whispered, a low confession. “Maybe not all of them. But I have to do it with my own hands at one point. Just like this. It’s becoming like a nightmare, like they weren’t real. My life with you here felt so good I’m beginning to forget what they’d done to me. It’s good that they woke me up this way. I need. To kill them.”

“For now,” he pulled away, swiftly digging the heels of his palms into the deep sockets of his eyes. “I have to start small, like you said. Grow into the, hah,” he chuckled wetly, “asshole that you are. Be a bit more audacious and cunning. Long way to go yet, but I have to pick up the pace. I can't keep going on like this, I really can't.”

Dolores shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just too close to the problem." She won't pretend to totally understand why ghosts in particular have such a prevalent presence here compared to the rest of the constantly dying world. That's a job for philosophers and parapsychologists to figure out. She's got more pressing, much more human problems to focus on. Or at least human adjacent. 'Ghosts, shmosts' as a very dear and deeply annoying friend would put it. Clink. Dolores must have been hungrier than she thought because when she looks down at her plate, the tines of her fork find only hard ceramic and a smear of gravy. She sighs. "I... hm." Her eyes wander from Howard to the rest of the pie as she deliberates over something. Whether it's deciding on if she should go for another piece or how to phrase her next answer though is anyone's guess. "Would... it make you feel more confident in my counsel?" She asks in the most vulcan-esque way possible.

Oh dear, Dolores had That Look on her face now. It was the same look she’d give him when they were doing their hours-long conversations about Howard’s curious case, the look that tells Howard that she was putting all her questions inside a coffee filter, pouring scalding hot water over them and waiting for each droplet of Correct Questions to drip out. Then filter that again just to be clear and concise. It made Howard slightly uncomfortable; it felt as if there was always a new wall built between them that no amount of cordiality could really allow a door through, if only for a moment for levity. He did not want to stay her client, if at all possible -- he wanted to be her friend.

“Counsel schmounsel,” Howard said. New York is rubbing off on him, and fast. “You’re off on your once in a blue moon lunch break, and my case is suspiciously delayed for what feels like forever, by unseen forces that smelled suspiciously like the Home Office,” he shook his leg, which immediately reminded him of the existence of the bloody ankle monitor. “If it makes you feel better about your counsel, then yeah, I suppose we can go with that. But I just wanted to, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “break the ice?”

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆:Mila, Mila, Mila. The warning is noted by a side smile as Lestat turns his face to the water. The shampoo bubbles run down his face as he flutters his eyes shut and loses himself to the hissing of a running stream. His co-star is an interesting character. Making suggestions about others to the rockstar who has been with the team for a while. This is their first meeting, especially in such close quarters, but the vampire cannot deny himself the draw of another's company. He has avoided his kind ever since the Trial. It drastically changed his opinion of many modern bloodsuckers in ways that his rockstar era has not seen. His biases soured. His interpretation of foes doubled in negative connotations. He assumes that a lot of outspoken vampires are plain enemies. The echoes of Louis or Armand no longer haunt him, but they are present scars that will remain. That, and the Butcher of Monaco, the very reason Lestat ended up in front of a human jury, pleading his case in laws that never applied to him anyway.

His sideways glance lands on Howard in a chair, partaking in the show. Lestat smirks and turns away from the vampire, averting the best parts of him toward the wall while offering a sight of other fascinating halves. "I think you are worried about superficial things, darling. This is the modern world with modern problems. It seems that birthright hunting and bloodline feuds are subdued by capitalism." Lestat's fingers move his wet tresses out of his face as he reaches for the next available product. He spoils himself with expensive human concoctions he would otherwise never have access to. He has to give it to mortals, their innovation is astounding when it addresses beauty standards. In Paris, back in the late 1700s, raw eggs helped shampoo hair and somewhat return their shine. And even that was too expensive.

The shower cabin door departs from its frame, and with a cool air rushing in, a body aligns behind Lestat. The vampire's lips spread into a private smile as he minds his business, ignoring dampening skin brushing across his own. A soft breath elevates from his chest as he cants his head to tease out the last bits of product from his hair. Now, for the conditioner, on top of all the masks he has been cultivating until then. He wonders what emboldens Howard to access the famous actor's proximity in this way. It is no mystery that Lestat allows it. He should remind his co-star that this is a privilege not many mortals, much less vampires, get to experience. Not anymore. And yet, Lestat remains quiet. Wealth whispers, he reminds himself as he tilts his head the opposite way to let the water cradle his neck.

Lestat chuckles at a brief alias when Howard addresses him. "Yes, my knight?" He answers playfully, raising his voice over the water. The vampire lifts his chin, pressing his ear against the lips that whisper into it. Lestat's smile falls into a pout as he cups his hands to gather warm water and splash his shoulders with remaining bubbles. He hopes the splash droplets slap Howard's cheek for the insult. "A vegan lifestyle, hah! I knew someone like that." Lestat's body leans backward against his taller counterpart, the back of his head pressing to Howard's shoulder.

"Let me tell you something, cher," Lestat's hand raises to blindly loop around Howard's hair, plunging wet fingers into drench, soapy hair. He invites the vampire closer, turning his head more to lace their conversation with wet lips nearly brushing. "They will try to take everything away from you no matter what you do. Monster, actor, pretender. They will sniff out your talent and try to ruin you. A wolf is still a wolf in sheep's clothing. Killing the wolf will just make you take its place," Lestat chuckles, blinking away running droplets of water. He releases Howard's head and turns to face him.

