driftfleet | You can check out anytime you'd like.. [Hotel Corona Mingle]

You can check out anytime you'd like.. [Hotel Corona Mingle]

Who: The Fleet!
Broadcast: If you want
Action: Hotel Corona or Planet Ikke
When: December 7th onward

a wheel-shaped space station

[After the mystery and isolation of their last destination, the Marsiva seems determined to head to brighter, busier territory. After a long journey through remote, nebula-painted space, speeding along at a brisk pace for the Host ship, the Marsiva brings her Fleet to a sudden and prominent point of traffic.

It seems that the Fleet has happened upon some sort of vacation destination! Maybe Atroma thinks that the passengers deserve some rest and relaxation... or just wants to distract them with something huge and shiny.

Welcome to Hotel Corona! Feel free to enjoy yourselves and enjoy the sites! If a hotel resort isn't your thing, you can head on over to the nearby planet and explore it's icy wonders.

In order words: it's a mingle!! Everyone get in! ]

[>> Plot Post]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It was supposed to be a simple hunt. After hearing about the land sharks from Lark, Stefan had ventured down to the planet for more blood - and he had succeeded.

He'd succeeded so much, in fact, that he had a messenger bag full of the stuff (in neat containers, of course). As he's wiping off the last remnants of salty blood off his lips, he turns and -

He isn't alone. Stefan stands there, stunned, unable to wipe the blood off in time OR run away for the hills.]

Eugene? [Shit.] What're you doing out here?

[A breath shivers out of Eugene at the sound of his name, blank-eyed fear melting into recognition. He'd seen the blood, the steady tireless trudge through the snow, and all at once he'd been back on Earth, in England, holding still and silent on his half-drifted-over conveyance and hoping not to draw the attention of the tireless dead.

Then it speaks. He speaks. Stefan speaks, and Eugene narrows his eyes uncomprehendingly, faintly blue lips working dumbly for a few lost seconds before he finds his way back to his voice.]

What the hell happened to you?

[It doesn't fit. He must have been hurt somehow, attacked, but even then it still doesn't fit. Stefan is supposed to be careful words and kitchen-warmth, but here he is, a smear of sticky red gashed into the pristine white of the landscape.]

Nothing happened to me.

[He's quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He's not dressed for the weather: his light black coat and thick wool-like scarf give off the illusion of warmth, but his cheeks and ears are flushed with warmth. He's had a good, satisfying meal and there's life behind his eyes - they're a brighter shade of green than usual.

He can't play dumb, not with the red, salty blood all over his fingers. He doesn't look injured. He's not even dressed for a hunt. Holding up his arms in surrender, he takes another step forward.

He doesn't want to shout, but he's frightened his friend enough.] I'm a vampire. Have been for a while now.

Edited 2016-12-11 05:11 (UTC)

[Eugene looks down. Up. Down again, and he feels something trembling up in him that might be more wracking shivers and might be hysterical laughter, something that curls the corner of his mouth into a in incredulous grin.]

Holy shit.

[He tries to get up, but something goes wrong, some series of neurons forgets how his prosthetic is supposed to move, and he ends up pitching himself drunkenly into the snow, rolling until his back is against the vehicle and he's squinting up.]

Oh- geez. I'm sorry. It's- it's fine.

[Stefan braces himself for the inevitable: for the fear, for the judgment, and for the inevitable distance, and his friend's - laughing?

He freezes mid-step. Eugene's frostbite must be worse than he imagined. Or the cold's gotten to his brain. (Brain freeze and frostbite??) This isn't how he wanted Eugene to find out.

Stefan had pictured it for months: the warmth of the interfaith center, the comfort of their favorite beverages, and the quiet of the truth. He'd meant to say something, but then one thing had led to another, and he figured, he would always have tomorrow.

Tomorrow had arrived, and well - he's rushing over to offer his non-bloodied hand.]

Are you okay?

[Somehow, after watching that fall, 'I'm a vampire' feels like a much less pressing concern.]

[Stefan's coming at him, blood on his chin and eyes so bright he's amazed he never noticed before, but it's all right. He's just a vampire. God, just a vampire, if that doesn't say everything that needs to be said about what he's been through and where his brain is at, nothing does.]

