citylogs | October Catch-all!

Entry tags:

October Catch-all!

WHO: Midnight (

unreserving) & open!
WHAT: October catch-all
WHERE: Where isn't he, honestly
WHEN: Catching all of October, will update after the plot details drop!
WARNINGS: ~*Midnight*~. But also probably alcohol and disordered eating mentions generally, will update as necessary. UPDATE: there is some MENTAL HEALTH going on in Hiyori's thread. mind the warnings, there are cults in there.

a. various places (day)

How was that?

[ Midnight flagged your character down for a practice session! Fortunately, it's not his usual jock routine: he spent the last 20 minutes explaining the ins and outs of the City as though his partner has just arrived here. It was a very serious roleplay, Midnight answered all questions with great thought and care. ]

I think it may be best to also mention some basic safety precautions... To proceed with great care to any new locations, to consider supplies and other survival items before risking a new encounter. But other than that... Do you remember any other questions you had in mind when you first arrived here?

b. swimming pool (afternoon)

Did you want one?

[ Why were you staring at this teen in the relaxation pool? Probably because he's sitting on a pool noodle, floating near the edge, snacking on a large carton of chicken nuggets. Said carton is... probably somewhat moist, but he's doing a pretty good job of keeping it from becoming overly waterlogged, and he certainly doesn't seem to be up to any specific mischief. Nope. Just vibing in the pool with chicky nugs.

The kid himself has short, ragged black hair with a few pink streaks, pink eyes, pointed ears, pale skin... Basically, if anyone's met Midnight, one might wonder if he had a little brother or a son who's just arrived. The similarities are quite uncanny. However, his question isn't particularly... Midnight-y. It's just a question. The most obvious reason why one would be staring at someone else's food in the first place. ]

c. garden prompt

[ Midnight will be avoiding the more grabby plants — he doesn't want to test if their thirst for his blood will lead to their demise via Originium — so the grabbiness here? Why, that's your hand he's grabbing. Because he's spotted someone he may or may not know among these very rude plants and, after listening to some of the gossiping circulating, has made an executive decision to leave the venue with his new partner in tow. (He... did get an earful about your characters issues on the way, but his main concern at the moment is getting his new partner out.) ]

Nasty lot, aren't they? Manners are free. Come along, love. Let's get a drink.

d. wildcard

if you'd like a custom starter please dm me (i don't have plurk sorry)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Midnight knows, without a doubt, that with someone as well trained as Vergilius, his only saving graces are the lack of subtlety to his haunted, ghostly movements, and the element of surprise. That's why he's peering through this doorway, watching the man pass. He can smell him, old blood and old weariness, wandering the hall, feet taking him to the next open door.

Midnight has one shot at this. Vergilius will open the door to this room, realize that it connects to the last room, then double back to see if Midnight's hidden himself somewhere. The first and only chance he might have, in fact, is when his head swings around, just before he notices the door to the closet Midnight's hidden himself inside.

One shot. With the full weight of his body, he shoves the door open, hitting Vergilius in the side. It's a broad hit, but it's only meant to stun him.

A cracking shattering, then the stem of a champagne glass sprouts from Vergilius' shoulder. Midnight crouches low, then tackles him around the knees, pushing off against a wall for leverage. They go crashing to the floor, and Midnight scrabbles immediately to get on top.

Midnight says nothing. From his other forays into the haunted house, he knows that the only way to end this is to kill Vergilius. With a man as strong and deadly as he is, he can't afford to think he can simply knock him out. It's death either way. Midnight would like to live. ]

[In a place like the City, everything is out to kill you.]

[Even with a high grade like him, Vergilius knows that it doesn't mean that people don't want to try. He's always on guard. He always expects the worst.]

[So an attack like this doesn't even make him hesitate, even as the pain roils across his shoulder from the shard of glass. It's muscle memory at this point, the augmented fibers of his arms and legs tensing as he immediately starts to punch his assailant in the head viciously.]

[He doesn't even recognize who it is, yet. He simply attacks, eyes flaring like the monster he is. Friend or foe, it doesn't matter. Not at all.]

