I'm good at this.

[never_very_good]

[ n a m e ; ]	Frankie Dalton
[ c a n o n ; ]	Daybreakers
[ g a m e ; ]	saw it through the end @ poly_chromatic

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Comments

[never_very_good]

[Frankie doesn't even dignify that with a response. He takes the scene in quickly: Ed, bleeding; the blood in the sink; the hollow look in his eyes.

It's not some kind of maker thing; that's just one more stupid myth, like turning into mist or fearing crosses. Frankie's barely seen the girl who did him-- one of his friend's girlfriends, though for all he knows she's an ex now-- and he doesn't feel any kind of obligation. He's taking care of Ed because they're brothers, because even if Ed doesn't know it this was the best thing he could do.

Not like any of that is appreciated.]

If you off yourself does that make us even?

[He mutters, though it's rhetorical, leaning over his collapsed brother to grab a dish towel, wet it in the sink, washing down some of the mess as he does. The air might as well be blood-soaked; the scent is thick and distracting, and frankly he doesn't understand how Ed can manage to puke it up, he must be starving, and it's everywhere. Frankie is only starting to enjoy the taste; mostly he takes it in beer, hides the taste.

He bends down to wipe up the spatters on the floor, to grab Ed's wrist and clean the ragged little wound.]

Have you kept anything down?

[nosferotofu]

[ The same reason why he's upset at you, Frankie: he's clinging so tightly to his humanity, or the spectre of it at least, that his brain won't allow him to carry out what his instincts need. Now, his body is screaming at him, forcing him to face what he's been trying to ignore--

If he drinks, he gives in. A thin, superficial layer of humanity separating him from truly being a monster. ]

Only if you help me. [ The way he says that, you have to wonder if it's even a joke. ] You did it once, you can do it again.

[ Edward lets Frankie tend to the wound. He's like a rag doll, limbs limp, head lolled to the side. Ignore all of this, drown Frankie out, forget the hunger, the teeth and claws tearing and gnawing inside of him, forget you exist-- ]

Do we really burn in the sun?

[ Edward already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from Frankie. ]

[never_very_good]

[At least Ed's not fighting him off. If he did, Frankie's pretty sure he'd still have his way and get this cleaned up, but it'd be a hell of a lot harder to get done. As it is, once he's got the worst of the blood cleaned up he ties the towel around Ed's wrist. Not likely to die of blood loss, after all; there's so little and it's so sluggish. Just gonna leave him hungrier.

You dumb fuck, Ed.]

Yeah. You don't wanna try it, trust me.

[He pulls out a chair.]

Think you can sit up?

[He asks, assuming Ed can't but leaving him to try anyway as he goes back to the sink. It's funny, Frankie's never been this efficient, never been this caring, but in a pinch here he is. And of course Ed doesn't see it like that, only sees-- what? Torture. Gloating, maybe.

He washes out the glass, eying the pink-tinged steel of the sink thoughtfully.]

Have any coffee around here?