There's a twinge of disappointment when Jekyll wakes late in the day to find his bed empty. But he shouldn't be disappointed when she shouldn't have been there in the first place.
After lying there some time, he finally sits up. He may act very mature, but he is young, it's just his youth that makes him lie there, nothing to do with hoping to notice some remainder of her, he will not sniff that pillow.
He stops at the end of the bed, and reaches out to grab the footboard. Oh no. Once he remembers to breathe again, Jekyll rushes to the corpse, dropping to his knees beside it. Modesty doesn't matter now, this is strictly professional, and so he doesn't hesitate at all when he turns her over, or lays a hand between her breasts. For too long he tries everything he can to start her heart again, to make her breathe, but nothing seems to have even the slightest effect. Worse still he's no idea what could have caused it and is left only with sudden heart failure. Once he's left sitting on the floor with nothing left to do, and a corpse in his arms, the reality of it truly hits him, and he weeps into her hair as he holds her close. It's alright to cry if there's no one around to see it, right?
There will be a thousand apologies when the sun goes down. She really ought to have warned the good doctor.
Without the age or power to have some awareness of what's happening to her body during torpor, Paloma remains oblivious in the death sleep of torpor. Was her skin always so cool? Yes, but they shared touches so often it gave her some shreds of warmth that might mislead the unwary.
She does not and cannot resist or coil around him in turn. Her eyes are shut, dispelling any illusion of a stare, but her body seems a small and fragile thing. Whatever is he to do?
He doesn't know. Eventually he picks her up, and places her back in the bed. He sits in an armchair beside it, unable to do anything but stare and try to decide what to do, sitting with his knees brought in. When a Servant comes by with tea and food, urging him to eat, he doesn't answer the door and tells them simply to leave it outside. Which eventually he does retrieve, before it's entirely cold, but doesn't touch even after pouring a cup.
It's time to just stare at this corpse for hours. It's gettin' crazy town in here.
Hm. He thought for sure if he stared long enough she'd come back to life.
Alright fine. Right around dusk, and still in his nightclothes, he wraps a sheet around her shoulders to cover her body better than the robe can, and heads down to the lab. He can at least plant the two bodies together to make it look as if her husband did all this. He must deserve it.
As the sun is nearly set, Paloma in her sheet and robe don't yet stir, but torpor weakens.
She has a sense of motion, pressure, and rushing blood nearby. Nothing more. Her head lolls against his shoulder, but that could have just been from his efforts.
Once in the lab, he sets her down and begins to dress her in the clothes he had found early that morning. It shouldn't matter that she has no bruises, that her body and clothes are free of blood or wounds should make her assumed innocent of the man's death, and likely strangled to death. It should implicate her husband. She did make it sound as if he was terribly jealous, others might put two and two together, that he must have gone into a rage seeing her speak with another man.
But he hesitates to actually do it, she shouldn't have to rot for days until she's found. She deserves better than that.
The body wearing his mother's outdated dress won't have to worry about rot, worms, or any other wonderful guests courtesy of post-mortem decay.
Perhaps it's the twitch of her little finger as he helps her into the last sleeve. Or maybe he watches her heavy-lidded eyes open, slow, as if from the thick of dreaming. Or is it a soft sigh that he hears first?
The first signs are so easily passed off, air might still escape her lungs from all the movement, that too might create some small movement in a finger. But holding onto her hand laid over her stomach, the other in her hair, looking at her once more before picking her up again, he watches Paloma's eyes open, and there's no easy explanation for that. All he can do is stare.
They're not in his bedroom, she realizes. His laboratory! And this is not a robe. Why has he dressed her? Why would ...?
And Paloma stiffens, almost rigidly corpse-like again in his arms. Her eyes grow very large and her mouth pops open to wordlessly shut and open again like a hungry goldfish. She remembers that she never told him what to expect, never made it out the door--
"Harry, Harry dios mío I was a fool! Do not bury me please!"