[ Punch him once, shame on you. Punch him twice, shame on Midnight. Before that third strike can land, Midnight's arm comes up, knocking it away with force he can feel down in the bones of his wrists. He then leans in on the base of the glass, twisting as sharp and hard as he can, the sound of flesh and blood filling his ears. If he feels pain, that's good. That's something he can leverage.

(If the prey feels pain, the prey feels fear, the prey falters, the prey slows, loses faith—)

Vergilius has his fists, is a living, breathing weapon. Midnight does not forget that. He has no illusions about his background. He trained himself to become someone who creates happiness. He chose to be gentle. That is who he is.

However, that was the training. What Midnight is, by heritage, by birth, is a weapon. And with his birthright comes every tool he needs.

He allow Vergilius one more swing, but it's in service of grabbing Vergilius by the chin, then the collar, then whipping his head down, opening his mouth, and piercing through his throat with his teeth. It's crushing force. A vampire, biologically, was always meant to kill their victims. Midnight was made for this.

He bites down again, like a snake pumping venom into its meal. Blood fills his mouth. It tastes good. Vergilius tastes dark and fever-sweet. And Midnight is always, always, always a little hungry... ]

[Of course he can feel pain. This body might be augmented, but it bears scars like a tapestry. It can be hurt. It can be damaged. Vergilius gasps as the glass digs deeper, but if anything, it only makes him more focused.]

[This body was made to withstand the worst of what people have to offer.]

[He can't stop Midnight's attack on his throat. The teeth sink in, and that makes a short grunt of a cry break out from his mouth, as if it was ripped from him. Another bite, but there's no sound this time.]

[Instead, something peculiar happens. Those red eyes well up, but no tears are shed - blood comes streaking down his cheeks. Around his head, leaves start to blossom as if they're growing from his scalp, before thorns pierce out from the perimeter.]

[It isn't just to look garish, though. Because the blood that Midnight is currently attempting to swallow suddenly shifts on its own - the blood forms itself, illogically, into the form of needles that pierce and wound the man's mouth and neck, digging into skin and flesh.]

[Vergilius hopes it will be enough to let him go, because he's not hesitating - with a hiss, he's jutting his knee up to try to hit the man's gut to try to knock him off of himself.]

[ It is enough for Midnight to let go, the mouthful of needles in his mouth dropping as he gags, as he gags again when Vergilius kicks him and he thinks:

Oh, he's poisoned me.

Oh, he's killed me.

Oh, I don't want to die.

I offered to let him hurt me once.

He gags again. He can't breathe.

This isn't him.

He is choking on his own blood again, and he is dying.

This isn't him.

I know who this is.

His hands reach for eyes, grab into hair. His fingers blindly dig into the red weep of the holes in Vergilius's neck.

How dare he touch a king.

Originium is a catalyst for the Arts in the world of Terra. Originium acts as a circuit for the energy, enabling the caster to create fire, electricity, gravity. Originium is in every cell of Midnight's bloodstream. He is his own circuit.

Both his hands, one over Vergilius's face, the other clenched at his throat, catch in white flame.

There is fire akin to Catastrophe in my veins, and the sin lays upon your head.

And the hand at Vergilius's throat grasps down, harder, harder, fire burning into his skin, and Midnight sees stars, he is choking on his own blood, he is running out of time—

Midnight once spent six days in a mall with a shadow. Sometimes, his shadow chased him. Sometimes, that shadow caught him. Sometimes, that shadow laughed in his ear as he faded, choking on his own blood.

Sometimes, Midnight chased his shadow. Sometimes, Midnight caught him. Sometimes, Midnight caught his shadow by the throat. Sometimes, Midnight pulled at his neck, crushed his windpipe, and tore his head from his shoulders.

Sometimes. Sometimes, he fell into fevered dreams, cradled next to a warm, solid body. ]

[If he was at his full strength, this wouldn't even be a contest. The man would be like a doll, easily ripped apart. It's funny how this place has dragged him back to the beginning, when he was merely a low grade Fixer doing his best to survive the days ahead.]

[So to be scorched like this is a new feeling, a vivid feeling. His skin burns, the acridly sweet smell of flesh wafting in the air. But even as his face starts to melt, those eyes are piercing all the same, somehow invincible, like rubies withstanding the fires of hell.]

