[Erik guides his wrist up to his teeth. As promised, there are two quick sharp pricks, and then his mouth seals around the wound. He sucks gently and doesn't take much. Just a taste. This was more about seeing what he could get away with than a true feeding.
When he pulls away, his face is flush with color. He lifts his thumb to a fang and breaks the skin. He smears the fresh bead of his own blood across the bite mark, and the holes heal over instantly as if they never were.]
Hm. There is something interesting about the way you taste. Very curious.
[ The initial puncture leaves Jon's face twitching into a scrunch with the twinge of pain, but the deed was done. Erik surely had gotten away with it - come what may of it, the siren song of discovery and understanding was always too much for him to not put himself in these less-than-ideal situations. ]
I'm not human. Not entirely. [ His answer was short, blunt, nondescript - clearly not something he loved to dwell on or think of too hard. ] But I hope that was... sufficient. Enough for your stories.
Maybe I'll share, but I'd like to hear you out first. That sounds like a perfect place to start.
[ The warmth rising to Erik's appearance is something that Jon took a mental note of, but didn't yet ask about - what a fascinating result. The vampires of his own world didn't operate even remotely similarly on any accounts, it seemed.
Without further wait, Jon waved Erik over to his simple table, taking a seat and rolling his sleeve back down. ]
[Erik perches himself primly on his chair, one leg crossed over a knee.]
To become a vampire, first you must die. These days, we have an Accord with humans that states that no one may be turned against their consent. That wasn't so in the time I was created. But, as things are now, after the appropriate warnings and conversations have taken place, typically, the vampire who will be the Sire will drain their new pledge of blood to the point of sure death. At that point, the Sire will feed his pledge some of his own blood with the intent to turn.
We do believe intent to be a crucial element. There have been times when a human tried to force a vampire to turn them but the vampire was too unwilling, and so it never took. Stories of that are told as rumors, so I cannot personally confirm their veracity.
Once the vampire's blood has been administered, the human pledge dies. They will lie in that state for as little as twelve hours or an long as three days and nights. It is the Sire's responsibility to stay with their pledge for as long as the turning takes. Because, it is not always successful.
You see, every vampire has within him a beastly instinct. It is almost like a separate consciousness alive within us. During the turning, we feel it hunting us. We feel it trying to overtake us. We must fight it for control. If that fight is lost, then the creature that wakes in the end is not a vampire, but a monster beyond reason and beyond saving. It will be a hungry thing made only of teeth and desire. The personality of the person it was before will be gone forever. If that happens, it is the Sire's job to kill that beast in its cradle, before it can get its first taste of blood. It cannot be allowed to live.
If the turning is successful, of course, the new fledgling will awaken with their own mind and memories intact. They will wake ravenous, and they will still be very dangerous to anything living. The Sire must be there to give their Childe their first blood, and to coax them through their first feeding. And for quite some time after that, it becomes the Sire's responsibility to teach their Childe all they know, all the laws, rules, taboos they need to be informed of in order to join the greater vampire society. It is very much like a parent and a child. We take it very seriously."
[Content Warning: Body horror/rot, sexual harassment of a minor]
We all encountered It alone at first. That's how It hunted, you see... isolate, terrify, attack. It said to us, "You taste so much better when you're afraid."
And yes, It would literally eat the children that It hunted.
I'd go to the train yard when I couldn't find anyone else to play with on Saturdays. I always liked trains, and cars too. Great big freight trains would still come through Derry when I was kid, and I loved to watch the big northbound car-carriers. I'd dream about having one of those shiny-new Fords, or even better... a Cadillac. Those were the kind of little dreams I didn't feel like sharing with anybody. To just hop in a car and go... get away from everything but the road and yourself.
Maybe the fact that I was thinking like that at eleven should have been a red flag, but like I said, I never told anybody. And what eleven year old knows about red flags?
I was a cautious kid, and one thing about the train yard and its trains worried me -- the tramps and hobos that traveled on them. It's one thing to be kicked out of the train yard by the trainmaster, and it's another thing entirely to be hassled by a tramp. They frightened me (already frightened by my mother's horror stories of what disease could do to you) with their cold sores and cracked skin. They'd come up and slur out, "Ya gotta cigarette?" which I never had.
