· · ────── ꒰ঌ·Grotesque·໒꒱ ────── · ·
You shall know the truth, and it will make you odd.
+18+ Primordial Master List +18+
It's been two months since Kyle was turned into a vampire. He doesn't need to sleep, but he does rest his eyes and his mind. It's a skill that he's had to actually learn after he woke up for the last time two months ago. Resting happens in intervals, and the intervals don't make sense. The lights in the house are on a natural light timer, so he tries to time his resting periods accordingly for when it's dark, but he wants to be awake when it's dark. Karma tells him that his resting moments wouldn't be so often or long if he ate enough and not just what is in the food that the cook makes. He's been told that any of the humans that came and went would be happy to just give him blood. He would only have to ask and offer something in exchange.
The collection of blood is fairly new after trial and error. It's designed to be done with dignity, safety, and consent is built right in. Aayana takes pride in her family's system. She created it herself.
It's a clean process, sterile, safe, controlled, and watched carefully. New little fledglings that don't have their control do it. Full-grown vampires do it when their preferred human will be gone for an extended period of time. It's a fact of existence that blood is taken, siphoned from a warm body, and drained into a small mason jar. It is then labeled with the donor's name, date of collection, blood type, and finally, the vampire who is normally paired with that human (incase someone likes the taste of that person's blood and wants it from the source, there are social rules about biting humans that are protected). Then, it's stored in the specialty fridge, with each human person having their own shelf. It's a perfect system with medical tools, and everyone knows safe phlebotomy practices, knows how to avoid blood borne illnesses, proper storage, and everyone is very knowledgeable about the expiration of blood.
And Kyle Garrick doesn’t care.
He doesn't care how clean and efficient it is. He doesn't care if people consent to it. He doesn't care if the blood is put into food or drinks. He doesn't care if his lack of blood consumption makes him tired and makes him want to rest more often. He doesn't care that John insists at every dinner that he tries to eat more.
He. Does. Not. Care.
He doesn't want to drink blood because the fundamental truth is that it is gross. It is not human. Unnatural at its core. It reminds him that he isn't really alive and that he is just existing. The itching at the back of his throat, the aches in his fangs, the perpetual dryness of his mouth no matter how much water he consumes, all of it is a stark reminder that he is not Kyle Garrick. He is a ghoulish imitation of what he once was, and he didn't ask for this.
That's the worst part. Kyle didn't have a choice in this existence, and he hates Karma and Aayana equally. When he isn't in a state of rest, he is starving. His stomach aches, and he tries to ignore it. He eats just enough at dinner to keep that driving force, that nagging voice at bay. The voice echoes in his thoughts daily.
'Consume. Consume. Consume.'
His eyes will subconsciously track the humans that move about the house and property. He hears their pulse in a cacophony of drums. Beating. And beating. And beating some more. He scents them all, an array of different types of notes like perfume. All of this to say, his sharper senses also remind him that his humanity has changed.
"Kyle." Her voice calms the calamity in his mind instantly. He hates her. Loathes her very being. His body reacts even if he doesn't want it to, and he tilts his head in acknowledgment. She stands just outside of his peripheral. He catches a glimpse of her and sees that, like always, she's wearing a crisp white linen and lace dress. It hugs her gently, the neck line a not quite plunging sweetheart neckline, but it shows too much to even try to be appropriate. The sleeves drift off of her shoulders and are light and cinched three-quarters of the way down. The skirt stops at just above the knee, and it swishes about with a hint of a tease that she may show her upper thigh. Kyle has never seen her hair in the two months that he's been on the property. She keeps it covered in plenty of scarves and hats. He may catch a peep of her hair when a small stray slips out. Otherwise, he assumes it's dark like his own and coily in nature.
He hates looking at her, but he doesn't deny that she's alluring. It makes sense that she is, she's an apex predator, even to him. Alluring and utterly grotesque.
"Yes, misstress?" He sighs.
"Don't call me that if you don't mean it." She approaches him and sits next to him and adjacent wicker chair. She grumbles about the cushions needing to be swapped out for softer ones and praises the cool summer evening air.
They are on the back screen porch, it over looks a wide lawn. Gardens and large looming trees and the property has a chicken coop that houses ducks in the attachment. He knows the property goes farther out, and it's not maintained the closer it gets to the cemetery. He's seen one small one roomed house, rotting and decaying. Reclaimed by the kudzu vines that creep and strangle the veggitation that isn't maintained. He caught a glimpse of it during one of his many walks and wanderings when rest evades him when he eats too much.