[He might be hurt, might be burned, might be stabbed, might even be killed. But hell is already something he knows with his own being.]

[...He might be dying, but he won't take it sitting down. Vergilius lets out a guttural pained and vicious cry, like an animal still bearing its teeth under the weight of its wounds. Nobody can tame him.]

[Nobody can, even if they're nice, and sweet, and rest their head against his shoulder, because they have no one else to lean on at the moment.]

Midnight-

[The name is choked out through burned flesh, but its as sharp as it comes. Ah, what a pain. The burning prevents him from using more of his blood, as cauterized as it is.]

[He only has moments. He reaches up to grasp the man's throat, aiming to crush it. His last hurrah.]

[He can't help it. He'll take him down with him.]

[ Midnight sobs through the needles in his throat, tries to gag. This isn't his first death by suffocation in this place, nor does he begrudge the person who inflicted it. He looks into those impossible eyes, the firelight burn. There is still no hate, in that there is no reason in them at all.

He is gone. He isn't there.

The last thing he does is buck forward at the sound of his name, put both hands to Vergilius' throat, and squeeze at a force he knows, intimately well, is enough to crush a windpipe like a paper straw. He gags, blood mixing with saliva, smoke rising from the cave of his fangs.

He lowers his head, closes his eyes, lets Vergilius close his hands around him, crush him down to pain that heaves like thousands of years of human grief. With that same grief, he reciprocates.

When his eyelids flutter open, the air is clean and sweet, there is tinny witch laughter in the distance, and he feels no pain. ]

[The hands move over his windpipe. He suddenly remembers their previous conversation. Midnight's remark of not ever hurting him.]

[He had let it roll off of him at the time, doubtful of it, but he's no longer doubting it now.]

[The man, for all his frivolousness, his casualness - he's just as dangerous as he is, isn't he?]

[He's fearsome in appearance - Vergilius holds the image of the man, smoke coming out of his mouth like a ferocious dragon, and commits it to memory. He has barely enough time to dream and yearn and hope for better. He has no time to think of the young lady at home, who needs him more than anything.]

[It's blissful pain that sends him into the darkness.]

[It's a sense of emptiness that greets him when he wakes up.]

[He pushes himself up, disoriented, glancing around. This is...the first floor, isn't it?]

[Weak, he falls right back down, heaving a groan. He isn't even cognizant the other man is here, too.]

...Great.

[ Midnight's dragged himself up to a knee by the time Vergilius wakes. Why not? This isn't one of his rude departures into unconsciousness, blood sugar low and hydration lacking. He doesn't even feel poor. Or bad. Not that he ever does.

He looks down at Vergilius. He blinks at him slowly, tilts his head. His gaze is both very close and very far away. ]

Hello, love.

...

[...Ah.]

[He recognizes that face. There's a brief tensing of his body, instinctive, but he relaxes, realizing that there will likely be no windpipe-crushing today. Maybe.]

[Vergilius closes his eyes, heaving a groan.]

You killed me.

[He doesn't even sound mad. It's almost like he's just casually stating a fact.]

Mmn. You killed me too.

[ A soft, slightly distant voice to match. Midnight sits next to Vergilius, eyes thoughtful. He doesn't bother to help him up. Instead, he raises a hand, then carefully — slowly, so Vergilius has time to stop him, or protest — places his fingers on Vergilius' lips. ]

That you did-

[And then...]

[There's fingers at his mouth. No burning, here. No rage. No violence.]

[Just fingertips.]

[He stares, a little flummoxed, trying to speak under that touch.]

What...are you doing?

[ Midnight doesn't answer, just feels Vergilius's lips move under his fingertips. After another light pause, he moves his hand so his thumb rests on Vergilius's bottom lip, stroking it lightly, his fingers against his jaw. At this point, this motion is at least a little evocative of something... pretty intimate, at least. It would probably help if Midnight actually said something about it, though. ]

[He doesn't understand.]

[Even the killing, he can understand. This? These soft touches? His body isn't made for them. He almost has half an urge to just ask if the man can start strangling him, instead. Makes it much less weird, in his opinion.]

[He lets out a little shaky breath, reaching up to grasp onto his wrist - nothing tight, but he's trying to get his attention.]

Midnight.

I hurt you.