Neibolt Street was in the neighborhood near the trains, and it was one of the rundown places in Derry. A lot of those houses would get broken into so the tramps could squat there.
I always thought the the hobo under the porch at 29 Neibolt Street had leprosy, and that terrified me. My friends Bill and Richie, who I told about it later, said it was more like he had "the Syph" (and trust me, reading about advanced cases of syphilis at age twelve left its mark, too). But whether the real hobo had leprosy or not, that's what It saw was in my mind and that's what It used when It targeted me.
It was springtime, and for some godforsaken reason I felt the urge to go check out that space under the porch. I think that might have been It pushing at my mind, to get me there by myself and spring It's trap.
It looked like the hobo, but gone even worse. Eaten away by rot and still alive -- the skin of It's forehead was split and leaking pus, and I could see the white, white bone underneath. Like it was shining in that dark space under the porch. It's lower lip sagged down, and the inside was spotted all over with dark blotches. There was no upper lip at all, and I could see all of the horrible yellow teeth and inflamed red gums. It didn't have a nose either. Where the hobo from before had one nostril eaten away into a red channel, It had made it worse -- just a ruin of gristle and infection. One rotten eyelid was sagging down into an empty socket, and the other eye stared at me, gleeful and blue.
"How bout a blowjob, Eddie?" It said.
The hobo had said something similar -- hey kid, I'll give you a blowjob for a quarter.
Both times it terrified me, and both times it felt like it took me forever to run away.
The leper began to crawl out toward me, and even though most of my brain was trying to process what I was seeing and just kind of screaming over all of it, I had one clear little thought when It reached out one rotting hand for me.
If It touches me, if it touches my bare skin, I'll start to rot, too.
That broke through all the panic, and even though I was wheezing something horrible and my head was spinning from lack of air, I managed to scramble backward.
It kept talking to me, crooning that I'd like being down there with all of them, that my friends were down there, and that one blue eye never looked away from me.
I got out from under the porch and back into the sunshine. In the movies, even the scary ones, you're safe in the light. I grabbed for my aspirator and triggered it, and the taste of the medicine was a relief. I could relax...
And then It's rotten hands burst through the old porch, clawing at the wood and leaving bloody streaks. The leper was wearing a colorful clown suit, with big orange pompom buttons down the front, and somehow the sheer ridiculous contrast of that suit with the horror of It's face made everything worse. I think the terror of that moment levitated me straight up, because I don't remember getting to my feet. I just remember running, running like I'd run from the hobo, and knowing that I was going to be too slow to beat the leper that It was. I could hear It breathing hard behind me, but there was no wheeze in It's lungs like there was in mine.
I could hear It's feet in those big clown shoes tramping after me, as I ran for my bike. Stupid kid that I was, I'd left it by the sidewalk that ended four houses before 29 Niebolt Street. But if I could get to my bike, I could get to safety... even though it felt far too slow as I ran.
I swear I felt those bony fingertips snag into my hair a moment before I grabbed the handlebars. I kept my head down as I swung my leg over the bike and just focused on getting on and getting out of there... but I heard it whisper one last thing.
"Blowjob... come back any time, Eddie. Bring your friends."
I see. Such precautions and care would be incredibly necessary, considering how sour things can turn if that careful monitoring isn't there.
...You mentioned that turning was not always consensual, particularly in your time. If its too much or too sensitive to ask, I won't pry, but what were the circumstances of your own?
Precisely. Humans were right to be angry when a vampire was made with so little care. The collateral damage it could cause was, frankly, shameful.
[He's quiet for a moment, considering how much he may want to say of that particular subject. These are not happy memories.]
I was turned against my will. At the time, I and my twin sister were servants of a very old vampire. I was mortally wounded and my sister begged our master to change me against my own wishes. Obviously, our master obliged her. It took me a very long time, after that, to make peace with what I had become.
