Jerome Eugene Morrow (
prettier_eyes) wrote in
what_wings_dare2012-01-13 09:38 pm
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Entry tags:
Never meant to be one step down on the podium.
[ n a m e ; ] | (Jerome) Eugene Morrow |
[ c a n o n ; ] | GATTACA |
[ g a m e ; ] | homeless now and probably forever |
{ ACTION / NETWORK / VOICE / WHATEVER WELCOME }
action; | what if ed landed in gattaca universe. in eugene's backyard.
What had he just been doing?
Frankie called from training. A normal day at work: Hours searching and testing for results with no luck, per usual. Hunger, hunger, hunger burrowing another hole in his stomach to match the hundred others. He walked out during lunch break to grab a smoke---
But now, he's on the ground.
Ed can't help but groan, just the slightest, as he pushes himself up off the ground. Gold-eyes flash in the darkness (by luck, the darkness. Imagine if he arrived here in the daylight? Eugene could have found a nightmare), as Ed observes wherever the hell he is.
Where the hell is he?
action;
Luckily for Ed, the lights are still on; and upstairs the silhouette of a man is visible, peering through the window (wondering, perhaps, why his housemate is sprawled on the ground,) a trail of smoke rising over one shoulder.
Maybe the vampire should try the bell?
action;
But there's nowhere else in sight, no indication of where this might be. No logic to any of this.
He rings the bell and waits.
action;
What the resemblance will buy him is an invitation, though of course that's only a necessity in old wives' tales. Eugene doesn't even ask; if one could hear, he might be muttering something about idiots and lost keys. All Ed gets is the unmistakeable buzz of the lock being opened, and (assuming, of course, he opens the door before Eugene rolls away,) an empty entryway and a staircase.
action;
Ed steps in and surveys the room. Nice, minimalistic, and brighter than the usual vampire home. He checks the windows and notes that none of them seem to have usual sunscreens. Strange.
"Hello," he bellows, Ed's voice echoing in the entryway. After checking the downstairs rooms for no signs of (un)life, he finally creeps toward the staircase. Looking up the spiraling staircase, Ed takes an apprehensive step, then another, and another until he's at the top.
"Is anyone here?" (Obviously someone is here.) "I need some help!"
action;
"Oh, I'd come lend a hand if I weren't afraid of breaking a nail. Are you coming up or not?"
All answers lay upward. A moment later, when he expects the other man would be mounting the stairs, Eugene mutters--
"Didn't expect you home tonight."
action;
"You're mistaken," he explains grimly, "I'm not the person you think I am."
action;
"You look awful," he says at length, frowning. "What did you do to yourself, Vincent?"
action;
Hunger like claws scratch in the pit of hist stomach. This is the closest Ed has been to a live human in years, and his eternally famished body recognizes that as well. So he stays there, by the door frame, not daring to step forward. The light of an adjacent lamp drowns out the sharp yellow of his eyes, though not the deathly pallor of his skin.
"I'm sorry to enter your home like this," he says, "But can you tell me where I am?"
action;
"No, not at all. How interesting," he murmurs, finally sitting straight and rolling a few feet closer. The danger-- which he's underestimating, of course, though not by all that much-- of having let a total stranger into his home doesn't outweigh the curious nature of this visitor, the fact that he looks so much like Eugene's newfound namesake. Certainly if Vincent had an identical twin he'd have mentioned it, wouldn't he?
"You look very much like the man I thought you were."
That's not an idle comment; he's demanding an explanation, in his cuttingly polite way.
action;
"Where am I?"
This man is saying things that make no sense, but figuring out where he is is the most urgent question.. A doppelganger? The ravings of a madmen, for all he knows. Then again, it makes more sense to consider this all a delusion born from his own starvation.
action;
"Are you sick?"
Another foot or two nearer. Interesting, how he backs away; it's not like there's anything intimidating in his manner. Eugene has an advantage here, the fearlessness born of being ready to die. So there's no reason not to investigate.
action;
He glances to the side, knowing very well that once he looks at the man, he won't be looking anywhere else but that throbbing artery on his neck. In a world like this, what idiot of a human would let a stranger into his home, when the chance of it being a predator is 1 out of 1. What human wouldn't be on the run?
"T'm not sick," he brushes Eugene off, the feigned indifference on the tongue doing little to hide his lie, "Tell me where I am. State, town, country. Tell me where I can find Bromley Pharmaceuticals"
Ed can't believe these words are coming from his mouth. Really. He might as well posit that he's in a different world.
"I won't hurt you."
In case Eugene is worried about being eaten or something.
action;
"Not that I don't appreciate your reassurance, but I'm not the one backing up."
action;
If this man isn't going to help him, then the smart thing would be to leave. Leave before there's a murder on his lips, one that would stain his conscience for an eternity. And that's not even a hyperbole.
