lastrat | ♠ | 030

[The best part about being a vampire - besides the strength and the speed and the senses in general, anyway - is having a little switch in your brain. When your emotions get to be too much - intensified as they are - all you have to do is close your eyes and look inward and flick it to off.

Once, he was going to be married. Once, he was going to have a happy life, even if it was as a vampire. Some things you don't survive, James had always known that. He hadn't always known about vampires, or that they're almost impossible to beat, or that if you die with their blood in your veins, you can wake up from multiple gunshot wounds.

Of course, once he hadn't known that his fiance was a witch, either, but eventually he always learns the important things. There's a silver ring on his left ring finger that she blessed, or magicked, or whatever the hell the proper verb is, that lets him walk in the daylight without burning up. He almost threw it away when she died, thought about burning up beside her - but his sense of self preservation runs deep. And it led him to his humanity switch. Turning it off was the easiest thing in the world.

Now, he doesn't miss her. Now, he doesn't grieve her. Now, he doesn't care about anything except hunger.

And right now, he's hungry.]

(ooc: Super duper affected, sorry for all these backdated posts. He's a vampire from the Vampire Diaries canon, and he's a douchebag because he just don't give a fuck. Picture Elena when she was an inmate but. possibly worse because she's nicer than him on any given day anyway. He's out looking for blood, so any volunteers totally welcomed!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Steal from me and I'll punch you in the balls.

Yeah, well no one's asking you, jackass. God, are you that bored?

I'm sure we'll both have a laugh when you try.

Well. I will.

[He turns to Chris and smiles, holding out the tablet. His grip is tight enough that even if Chris grabs for it, he's not letting go.]

[Chris narrows his eyes, reaching up and grasping the tablet. He tries to pull it back to him, giving off an angry noise when he realizes he can't budge it]

Dude, you asshole! Come on, this is expensive!

[Bond's smile just widens, and it's difficult not to - 'vamp out' sounds to ridiculous to him, but all the same.]

Say please.

How about give me back my shit, asshole?

[Both hands are now on the tablet as Chris tugs back fiercely]

This is ISIS property! Let go!

[He doesn't relent, arching his eyebrows innocently. Ish.] What will you give me for it?

I'll give you a kick in the ass, you dick!

[Yank. Yank yank. Chris' face is getting redder by the minute]

[Which is just more and more entertaining, really. Bond smiles, and finally lets go on a yank, hoping to see Chris fall backwards over his bench.]

Sorry, you'll what?

[Bond's efforts are well-rewarded: Chris spills out onto the floor, stumbling and hitting the bench before falling over it with a cry. He hugs the tablet to his chest, flinching and cursing up a storm]

Fuckhead!

[Bond moves fast again, from in front of the bench, darting around to crouch behind Chris.]

I'm sorry. Did that hurt?

[He's not sorry. He doesn't care.]

[Chris twists around with a start, lifting his head up to stare at Bond. His face turns an interesting shade of embarrassed purple]

Get the fuck away from me before I pump you full of bullets.

Please. Do you even have wooden bullets?

[He's smiling, now. It's not a very nice smile.]

I don't need wooden bullets to kick your ass.

[That's a no, then]

Seriously, don't you have the windows of 15-year-old girls in nightgowns to fly into?

[Bond shakes his head, tutting.]

Actually, I'm afraid you do.

[He ignores the rest - because, what, he refuses to learn anything about Twilight - and grabs for Chris's throat instead, hauling him up as he stands.]

[With a startled yelp cut short by the hand digging into his throat, Chris is lifted up off his feet, left dangling. He grabs for Bond's arm with both hands, face turning red as he struggles, weakly kicking at the man's kneecap.

Holy hell Bond is strong]

[Yes he is, and he revels in it. On his feet, he lifts Chris higher, grunting at the kicks and shaking him like a dog with a toy for his efforts.]

Be a good boy, D'Amico. I'm not in the mood to rip your spine out through your throat. I could be, but I'm not.

[The kicking stops once Chris realizes he's not doing his trachea any favors. He dangles limply, the pressure building on his neck already causing him to gasp dryly, eyes wide in mute panic. All that kidding around earlier suddenly isn't seeming so funny right now. His fingers pry at Bond's thumb and wrist, but it's more pointless than he'd like to admit.

Despite the fear inherent, his eyes search the vampire's face, demanding answers through slowly fading consciousness]

[Bond is in no rush: he watches with faint interest, smiles at the demand he finds in Chris' eyes. His smile widens, and his teeth elongate; the veins around his eyes darken; his eyes shift color, from blue to something much darker.]

Good lad.

[He sets Chris down on his feet again, and shrugs.]

Wrong place, wrong time.

[Then he shifts his grip, grabs the side of Chris' neck and his opposite shoulder, bending forward for the bite.]

[Once set back on his feet, Chris wheezes through a partially-crushed throat. He doubles over to catch his breath, wounded and pissed]

You-

[But that's all he manages to get out. The attack comes too swiftly for him to counter, and he gives a loud cry as his neck is savaged. He fights: he's pathetically outgunned]

[He's embraced what he is, and not having the emotions to go with it has been a blessing. Nothing matters. Nothing ever will. He drinks, and drinks, and he thinks about ripping Chris' head off. Because what will it matter in the end? One more spot of blood for the Admiral to clean up.

Bond savages his throat, unconcerned by the struggle, and when he's had his fill, he pulls back with blood dripping down his chin. He takes the front of Chris' shirt, waiting to see if he'll fall on his own.]

[The bite - if he can even call it that - is vicious and deep and everywhere. By the end of things, it might make more sense to rip Chris' head off; his head is lolling to the side, exposed neck muscles torn open and drenching his entire chest with blood. He's a goner either way, and either unconscious or dead already.

He's limp in Bond's grip, slumped over without any future sign of a struggle.]

[He lets Chris fall with a lazy smirk on his face. In some back corner of his brain, the part that his been quieted for so long, he is raging at himself, infuriated with the decisions he's made.

It's quiet, and grows quieter, and Bond wipes his mouth, licking his fingers.]

Thanks.

[It's entirely sardonic, and he turns to head back inside.]

♠ | 030 | Spam

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