[ It's a late October afternoon, sometime before Pumpkinfest is due to open. Gerry stops by Jon's quaint little seaside cottage to see if he wants to grab some of those big ass turkey legs from the food stalls, knocking on the door. ]
[ It doesn't take long for Jon to open the door, and he offers a playful smile as he does. It'd been a fairly quiet afternoon, and this was just the lift in energy he'd needed. ]
I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not accepting any solicitation at this time. I haven't got the money for any magazines, or... vacuums. [ He starts, clearly joking. ]
Oh, good for you, then. Turns out I'm selling some very affordable 'let me in, you asshole'. [ Gerry smirks. ] Get your ass out of the way, I'm comin' in.
[ Furrowing his brows, he turns to take a look, and follows Gerry's gaze. What was on his desk? Had he left anything on his desk recently? He squints, and catches eye of the odd paper he'd bought some time ago. ]
Oh--- the paper. Carroway was being strange about it, and with how vague the information he had on it was, I thought it safest if I took it before anyone with any strange, odd intentions could possibly do so. I'd meant to ask Cecil what this paper entails, exactly, but just hadn't had the opportunity to just yet. ...Why?
That sounds incredibly difficult. I imagine its so long-passed that my condolences don't mean much, but... I'm sorry you had to go through something like that, even so long ago.
Time has healed those wounds all it can, but I am grateful for your condolences. Thank you.
As you can imagine, because of my own background, I was very much in favor of the new rules when they were instituted. I have only ever sired one vampire myself, and it was very much at his request. He is my second in command now. Unlike me, he has no regrets about it.
[ Gerry responds with a derisive snort. ] You have exactly five seconds to give me that paper before I kick your ass, Sims, I'm not fucking playing around with you.
I'm not playing with you, listen to me! Reel yourself in for one fucking minute and tell me what is going on with this paper! Because without a proper, threatless explanation, it isn't going fucking anywhere!
[ Gerry is consumed with protective rage and fear. He can't risk telling Jon what it does. He's an Archivist. One far more dedicated to the Beholding than Gertrude, that was for sure. He'd want to test it. Gerry cannot let that happen. Instead, he attempts to shove his way past Jon toward the desk. ]
[ Jon's quick not to let that happen. He wasn't used to nearly as many scraps as Gerry was, sure, but he wasn't completely defenseless, either. And moreover - what was once a flimsy, inoffensive-yet-bizarre scrap was suddenly becoming something of some sort of power--- and something he didn't care to let out of his sight so easily. ]
I'm going to ask you one more time, Gerry. Answer me, or get the hell out of my house.
I'll tell you after you give it to me if you stop being such a dick.
[ He grabs Jon by the front of the shirt and steps closer, making them both keenly aware of their size difference. Gerry is fucking tall and Jon is decidedly not so much. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2023-10-13 02:37 am (UTC)[Erik guides his wrist up to his teeth. As promised, there are two quick sharp pricks, and then his mouth seals around the wound. He sucks gently and doesn't take much. Just a taste. This was more about seeing what he could get away with than a true feeding.
When he pulls away, his face is flush with color. He lifts his thumb to a fang and breaks the skin. He smears the fresh bead of his own blood across the bite mark, and the holes heal over instantly as if they never were.]
Hm. There is something interesting about the way you taste. Very curious.
no subject
Date: 2023-10-15 10:27 pm (UTC)I'm not human. Not entirely. [ His answer was short, blunt, nondescript - clearly not something he loved to dwell on or think of too hard. ] But I hope that was... sufficient. Enough for your stories.
no subject
Date: 2023-10-17 02:25 am (UTC)[There's a subtle glow to the color of Erik's skin. He seems less pale, more lifelike. His touch is warm too, though it won't last long.]
I'll start with how a vampire is made. Will that do? Let's get comfortable, shall we?
no subject
Date: 2023-10-22 11:07 pm (UTC)[ The warmth rising to Erik's appearance is something that Jon took a mental note of, but didn't yet ask about - what a fascinating result. The vampires of his own world didn't operate even remotely similarly on any accounts, it seemed.
Without further wait, Jon waved Erik over to his simple table, taking a seat and rolling his sleeve back down. ]
The floor is yours.
no subject
Date: 2023-10-23 08:38 pm (UTC)To become a vampire, first you must die. These days, we have an Accord with humans that states that no one may be turned against their consent. That wasn't so in the time I was created. But, as things are now, after the appropriate warnings and conversations have taken place, typically, the vampire who will be the Sire will drain their new pledge of blood to the point of sure death. At that point, the Sire will feed his pledge some of his own blood with the intent to turn.