He wears much the same expression, too shocked for words. He tries to speak, but all he can do is pull her into an embrace. It doesn't matter why, she's alive, and he doesn't have to worry and he can see her again.
He might hold on a little too tight, at least, for a normal person.
It's no great shock, but mired in her gladness to be held onto so tightly is the guilt of having let him believe there'd been a tragedy. She smells the tears on him; Paloma is well-acquainted with their scent. Without further protest she returns his embrace in a grip as powerful as it's safe to be.
"I am sorry," she blubbers, voice wobbling. "I did not warn you why I cannot walk at day, I am sorry."
"No, no, it's all right!" He's just glad she's okay now. "It is only that I feared I had lost you, but I have not-- I feared you had been lost, but you have not, I should say." Not that he likes her or anything!!
Her heart might explode if he keeps up this business with 'feared I had lost you', and then where would they be??
She peppers his temple with dry, panicky kisses rather than deflect his awkwardness or unconvincing disclaimers. Does his back hurt? A reminder to be careful with her strength and his human body could be in order. "It is not all right, and you did not lose me!"
"It is all right, as you are all right." He doesn't even notice how strong her grip is, or any pain, how can he when he's so intent on the same. Until all at once he realises he can hardly breathe. Of course he can't just say 'stop that', so he loosens his own hold on her as a possible indicator.
"Ahh," she very nearly protests. Suddenly aware she's not minding her strength and he's only human, Paloma's hands slide off his back to let Jekyll go.
Impulse drives her to tug him by the collar of his gown before they separate and go in for the kill. This kiss feels more like jagged desperation, if that wasn't already evident in her choice of lab table for lip-locking.
His heart races, just to be able to kiss her again at all, but especially for the intensity. Where he would normally hesitate, instead Jekyll lays hands on either side of her jaw.
Now that he finally really understands what Paloma has been trying to tell him about what she is, it's a little frightening, and much more so enthralling because of that.
The thud of his heartbeat in her ears makes up for the silence of her own. She feels elated, a little wild, hungrier rather than appeased.
When her fangs slide out Paloma hardly notices until they nick him, and the electric tang startles her back. In abject mortification she sits fully upright and covers her mouth--
Oh. It's startling, but...not at all bad. It occurs to him that he doesn't know how often she needs to eat - drink - but it's been a day. Actually, he thinks the apology is for kissing him, rather than scratching him. "No, it's quite all right!" How many times is he going to say it's all right today.
He dabs at the blood on his lip. "Do you need to eat...?"
From the shocked and embarrassed look on her face, he may as well have propositioned they fuck right on this table!!
To feed on someone she knows and thinks of with fondness seems more intimate than the kiss they shared just now. Her fingertips press into her lips, and Paloma blinks rapidly as if that will hide her blown pupils. "Do you ... offer me this?"
She's uncertain whether she would have the strength of character to refuse.
"--I'm sorry, is that inappropriate?" From the look on her face, it must be..... But that wasn't his intent, he just thought it would make things easier for her?!
"No!" she yelps. Paloma fidgets where she sits, smooths her skirt over. "Perhaps? I do not know. You are the first I ..."
None of the other kine saw her for longer than a night, and rarely if ever that. Nobody who gave blood would recognize her name, or her face. Her memories of the feeding are always singular and unaccompanied. That intimacy has therefore only been one-sided. Unrequited and frankly sad.
"Well, I suppose no one has known before, after all." At least, he thinks it's pretty safe to assume no one knows. Forgetting too, of course, that he was one such meal some time ago.
She reaches out, clasps his hand. Brings it in to tilt her cheek into his knuckles. It's both an excuse to keep her gaze downcast and lets her feel him.
"You see what I have done to that man, and you still ..."
"If that is a possibility, then I would prefer to use myself as the subject of experimentation." He laughs a little, not as much as he might otherwise, considering what happened last time he used himself as a test subject. "It is a doctor's duty to keep people safe and healthy. That includes you, of course."