"You want to be perceived?" The actor chuckles. His eyes are pinned against Howard's head like a heavy anchor of a sinking ship. He regards his co-star like a painter beholds gallery exhibits. He admires Howard's words, but at the same time, his own experiences dampen it. Before the honest knight, stands a man who single-handedly roused the immortal world from the shadows, spilling songs and interviews with nocturnal secrets. His music beckoned the ancient, causing his unfortunate kidnapping, and a series of events that eventually landed him in the worst conditions known to their kind. And now, he has been reborn as consequences of being stubborn in this very perception.

"You cannot hide forever," the Wolfkiller speaks, tilting his head to let the water run over his hair, pinning it back against his shoulder blades. Lestat regards Howard through the veil of steam with a soft smile. He keeps his tone measured. He does not want to appear hostile or skeptical. In fact, he is impressed by Howard's persistence. "Your self control will take you far. But just how far are you willing to go? How much of yourself are you willing to give for the favor of mortal perception?" Lestat grins, reaching up to draw his fingertips along the man's forehead, brushing away some of his damp tresses.

"You know what I say?" He beckons Howard closer by pressing the pad of his index finger underneath the vampire's chin, merely applying guiding pressure. When their faces are close enough to beat the running water, Lestat whispers: "All of it." The actor mutters. It feels like he is speaking to a mirror. A mirror that reflects the horror of his own rhetoric. Yes, he has given up all of himself for his art. And he will do so again and again, until there is nothing left of him, or Lelio, or anyone else Lestat pretends to be for the sake of being accepted and remembered over and over again.

His digit falls.

"Show me your murderous teeth."

“You can never be too careful these days, can you? People have tried to use less to pin me down when I’ve just started out in the business -- it’s always someone you know that makes or breaks a career, I’ve learnt that the hard way. The good thing is that for people like us, if we bite hard enough, things give.”

Howard sighed low as the shower and Lestat’s body began to warm him some; reminded yet again that he hadn’t slept in ages and ages. If he was honest, all he wanted to do was to press up against someone just as solid and try to lull himself into what could constitute a nap. But Lestat’s a busy man, surely, and hungry most importantly; the hunt would come first and foremost. He lathered himself quietly at the thought, smiled when he was Lestat’s knight, and as he was busy wiping away the playful splash off his cheek, he was treated by a tendrilling arm that pulled him deeper into their own little conspiracies.

“My mouth is saying to me that that’s what I want. My body then acts upon it. Works the ambition through the night, through the day. I run myself ragged until there’s nothing much there to suffer for. But if you want my honesty, I don’t know exactly if that’s what I needed,” was his answer. Forthcoming and quite plain, he knew it might shatter some of Lestat’s hopes in him perhaps, but he felt as if there was no use to hide from the other vampire. Neither of them needed to tear one another down, they had what they wanted in their own ways, existing in parallels and yet the trajectories of their futures seemed to never cross. Yet, perhaps.

The beckoning drew him closer, their bodies merging, as if to mock Howard’s train of thought. Not a fraction of a second did they collide, and Howard would behold the magic -- or the damage -- and he must think on his feet. What would he do next?

He took Lestat’s arm, ran his lips over the edge of its form, stopping just by the inside of the elbow to plant a small kiss there. Caressing the length of it back up against his cheek, he opened his mouth, where those compelled murders jut out from beneath the void like singing blades; though they were dull when they rested on Lestat’s arms in a soft bite. He chuckled playfully as he pressed firmer into flesh and bone. Dents pitted on Lestat’s skin, but no blood was drawn.

@tooth--ache ++ this meme.

🚄🍊═══════ Tangerine wipes the thick, bloody rivulets from his upper lip and chin with an equally busted hand. This time, he's gotten done in by some moron who didn't know any better. If only he had his gun ready, but the assassin already spent that entire load on three others. He was stuck in an alleyway a long time before Howard finally decided to bless him with a fucking presence and show up with a car. A carriage for a fucking king! Barely getting into the passenger seat, Tangerine rolls back his head, groaning from his sore, groaning muscles.

"Your job is to drive, not play Mother Theresa. So fuckin' drive, mate!"

✦✦✦ ─────── "CHRIST ALIVE, IS THAT how you say thank you where you're from?" Howard shouted, leaning over to strap the whinging prick into his seat. Bullets began to hail from behind, having followed Howard's erratic driving down the alleyway.

"Oh, so you've got a problem with me saying that all of a sudden, but it wasn't a big deal before when you think you're the dogs fucking bollocks, taking up this job with what, what?" Howard flicked the glovebox in front of Tangerine quickly where he'd kept a fully loaded handgun, before shifting his gear in reverse and pushing his feet down onto the accelerator as far as it would go. "Half hour nap on the metro? I saw you yawn three times in a row."

Bodies thudding against the side of the car was felt first, followed by the crushing of bone and under the wheels second. The third was the screaming, the fourth the screeching of tyres. "I've got a boat ready. There's a first aid kit under your seat. Water in the console." The gear shifting was so violent it rumbled through the car. Soon enough they were launching double, triple digits down the road again.