"Garrick is an interesting last name, Kyle." She leans back and smiles at him. The sharp points of her teeth poke out just a bit. "Do you come from Scottish descent like Jackie?"
That's another thing Kyle has to get used to. People are calling Johnny, either Jack or Jackie. He loves his friend, but just letting these people rename him. Well, he won't be calling him Jack or Jackie, no matter how polite everyone wants to be about respecting his wish for only Simon calling him that, calling him Johnny. He can stick with Soap.
"Did you need something, Aayana?" He sighs. It's a habit because he doesn't need to breathe. Nobody needs to do that. It's just muscle memory for those who were turned. He watches Aayana's chest sometimes, and he is always surprised to see statue still unless she finds something particularly funny.
"Just trying to make conversation hun." She looks back out towards the backyard, "my mentor employed a man named Garrioch back in the day. Called him crazy when the man started spelling it G-a-r-r-i-c-k. My mentor said it was during a time when concepts like 'colonization' and 'us vs. them' were starting to take off. He always said humans were strange and obsessed with groups."
He squints his eyes at her, he never knew that tidbit of trivia. "Do you always lead with trivia facts for people you don't know?"
"My God and Heaven above." She whispers, "I just want to make sure you don't spiral farther into your depression."
"Well, I'm fine." He grits out. He avoids her stare and slight frown.
"Not eating properly and brooding with a fucked up resting cycle is not fine." She quips back. "I really am trying to have patience, but I can't allow you to drive yourself into a rampage. It will put those living here and those that come by at risk."
"You act as if I wanted this."
"No. But I don't believe your brethren would have survived the grief if even one of you hadn't made it through."
It's silent between the two of them, and he rolls his eyes with a huff and leans back into his chair. She's right, but he won't say it out loud. During his time changing, he thought he was going to die. Everything was hot and burning, and his body ached on even a cellular level.
"Here's the truth of the matter. Vampires can die. If you hate it so much, these trees are not new to strange fruit." Her voice has lost that playful edge. It's harsh and grating, and he doesn't like it. He kinda wants her to talk about his last name again, spout some useless trivia he can share with Soap. Not whatever harsh and uncomfortable truth she hisses at him.
"Why?" He whispers, and there's a bit of a cracking in his voice.
"Why what? Drink the blood offered to you?"
He nods his head.
"There are children who stay here. Their parents leave them for child care while they go out and work, be it daytime or nights. I don't charge them to watch their children." She leans against the arm of her chair, and those piercing brown eyes bore into his very being. "Some parents donate blood, and some parents offer services that my people can't get from the general public. I have all types of wayward youth and adults that come here for safety, both living and existing. I can not have you on the verge of blood lust and ruin what I've cultivated here."
To his horror that makes sense. To his absolute horror, he tries to reconcile that Aayana may just be a good being. Kyle has always been one for protecting others, and he isn't comfortable with knowing that for two months straight, he has been putting innocent people in danger. It doesn't matter if he spends his waking moments sequestered away from people. He ignores Soap and his requests to hang out and speak to the other vampires that come and go. He ignores John's orders to at least attempt to adjust properly. Hell, even Simon is doing better, even though he is closely monitored because his body ping-pongs between awareness and lucid. It causes him to become more aggressive and agitated as the poor man is more sensitive to those around him. Still, Simon tries even if it's only for Soap.
"I'm not asking you to bite anyone...if it's the idea of it being human blood, we'll there are residents who prefer animal. It's not my taste, but it's one that needs to be acquired." She gets up and moves, more like floats and kneels down in front of him. Her hands reach out and grabs his own. Her nails are painted a pretty pearlescent white.
He thinks white looks pretty on her and still finds it ironic. He looks her in the face and is startled by the look of trust and pleading in her. The underlying tension in her jaw lets him know that this conversation is going to be a one-time thing. In the back of his mind, that droning voice that chants 'Consume' quiets completely when they make eye contact. He thinks that maybe blood won't be bad if it keeps the living safe, even if he thinks it gross and wrong to eat. He doesn't like what he thinks. And even more so, he doesn't like that he thinks that when he stares into her eyes.
a.n: The residents of the house definitely refer to Johnny as Jack or Jackie because they draw the line at Soap, and Johnny doesn't like people who don't know calling him Johnny. Thank you all for reading.