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moritat2015-08-17 04:59 pm
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After lying there some time, he finally sits up. He may act very mature, but he is young, it's just his youth that makes him lie there, nothing to do with hoping to notice some remainder of her, he will not sniff that pillow.
He stops at the end of the bed, and reaches out to grab the footboard. Oh no. Once he remembers to breathe again, Jekyll rushes to the corpse, dropping to his knees beside it. Modesty doesn't matter now, this is strictly professional, and so he doesn't hesitate at all when he turns her over, or lays a hand between her breasts. For too long he tries everything he can to start her heart again, to make her breathe, but nothing seems to have even the slightest effect. Worse still he's no idea what could have caused it and is left only with sudden heart failure. Once he's left sitting on the floor with nothing left to do, and a corpse in his arms, the reality of it truly hits him, and he weeps into her hair as he holds her close. It's alright to cry if there's no one around to see it, right?
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Without the age or power to have some awareness of what's happening to her body during torpor, Paloma remains oblivious in the death sleep of torpor. Was her skin always so cool? Yes, but they shared touches so often it gave her some shreds of warmth that might mislead the unwary.
She does not and cannot resist or coil around him in turn. Her eyes are shut, dispelling any illusion of a stare, but her body seems a small and fragile thing. Whatever is he to do?
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It's time to just stare at this corpse for hours. It's gettin' crazy town in here.
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Paloma continues to be dead.
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Alright fine. Right around dusk, and still in his nightclothes, he wraps a sheet around her shoulders to cover her body better than the robe can, and heads down to the lab. He can at least plant the two bodies together to make it look as if her husband did all this. He must deserve it.
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She has a sense of motion, pressure, and rushing blood nearby. Nothing more. Her head lolls against his shoulder, but that could have just been from his efforts.
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But he hesitates to actually do it, she shouldn't have to rot for days until she's found. She deserves better than that.
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Perhaps it's the twitch of her little finger as he helps her into the last sleeve. Or maybe he watches her heavy-lidded eyes open, slow, as if from the thick of dreaming. Or is it a soft sigh that he hears first?
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And Paloma stiffens, almost rigidly corpse-like again in his arms. Her eyes grow very large and her mouth pops open to wordlessly shut and open again like a hungry goldfish. She remembers that she never told him what to expect, never made it out the door--
"Harry, Harry dios mío I was a fool! Do not bury me please!"
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He might hold on a little too tight, at least, for a normal person.
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"I am sorry," she blubbers, voice wobbling. "I did not warn you why I cannot walk at day, I am sorry."
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She peppers his temple with dry, panicky kisses rather than deflect his awkwardness or unconvincing disclaimers. Does his back hurt? A reminder to be careful with her strength and his human body could be in order. "It is not all right, and you did not lose me!"
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Impulse drives her to tug him by the collar of his gown before they separate and go in for the kill. This kiss feels more like jagged desperation, if that wasn't already evident in her choice of lab table for lip-locking.
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Now that he finally really understands what Paloma has been trying to tell him about what she is, it's a little frightening, and much more so enthralling because of that.
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When her fangs slide out Paloma hardly notices until they nick him, and the electric tang startles her back. In abject mortification she sits fully upright and covers her mouth--
"Sorry. Very sorry!"
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He dabs at the blood on his lip. "Do you need to eat...?"
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To feed on someone she knows and thinks of with fondness seems more intimate than the kiss they shared just now. Her fingertips press into her lips, and Paloma blinks rapidly as if that will hide her blown pupils. "Do you ... offer me this?"
She's uncertain whether she would have the strength of character to refuse.
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None of the other kine saw her for longer than a night, and rarely if ever that. Nobody who gave blood would recognize her name, or her face. Her memories of the feeding are always singular and unaccompanied. That intimacy has therefore only been one-sided. Unrequited and frankly sad.
"Nobody gives this freely before."
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"You see what I have done to that man, and you still ..."
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