Ed steps back again, but this time with every intention of leaving the room.
action;
This, at least, isn't boring, which explains the tight smile ghosting across his lips. For every step back he rolls forward, not threatening of course, but curious. Pressing the inexplicable advantage, one might say.
action;
He says nothing.
action;
"If you're planning to hurt me, I should like to write a letter first. I have nothing that will do you any good."
action;
In a split second, Edward dives toward the other man, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor in a noisy clatter. The way he pins down his prey is rough and ungainly, burrowing an elbow into Eugene's stomach, legs locked against the other's useless lower limbs. Edward presses his fingers against the crook of Eugene's neck, twisting it to the side to bare the flesh. Teeth hover inches away from a familiar artery, close enough that Eugene must feel Ed's breath and the slightest pinpricks of those tiny teeth.
"No," he growls, "No, No, No--"
Just as suddenly as he came down, he rips himself off of the man, staggering backwards. Edward's thoughts and senses collide in a sudden paroxysm that has him cradling his head and taking unnecessary, heavy breaths.
"No," he repeats once again, this time the word coming out as a broken sob.
action;
It's enough to get a better look at what he's facing, and for the first moment he does feel a cold, creeping doubt. The natural fear of the unnatural, the subtle wrongness of Ed's bloodless heart and cool skin. When the vampire pulls away, he wastes no time in scrambling away himself, his arms more than sufficiently strong to carry him the short distance and right his chair. Clambering into it is a little trickier, but he's had practice.
"Some kind of," he huffs, breathless as he settles, keeping his distance, "mutation? Certainly you're not going to try and tell me you're some fairy-tale monster."
He fixes his tie, because dignity is the last thing he has and the first he's intent on reclaiming. What he won't say-- won't show, to save his life (perhaps a poor choice of metaphor)-- is that the fairy-tale explanation seems almost likely at this point.
action| did someone say they were having a bad day
Ed barely hears Eugene's question, head still buried in quivering hands as he takes useless breaths to calm his hunger. His teeth feel sharper, longer than ever. When he finally looks up at the cripple, perhaps they draw attention from the unnatural glint of his golden eyes.
"Mutation?" he pauses to chuckle wryly. "You mean a disease. But you know that already, don't you? There isn't anyone who wouldn't know."
action; if misery will get me tags i will be more miserable all the time >>
The other man-- if he is a man; some sort of faith-birth aberration or something stranger still-- looks completely out of sorts, which makes Eugene feel a bit more in control of the situation. His hands aren't shaking as he moves to fish a cigarette and book of matches from his pocket. It's slightly squashed at the end.
"So, let's have it."
no subject
He's not going to growl, he's not going to growl.
"I'm a vampire." he declares, his voice hollow, exhausted. "If you weren't living in dream land, you would know that you're a minority, and that most of the world's dead."
Ed's eyes shift, if only for a moment, away from Eugene's neck, staring enviously at that packet in his hand. God, he wants a fucking cigarette.
no subject
Actually, it gives him an idea.
Cigarette clenched between his lips, he wheels to the edge of the stairs and slips out of the chair with a practiced motion to sit on the top step. He might be any man pausing there, perched while he finishes a smoke.
"Take that downstairs, will you?" There is a quiet air of command to the request.
"The small door is a bathroom, if you'd like to clean yourself up." Maybe splashing water on one's face is less effective for the undead. It doesn't matter; it's another coded order. With Vincent, he wouldn't care, but Eugene doesn't want an audience for his own descent.
no subject
The notion that this is another universe still escapes him.
Edward answers Eugene's request with a nod, taking hold of the chair with one hand and starting down the steps with it. The coded message is easy to parse out, as the former doctor understands the importance of pride in a situation like this; moreover, Ed's thankful that he can have a moment's reprieve from temptation. A brisk snap of water might temporarily break his fixation.
Assuming he can get the water cold enough to feel it.
"Thank you. I'll do that."
no subject
Fortunately, that doesn't take terribly long. By the time Ed gets out, he'll be settled again, apparently none the worse for wear from his trip down the staircase. Or from Ed trying to kill him earlier. He's seated calmly in front of a pair of enormous stainless steel doors, arms folded in his lap.
Whenever Ed returns, he'll be greeted with a faint smile-- born more from politeness than anything. Squint and you could call it a grimace, easily.
"I won't have it said I'm a poor host," he says simply, and opens the door. It's a surprisingly complex maneuver on wheels, pulling it whilst pushing away from it, but there's almost a practiced showmanship to his motion.
The refrigerator-- for that, of course, is what it is-- billows a cloud of frosty air, but it's obvious before the smoke clears what's housed within it.
Blood. Lots of it, sealed safely and hermetically in little plastic packs. This would be a fortune, where Ed is from; and because it's Eugene's, it's worth quite a bit here as well.
Leaning in, he pulls one from its place and holds it out, still not sure if this is real or if he is humoring a madman. Either way, appeasing him seems safer than trusting his clearly wavering resolve.