[He takes the hand and pushes himself up against the sort-of snowmobile, shaking his head.]

I'm fine. Don't worry. [He's just been out awhile. Just a little cold. His prosthetic knee probably locked up or something. He blinks back at the conveyance he's leaning on, as if he'd forgotten it was there, then jerks a thumb at it.] Do you, ah. Need a ride back?

[Vampire, fine. But it's Stefan. He promised to help him out, right? Right.]

You'd still offer me one?

[After a year and a half, Stefan should be used to this. He should be totally and completely okay with the idea that he can tell people who he is and he would be - well, maybe not accepted but tolerated.

He wipes the last bits of blood, hastily shaking his head.]

Um, no, no. I got here by myself - I wouldn't want you to go to the extra trouble.

[In hindsight, he had been broadcasting his status in broad daylight. No snowmobiles, no snow boots, no heavy gear. Just a young adult and a messenger bag filled with bottles and bottles of blood.]

[Stefan's question makes zero sense, and Eugene just stares, trying to process that and the careful politesse that follows it. He recognizes it, in the dimmest of ways. You don't have to be a creature of fearsome legend to have things about yourself that you hold close and hidden, things swaddled in the surety of if they saw this, if they even suspected it, they would know there is monstrousness in me. But recognizing it isn't believing it, and he nods, in a way that hears more than accepts.

He almost offers to just meet him back at the ship. Later. To drink tea, to talk, for everything to be okay Later, like that mythical Someday they'd always talked about after the end of the world. Something kind to distract from the fact that their Someday was just a kind of prayer in itself, a hope no one ever really expected to see realized.

It hits him in a moment of crystalline clarity when he looks down at his vehicle, lopsided in the snow, treads swamped. Stefan isn't from that world. Stefan is a vampire. And if he promises Later and then stays right here, rests in the quiet and the white and the blue, Stefan might never understand that he didn't really lie. He might never undestand what this is for, and which of them Eugene was sure could never belong here.

He looks back at him, and his voice is faintly hoarse, though not from the cold.]

In that case- ah. Can you help me get this thing free?

Edited 2016-12-15 16:29 (UTC)

[The question snaps Stefan back to here, and now, rather than the fear and terror that he had imagined. They've lived in outer space, among talking ponies and elves and the occasional alien - and logically, Stefan knows that his vampirism isn't unusual.

He also knows that he keeps bracing himself for a rejection that may never come. (Praise be to Allah.) So he swallows that fear and nods, setting his bag aside as he takes another look at the vehicle.]

Sure. Uh, stand back - I've got this.

[He pushes some of the snow aside, careful to keep it away from both of them, and clears a path in front of the machine. Once all that snow's clear, he motions for Eugene to give it another go.]

[Eugene swings himself back on (still stiffly, balancing on the handles more than he should probably need to), and the nose of the vehicle does sink down more. He hits the throttles, feels a lurch and a skid, gives a stubborn push with his good leg and suddenly there's traction, tumbling up and over the rise and rut until he's rolling across firm snow. He stops, breathing hard, breath white gusts in the still between sweeps of freezing air and flurries. Just like that, a question and a few minutes of work, and there's no real choice but to go back.

Back to work. Nothing to see here.]

Hey. [He looks back over his shoulder, waving Stefan up to join him on the back of the vehicle.] Come on. Let me give you a ride back.

Alright. [He doesn't hesitate to grab his things and swing on back, wrapping an arm loosely around Eugene's waist.] Thank you.

[For not freaking out so much or for the ride back? Stefan doesn't clarify, and he doesn't particularly want to. The falling snow and the blood containers rattling around in his bag remind him of days he'd rather not re-live.

He can't control who he is. He knows that.

But he can control how he's perceived, and how others react to that perception - and he's eternally, eternally grateful that he wasn't shunned for it.]

No problem, man.

[Whatever Stefan's thanking him for, it's a genuine answer. No part of Stefan's ever been a problem, and this isn't any exception. The thought's borne on a stubborn, drunken kind of clarity, the same that has him squinting into the landscape of greys and whites until he finds the trail and steers them back toward the nearest settlement.

