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Impertinent?

No not at all- I can certainly list the hospitals I visit with, as it isn't any singular one. It's a rather careful balance after all, I certainly doubt it would operate especially well if more than a handful took advantage.

Do you have someone in need of the service? I should warn that it won't do a thing for one's hunting instinct, given the process involved.

Indeed. That "someone" is me. Mana has, once again, misconstrued an offhand comment, and for the rest of the month, I will be paying the price.

Ah!

That's certainly a bit of a problem yes.

I can gladly introduce you to some of the locations then, but if this is related to a temporary change in species, do be careful of whether or not an instinct for hunting is involved.

Yes, yes. I'm well aware that vampires are a troublesome sort, given to fits of bloodlust that are apparently beyond their control. [Better than most, maybe.] But I do not intend to stalk young girls or creep into gardens in the night before I have exhausted the other options.

Edited 2023-10-09 15:51 (UTC)

[Oh, he'd been trying not to say that aloud...oh well.]

Indeed. It would be rather unfitting a behavior to put it politely.

When shall you be free next? I can show you to the nearest hospital I've an agreement with, once we meet up.

[He got very tired of the polite pussyfooting. It began to feel like a veiled insult, like an insinuation against his character. He feels better with it out in the open.

He doesn't have to be warned against it.]

I can meet you as soon as the sun is down.

I'll see you at my apartment then- I expect that will be the easiest place to start from after all.

Until the!

[He'll not be waiting upstairs of course- the idea is that they'll be setting out after all. Though, he does have on him a thermos of warmed blood, just in case Sherlock is a bit peckish. May as well see how well the rehydrated stuff sits on the vampire.]

[A few minutes after sunset, a man who clearly is Sherlock Holmes's corpse makes his way to the apartment reeided in by Jonathan Joestar. He's got a high-collaree coat on against the chill, for all it does.]

Hello, Joestar.

[His fangs don't look that much different. Really, it's the pallor, and the absence of other feline features, that is where the difference lies. That, and -- he sniffs, once, more in surprise than anything. That's all it takes to confirm it.

The hunger it pulls from him isn't a human hunger, not the normal kind. Holmes isn't sure how he'd describe it. Something like thirst, and something like the painful sort of solitude.

His pupils are fully black.]

Sherlock, [he greets, and while it would be incorrect to call him tense, he does seem somewhat nervous- perhaps because he's taken in the appearance of the other already. It's impossible not to think of Dio when he sees a vampire as proper as this. A walking corpse, seemingly harmless until the worst-

It's too familiar, and he blinks his way through the thought.] I rehydrated some of my own supply just in case you need a kip up, [he offers, noticing the sniff.] Will you be alright for the time being?

Difficult to say, [he replies,] given my unfamiliarity with the needs of the undead. If you've blood to spare right now, it is worth a try.

[Hearts like drumbeats. A palpable distance between him and Jonathan, made worse by the man's clear discomfort. They might as well be on opposite sides of a chasm, for all the companionship he feels looking at the man. It is a miserable feeling. Does anyone actually love Sherlock, despite his desperate seeking of it? Despite all the ways he has changed, has made himself softer, kinder, more palatable, it feels irrationally, strangely, strongly like it is for nothing, and he is alone.

He extends his hand for the thermos.]

Indeed, I can't speak for it myself as the only experience I've got with the matter is my time as a Lich, [he murmurs, already spinning the cup off the thermos before lifting the cap to pour,] But hopefully you can at least tell from a few sips...

[With a smile, Jonathan passes the filled cup over.] Here- do tell me if you need more of this, I just want to make sure it stays warm.

[He takes it, and drinks from it.

You know how sometimes tea smells absolutely incredible, and then it hits your tongue like hot bitter disappointment?

It's like that.]

Ugh, [he says, pulling a face. Then, he rethinks the rudeness of that:] I mean -- thank you.

[He forces more of it down, drawing it in through fangs. At least it's warm, and he seems to be able to stomach it, but it feels so empty. Even water brings a kind of satisfaction when it is drunk, but this is like drinking warm water that's been sitting out on a hot day. Technically, it is rehydrating, but Sherlock literally cannot stop himself from making a face. He is trying.]

If it tastes sub-par you needn't lie for my sake Sherlock- I'll not be insulted, [he scolds somewhat easily, even if it is disappointing.

The demon seems to enter thought however, setting the thermos on the stone rail of the steps beside him, and bringing the hand back to his chin as he stares at the cup.] I suppose it oughtn't be surprising however, given how 'natural' blood drinkers have reacted to my methods...I wonder...

[And then, without any warning, he bites into his own wrist and holds it atop the glass as it bleeds.]

Just a moment, [he casually says, as if he were waiting for a soda dispenser.]