[ Very soft, very factual. ]

Does this hurt?

[ Ignoring the hand at his wrist, he presses his thumb against the corner of Vergilius's mouth. Very light, no malice or harm intended at all. Just intimate. He is looking at Vergilius's mouth. He is looking into his eyes. They are no longer burning red, bleeding sanguine. ]

...

[He's silent for a long moment. All of a sudden, he's aware of his heart, beating a little fast within the confines of his chest. Its so prominent he's almost worried Midnight can somehow hear it.]

[He doesn't know why his heart is starting to race - he's not scared. Nervous, maybe. Awkward. His emotions war, as they always do, on tired battlefields.]

[He finally speaks, quietly. His eyes aren't bright, simply questioning.]

It doesn't, no.

[ Midnight looks down at Vergilius, registering that. He's thinking. A very dangerous thing when it comes to him.

Slowly, he peels Vergilius's hand off his wrist, raises his hand to his mouth, and, slowly, in the case that he pulls away, or protests, or reacts, or does anything but accept, puts a kiss on his palm, on the scarred heel of his hand. Whether he makes it or not, he looks down at Vergilius, the same question on his face. "And that? Did that hurt?" ]

[Maybe this is just a very vivid dissociative episode he is having as he is dying. That would make more sense than anything else, here.]

[I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't-]

Midnight.

[His fingers twitch, before he moves them to cup over the other's cheek. Might as well. His hand is already there.]

Why are you doing this...?

[ Midnight follows Vergilius's hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he noses into its craggy warmth. ]

For once, I want to kiss someone I can't hurt.

[ For what it's worth, I don't think I can hurt you.

He meant that, actually. ]

...

[That light comes back into his eyes, his expression growing a little stern. He isn't withdrawing his hand, yet, but its not as warm as before.]

And what just happened, Midnight? A walk in the park?

No. We killed each other.

[ ... Midnight's head tilts politely away from the hand at his face. His voice is light. A puff of steam on the air. ]

You're no demon, Vergilius. How do I explain this...?

[That mouth was full of fire not too long ago.]

[The statement only makes him look all the more conflicted, his gaze glancing over to the side as his hand starts to drop to his own chest. Telltale heart, stop beating-]

I don't know how you can explain it at all.

[ Midnight wishes that he could just ask for a kiss again and leave it at that. But that's insane. He knows. Part and parcel of the problem. ]

I am a demon, sir. A vampire.

[ He looks down at Vergilius through his eyelashes. ]

I love in a way that looks like cracking ribs open, eating hearts. It's that sort of thing. I can't stop that part of me. I simply don't follow through because the other part of love is to do no harm, or at least as little harm as possible. That's about as concise as I can be about it, darling.

[ So it goes. He studies Vergilius. Wonders if he thinks he'll hurt him again. ]

...A vampire, huh. I fought a woman alongside many others that could be called as one a long time ago. She was a Star of the City. The Blood-Red Night. A vicious sort.

[But she and Midnight seem so drastically different. This man isn't some wild horrific Distortion.]

[To him, he's just a man.]

So what are you saying, then? [He tilts his head, considering.] That even if it is your nature, you'll fight against that for...what, for me?

No, not really. It's an explanation, not a call to action.

[ Midnight shakes his head. ]

What I'm saying is that it isn't in my nature to care about things like headcounts, or blood on one's hands, or guilt. Those are things I care about because happiness is tied to those sorts of things, but resolving these things are less important to me than one might expect. In the end, I just want someone to kiss.

[ Even if that someone just killed him, and he killed that person in return. No strings attached. No worry about whether it might be too much. If Vergilius is the demon he claims to be, he would understand that. Midnight is watching for an answer. ]

closed to @immortalpoet; haunted house hours

scrabbles to get on top, huh. takes notes

👀💦💦💦, but also, cw: blood, vampire stuff

also cw: blood, general horrible violence, you know how it is

cw: (attempted) eye trauma, burning, more gore, just, okay, this is gross

cw: blood, burn wounds, gore, bad time for all

you know what. fuck it. midnight cw: dies too

MIDNIGHT NOOOO cw: death

🫠

things Happen...

horse_E_books taught me that everything happens so much

thank you horse_E_books

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