We do believe intent to be a crucial element. There have been times when a human tried to force a vampire to turn them but the vampire was too unwilling, and so it never took. Stories of that are told as rumors, so I cannot personally confirm their veracity.
Once the vampire's blood has been administered, the human pledge dies. They will lie in that state for as little as twelve hours or an long as three days and nights. It is the Sire's responsibility to stay with their pledge for as long as the turning takes. Because, it is not always successful.
You see, every vampire has within him a beastly instinct. It is almost like a separate consciousness alive within us. During the turning, we feel it hunting us. We feel it trying to overtake us. We must fight it for control. If that fight is lost, then the creature that wakes in the end is not a vampire, but a monster beyond reason and beyond saving. It will be a hungry thing made only of teeth and desire. The personality of the person it was before will be gone forever. If that happens, it is the Sire's job to kill that beast in its cradle, before it can get its first taste of blood. It cannot be allowed to live.
If the turning is successful, of course, the new fledgling will awaken with their own mind and memories intact. They will wake ravenous, and they will still be very dangerous to anything living. The Sire must be there to give their Childe their first blood, and to coax them through their first feeding. And for quite some time after that, it becomes the Sire's responsibility to teach their Childe all they know, all the laws, rules, taboos they need to be informed of in order to join the greater vampire society. It is very much like a parent and a child. We take it very seriously."
Written Statement of Edward Kaspbrak - First Encounter with It (Monster under Derry, Maine)
Date: 2023-10-24 11:17 pm (UTC)We all encountered It alone at first. That's how It hunted, you see... isolate, terrify, attack. It said to us, "You taste so much better when you're afraid."
And yes, It would literally eat the children that It hunted.
I'd go to the train yard when I couldn't find anyone else to play with on Saturdays. I always liked trains, and cars too. Great big freight trains would still come through Derry when I was kid, and I loved to watch the big northbound car-carriers. I'd dream about having one of those shiny-new Fords, or even better... a Cadillac. Those were the kind of little dreams I didn't feel like sharing with anybody. To just hop in a car and go... get away from everything but the road and yourself.
Maybe the fact that I was thinking like that at eleven should have been a red flag, but like I said, I never told anybody. And what eleven year old knows about red flags?
I was a cautious kid, and one thing about the train yard and its trains worried me -- the tramps and hobos that traveled on them. It's one thing to be kicked out of the train yard by the trainmaster, and it's another thing entirely to be hassled by a tramp. They frightened me (already frightened by my mother's horror stories of what disease could do to you) with their cold sores and cracked skin. They'd come up and slur out, "Ya gotta cigarette?" which I never had.
Neibolt Street was in the neighborhood near the trains, and it was one of the rundown places in Derry. A lot of those houses would get broken into so the tramps could squat there.
I always thought the the hobo under the porch at 29 Neibolt Street had leprosy, and that terrified me. My friends Bill and Richie, who I told about it later, said it was more like he had "the Syph" (and trust me, reading about advanced cases of syphilis at age twelve left its mark, too). But whether the real hobo had leprosy or not, that's what It saw was in my mind and that's what It used when It targeted me.
It was springtime, and for some godforsaken reason I felt the urge to go check out that space under the porch. I think that might have been It pushing at my mind, to get me there by myself and spring It's trap.
It looked like the hobo, but gone even worse. Eaten away by rot and still alive -- the skin of It's forehead was split and leaking pus, and I could see the white, white bone underneath. Like it was shining in that dark space under the porch. It's lower lip sagged down, and the inside was spotted all over with dark blotches. There was no upper lip at all, and I could see all of the horrible yellow teeth and inflamed red gums. It didn't have a nose either. Where the hobo from before had one nostril eaten away into a red channel, It had made it worse -- just a ruin of gristle and infection. One rotten eyelid was sagging down into an empty socket, and the other eye stared at me, gleeful and blue.
"How bout a blowjob, Eddie?" It said.