He's content to be quiet on the ride back - a silence that might be awkward if he wasn't feeling fuzzy-headed and tired. But having someone, anyone to assist is enough to turn him and his remaining focus to the task and hold it there.]

[That, Stefan can do. He half-wonders if he should be the one driving, given Eugene's general state of being - he's a medical student. He knows the signs of frostbite, and hypothermia, and general 'he's been out in the cold too long'.

He doesn't think about it until they're safely back and until he can get Eugene somewhere warm and cozy. At least the settlements'll have those. Later, they can talk about immortality and vampires and how those most definitely don't resemble the zombies roaming the fields - his friend is his first priority.

His friend's always going to take precedence, even if he might regret that choice later.]

[The rental is paid up through the end of the day, but Eugene's on autopilot, rumbling through the settlement at a careful pace as they roll in off of the snowy plains. He's most of the way back to where he rented it before he blinks out of the highway hypnosis enough to steer off to the side and pause, looking back over his shoulder.]

Do you - um. Am I dropping you off somewhere?

[It's an old, automatic question that recalls an era of streetlights and takeout coffee and the feeling of a steering wheel under his hands. And maybe it only comes so easily because Stefan feels so much like he belongs in that world. Vampire or not.]

Ah, no - I left one of my shuttles behind, so I was just gonna take that back to the Paisley.

[A guy carrying a bag full of blood is also a suspicious guy, and Stefan doesn't have the heart to compel more people than necessary. He doesn't even want to compel Eugene, because Eugene's a friend, and friends deserve the choice of knowing and remembering.

He leans in a little closer, almost resting his head on Eugene's other shoulder.]

Just take me back to wherever you're staying or - wherever you're supposed to go.

[The little lean steadies Eugene out, enough that making a decision feels easier. He tries not to think about it, what it's been like going from always having cramped close quarters to empty space, from years of living in sheds crammed with radio equipment and body heat to going on a year now of his own bunk, his own kitchen, his own everything where on a good day he gets a handshake.

The rental place for snowfaring gear and accoutrements is just down a street or two - a low, long building with heat rising in plumes from a few points, something like a ski lodge crossed with a rent-a-car depot. He turns in to an empty spot, kills the engine and just . . . sits a second. Long enough for Stefan to climb off first before he follows, deliberately careful not to belly-flop into the snow again.]

[Taking the stillness as his cue, Stefan climbs off and adjusts his jacket as he waits. It occurs to him, belatedly, that maybe his friend had meant to stay out longer - and if that's the case, he'll have to see if he can wrangle some additional time later. Once they're both nice and warm, at least.

(Eugene must've had a Reason for going out, one that didn't involve vampires and the undead and that crimson blood in the middle of a sea of white.)

He opens his bag, carefully checking to make sure its contents haven't been jostled. Once he's satisfied, he'll glance back over at Eugene -]

Does your room have a stove? Any sort of kitchen-type thing?

[His room? Eugene squints at Stefan, like he's dropped into a foreign language without warning, taking a few long, chilly seconds to piece back through where the question stopped making sense.

Room. His room. That was the concept that hadn't clicked, because his room is all the way back on the Wonderduck, but- oh. Stefan thinks he's rented a room here. Like he probably should have done, as a tourist.]

I . . . don't have a room. [He heads toward the front door, one aching step at a time, moving deeply unpleasant in a way that crawls tight toward the centre of his chest.] -yet. I'll get one.

[Smooth.]

[Without a second thought, Stefan rushes to Eugene's side, reaching over and gently placing one of his friend's arms around his shoulders. There's no way that Stefan's letting him walk by himself. Not in this weather.]

No, I'll get one. You're in absolutely no condition to talk to the front desk.

[He walks more slowly, careful to shift most of Eugene's weight onto him as they move forward. Worst-case scenario, Stefan'll compel the clerks into forgetting his presence. At least his messenger bag doesn't reek of his future meals.]

[Eugene's muscles remember this - pressure up under his tricep, determined grip to his wrist, and manoeuvring into his center of gravity that takes the weight off of the metal leg and puts it onto steady shoulders.

