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ReD · Jul 15, 2017

This weakness was spreading through Lochlann like a cold wave.

To an average person, it might feel like the sensation one experiences when one simply cannot swim anymore. Lochlann was drowning in this, slowly slipping under, only to resurface and gasping for air.

He had a lot of energy.

Poor William had no idea what he was in for.

The unfortunate side of this was that Lochlann hadn't passed out yet. He felt like he wanted to. His vision was tunneling in and out. His chest was aching. The cold was spreading through him, but not fast enough, and his body was still on fire. He felt his chest spasm and he was going to go down gain but the doctor told him to sit and Lochlann realized--

—"I can't!" he slurred. His voice was high with panic.

"I'm sorry but I--" Lochlann jerked forward, taking a few halting steps and practically crashing as he practically fell into the waiting room. He looked around, his eyes wide, and grabbed the only thing he could count on to save him in this situation:

the vase.

And Lochlann hurled inside of it.

He clutched the sides of it in his desperate fingers, his entire body shaking. When he looked up, wiping the drool off the corner of his mouth with the back of his arm, the look he gave the doctor was apologetic.

And then it was terrified.

"Doctor," Lochlann pleaded. "I still don't know what color this is."

Boop · Jul 15, 2017

Having the young man's arm ripped out of his grasp while he was feeding was almost painful for the doctor. But between his own distracted concentration on the cold energy, the overwhelming taste of the young man's pre-existing illness, and the suddenly renewed burst of fear, the wraith was so caught off guard he couldn't keep his grip.

While Lochlann stumbled back fully into the waiting room, the doctor leaned against the doorframe a moment, shivering with his own hunger, eyes still tightly closed. The partial feeding may have gained him some energy, but it had also wildly increased his cravings to the point he was almost operating on instinct. He felt a burst of anger at the interruption and was unsure if it was his own or a "gift" from Maria. He was beyond caring.

The taste of the young man's panic infiltrated the entire waiting room, but when the wraith turned away from where he had been leaning with his eyes still shut, he could pinpoint the source of it. And then he heard the vomiting and his eyes snapped open. The doctor almost teleported in front of the young man although he was only a few paces away, but that would have placed him in the vase, which would be unpleasant. And then the moment was lost when Lochlann looked at him.

William was losing his grip. The words that were spoken made no sense in his head. He walked towards the young man because he needed to be close. He needed to feed. He just - needed. And he couldn't - speak. His words didn't come out slurred, but they were a struggle, very quiet, "It. Is. A. Colour." He was barely aware of what he was saying. He just needed to get his hands on him again.

"You need to. Be calm." The doctor's voice, though low, was nowhere near soothing - it had a definite edge as well. He was already attempting to grasp the young man's arm again but had forgotten to attempt to explain it away. If Lochlann looked to where the wraith was reaching he would see a bright red handprint wrapped around his wrist as if the doctor's hand had been covered in the paint where it touched. Said hand was no longer steady, noticeably trembling, and the doctor's eyes were narrowed, pupils wide, intent on the young man's arm.

ReD · Jul 16, 2017

Lochlann was clutching onto the vase like it was his life line.

The doctor sounded angry but Lochlann didn't care. His voice was rising and his hands were shaking even harder now. His legs felt like they might collapse at any moment.

"But...what color is it?!!?" he asked, or he thought he asked, but really, Lochlann was practically shouting.

Then, William made a horrible mistake: he told Lochlann he needed to be calm.

It was a reasonable request, one any doctor would make of a patient: you need to be calm, this won't hurt a bit but you have to be still. It wasn't that the words were unpleasent.

It was just that Lochlann associated them with something horribly unpleasant. What that unpleasantness would be, Lochlann didn't know--even though he was experiencing it before. He had a sudden, horrible, vivid flashback to getting his stomach pumped and, even though it was irrational, Lochlann decided he would rather take the risk of never seeing his favorite color ever again than to go through the experience of being tied down and having a tube shoved down his throat.

Lochlann was the opposite calm.

He was a flight animal now, his eyes wild, his body twitching, and clutching onto that vase like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

How could he be calm at a moment like this?

The doctor reached for his arm and Lochlann freaked out.

He regressed to being in high school, back in Michigan, when the nurse reached for his arm and she had what Lochlann thought was a needle but was actually a ballpoint pen and he'd freaked out and kicked another student and--

Lochlann's back leg came up and donkey kicked William right in the stomach.

It was lucky that William had already drained Lochlann so it probably wouldn't hurt as bad as it could, but Lochlann took advantage of the moment to burst forward in a surge of reckless abandonment.

He jumped out the window, ducked, rolled, and landed on the ground.

Lochlann took off running.

It wasn't until he got to the lake that Lochlann realized he was still holding the vase.

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ReD

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Sex & Death Everywhere