The hobo had said something similar -- hey kid, I'll give you a blowjob for a quarter.
Both times it terrified me, and both times it felt like it took me forever to run away.
The leper began to crawl out toward me, and even though most of my brain was trying to process what I was seeing and just kind of screaming over all of it, I had one clear little thought when It reached out one rotting hand for me.
If It touches me, if it touches my bare skin, I'll start to rot, too.
That broke through all the panic, and even though I was wheezing something horrible and my head was spinning from lack of air, I managed to scramble backward.
It kept talking to me, crooning that I'd like being down there with all of them, that my friends were down there, and that one blue eye never looked away from me.
I got out from under the porch and back into the sunshine. In the movies, even the scary ones, you're safe in the light. I grabbed for my aspirator and triggered it, and the taste of the medicine was a relief. I could relax...
And then It's rotten hands burst through the old porch, clawing at the wood and leaving bloody streaks. The leper was wearing a colorful clown suit, with big orange pompom buttons down the front, and somehow the sheer ridiculous contrast of that suit with the horror of It's face made everything worse. I think the terror of that moment levitated me straight up, because I don't remember getting to my feet. I just remember running, running like I'd run from the hobo, and knowing that I was going to be too slow to beat the leper that It was. I could hear It breathing hard behind me, but there was no wheeze in It's lungs like there was in mine.
I could hear It's feet in those big clown shoes tramping after me, as I ran for my bike. Stupid kid that I was, I'd left it by the sidewalk that ended four houses before 29 Niebolt Street. But if I could get to my bike, I could get to safety... even though it felt far too slow as I ran.
I swear I felt those bony fingertips snag into my hair a moment before I grabbed the handlebars. I kept my head down as I swung my leg over the bike and just focused on getting on and getting out of there... but I heard it whisper one last thing.
"Blowjob... come back any time, Eddie. Bring your friends."
no subject
Date: 2023-10-28 01:32 am (UTC)...You mentioned that turning was not always consensual, particularly in your time. If its too much or too sensitive to ask, I won't pry, but what were the circumstances of your own?
no subject
Date: 2023-10-28 03:46 pm (UTC)[He's quiet for a moment, considering how much he may want to say of that particular subject. These are not happy memories.]
I was turned against my will. At the time, I and my twin sister were servants of a very old vampire. I was mortally wounded and my sister begged our master to change me against my own wishes. Obviously, our master obliged her. It took me a very long time, after that, to make peace with what I had become.
Lot 37
Date: 2023-11-02 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:08 am (UTC)I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not accepting any solicitation at this time. I haven't got the money for any magazines, or... vacuums. [ He starts, clearly joking. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:17 am (UTC)[ With a snicker, Jon steps aside, leaving the door open for Gerry. ]
What's the occasion?
no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:25 am (UTC)[ He halts. That piece of paper on the desk. "Lot 37." ]
...Where the fuck did you get that.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-02 02:37 am (UTC)[ Furrowing his brows, he turns to take a look, and follows Gerry's gaze. What was on his desk? Had he left anything on his desk recently? He squints, and catches eye of the odd paper he'd bought some time ago. ]
Oh--- the paper. Carroway was being strange about it, and with how vague the information he had on it was, I thought it safest if I took it before anyone with any strange, odd intentions could possibly do so. I'd meant to ask Cecil what this paper entails, exactly, but just hadn't had the opportunity to just yet. ...Why?
no subject
Date: 2023-11-03 02:43 am (UTC)Give it to me.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-04 10:36 pm (UTC)Not until you explain what's going on.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-05 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-06 02:36 am (UTC)As you can imagine, because of my own background, I was very much in favor of the new rules when they were instituted. I have only ever sired one vampire myself, and it was very much at his request. He is my second in command now. Unlike me, he has no regrets about it.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-06 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 02:56 am (UTC)I'm going to ask you one more time, Gerry. Answer me, or get the hell out of my house.
no subject
Date: 2023-11-07 02:59 am (UTC)[ He grabs Jon by the front of the shirt and steps closer, making them both keenly aware of their size difference. Gerry is fucking tall and Jon is decidedly not so much. ]