His muscles remember, but he's to the front door before he remembers, like waking up from a dream, that the last time he leaned on anyone like this, the last time anyone just moved under his arm and hefted the work of moving him onto himself like it was the only natural thing in the world-

- that was with Jack.

It means he's used to moving this way, at least. It means he can surrender to movement, and away from thought. And the longer he walks, the more he starts shivering, hard, irregular waves that send his teeth rattling together.]

Yeah. My bartering is not going to be great right now.

[He can tell that much, at least, the same way he can tell when he's drunk.]

[Movement is good. Movement means that they can get a room, that Stefan can focus on throwing fire into the warm stove and bundling his friend with blankets. He doesn't have a full first-aid kit with him - he didn't think of it, with all the blood he was intending to lug back.

He takes in a deep breath, more out of habit than heaviness and exhaustion - Stefan hasn't even broken a sweat.]

Nope, [he admits a little too cheerfully as they get inside and rush towards the front door with unnatural speed.] So let me do all the talking.

[The conversation takes maybe half a minute at most. The front clerk's about to suggest a far steeper price, at the sight of Eugene, but Stefan only has to look into the clerk's eyes and insist that no, the more reasonable price sounds fair. It also sounds like they could use extra firewood and could they throw in some extra frostbite treatment on the house?

Stefan's expression is a relieved one as he snags that room key, drags Eugene into the room, and sets his friend onto the couch. Hang on, friend - he'll get this room warm in no time.]

[Stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other, all the way to the point of actual collapse, is something Eugene can do. It's something he's already done once, and feeling a lot worse than he does now. As it is, he just feels tired, mostly. Sort of tingly and overwarm if anything, nerves jangling into a confusion of sensation as he enters the actual warm room and bounces down onto the couch. He's still shivering in earnest, even if his skin feels feverish under all the layers of clothing, and he works at the fasteners of his coat with clumsy, gloved fingers as he watches Stefan fuss over the room and the fire. His hands are shaking too much with the renewed shivering to really have much effect. As is his voice, though he tries to talk all the same, fill the uncomfortable reality of being worried over.]

I-I guess-s you don't g-get cold, huh.

[Once the fire's roaring, Stefan turns his attention back to his friend. He grabs those extra blankets and brings them over, setting them aside for a moment so that he can pull the coat off. The mittens feel a little wet, too - he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of gloves he used earlier.

(Sorry, bro - there's the faint, metallic stench of his kills. He hasn't had time to get them cleaned.)

Hastily, he pries those gloves off and carefully replaces them with the drier (if a little smelly) ones.]

Not really. [His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes: he has a friend to look after, even if said friend doesn't necessarily want to be looked after.] Why do you think I drink so much tea?

[It artificially raises his temperature, leaving him permanently warm to the touch - because normally? In this weather? He would feel like the icicle he is. He then reaches for the blankets and pulls them over Eugene, with an almost methodical and one-track-mind approach.]

[He drinks tea because he's a vampire. That's what it sounds like, and Eugene laughs voicelessly into the blanket swaddled around him, peering up at Stefan.

Yeah. This is a really, really stupid situation to be in. And there's so much tumbling around in his head, in such lurching uneven orbits, that he can't start to pull it together. But there is a vampire playing nurse to him and that- that is amazing.]

Hey, ev-v-veryone has a. A vice, eh? C-caffeine isn't t-too bad. [He tugs the blanket tighter, finally feeling the cold for the first time since before he foundered his snow craft.] N-not that blood is- is any d-different. Never minded a. A black pudding. Myself.

[Talking is good. Talking means that Eugene's staying awake, and that Stefan doesn't have to worry so much about force-feeding him something warm like coffee or tea - which, coincidentally, that clerk's bringing over in a couple of minutes.

He reaches for another blanket - he's going to probably wrap up his friend like a burrito at this point, but he'll deal with the consequences later.]

I can't say I've had black pudding. [There's an edge of skepticism because this isn't the time for Stefan to admit that he hates who he is, he hates drinking blood, that there's no pleasure in what he eats anymore. Taste went out the window years ago.] But you're right, as far as vices go? An eternal tea addiction's the best of 'em all.

How do you take yours again? Cream? Sugar? Both?

You can check out anytime you'd like.. [Hotel Corona Mingle]

c]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)