I was not--whoa now!

[He wasn't lying about owing thanks! But the smell of an open vein hits Sherlock with all of the potency of a glass of wine. He grimaces a moment, overcome, turning his face away -- and, beneath the curled lips, his fangs have grown longer, sharper.]

I know what you're doing, [he says tightly, using as little breath as possible. He had done it himself, to tide over Childermass. Would it work for him, too? It smells like it will, but the old blood had, too...]

Indeed yes- and worry not Sherlock, I'm hardly going to bleed to any dangerous point- I can quite easily burn this back over! [He cheerfully insists, even doing so as he passes the cup over.]

But I have been given to understand that fresher might sate with more effectiveness- if so, the hospital's stock ought be at some middling point, but undoubtedly it would make my powders quite unpalatable.

Here- with any luck, this shall do better.

[Words try to come out. He is not even certain which words, only that they get stuck in his throat.

With blind hunger, he reaches for the cup; his fingers scrabble a bit, embarrassingly, as he brings it to his face and gulps at it.

It is a disgusting act, fundamentally. The mild loss of composure feels like a humiliation he cannot bear. But the blood itself is an improvement: not yet dead, fresh from a living vein, given to him, to help him...

It's not perfect. It's like seeing a friend by chance but knowing you only have a few seconds before you go your separate ways. But it's better.

He loves his friends. The vampire part of him loves his friends to death.

When the blood's dissppeared, an inhumanly long tongue comes out -- not all the way, just enough to swipe the inside of the cup. Then, reddened vampire eyes lock onto the open wound of Jonathan's.

He could cauterize that chemically, rather than with fire, Sherlock wants to say. He cannot say it. All that comes out is a vague noise, made in the direction of Jonathan's wrist.

Sherlock wants to lock his jaw onto it. Instinct tells him to. Other instinct tells him he must not. For the moment, he's frozen.]

[Thank god the fire is long burning. Do not bite that, Sherlock. It's unhealthy, and unwise. Strangely at least, the sight of Sherlock like this has broken whatever awkward astonishment he was in before. Instead, watching the other drink eagerly at the glass to the point of licking it clean he asks-]

...So I see my theory was correct then?

It is -- better, [he says, his throat scratchy. Not enough. It isn't enough. But -- for vampires, is it ever enough? They can hold enough blood that one can hardly believe it. No, Sherlock cannot think about this in terms of satiation. He must think in terms of survival.

Dark red spots appear high on his cheeks. He forgot himself, just a bit, in his thirst. Good lord, what shape is his tongue? That is new, and not entirely pleasant.]

I was not lying, before. I am most grateful.

[He's now staring off to the side, at the ground.]

I'm glad to hear it, [he says quite honestly, sighing in clear relief.] Have you any idea of how long this ought last for you at least? Forgive me for being so direct, but it seems quite clear to me that you're not enjoying this state of things in the slightest...

None at all. How could I? This is a monster I have never been -- one I intended never to become. The only data I have is the two points that have just been gathered.

[That Joestar's rehydrated blood is the most disgusting thing in the world, and that Joestar's blood spilled into a vessel is Okay.]

The variety among vampiric specimens is so great that I cannot make any assumptions of safety or satiation based on others of the kind.

[He is not enjoying this at all.]

The two you just now...

[Give him a minute.] ...Oh dear. Is the focus on blood so very intense that it overrides every other thought for the state you might yet have?

[He sounds somewhat alarmed- and for that matter looks at his wrist again.] ...ought I simply drain the flask and refill it myself..?

....

[He takes stock of himself as honestly as he
can.]

...no, it is...not so bad as that, not yet. Do not do anything -- hasty -- regarding your own veins, Joestar. We will test the bagged stuff first and work from there.

Oh! Yes, yes of course, [The demon quickly agrees, nodding firmly.] Well then, if you'll follow me Sherlock- it's not especially far from here, and if need be I'm quite willing to teleport us a few points along the path.

Save your energy, [Sherlock replies, waving a hand in Jonathan's direction.] If it becomes -- dire enough to call for it, you will know.

[It's why he's not suggesting flight as a bat, or the quick-run he can do. It'll burn through Sherlock's reserves faster.]

We will walk.

Very well, [the demon replies, leading the way at a casual pace.] We shall be entering at the rear of the building, I'll tell you now- entering through the front as you might perhaps imagine, oft brings a great deal of shock to those there.

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, JOJO. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 336.66.256.63 * JOJO has joined 336.66.256.63 <JOJO...?>** Technically this message doesn't exist. Jonathan doesn't actually have a laptop. I just needed an Inbox.

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negative self talk??

wah..

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CW: Self-harm, bleeding

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